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“Sorry, Morgan. No can do.” The big man lumbered out of the cab, his wide grin cutting across his face. “I got a contract.”
Morgan slowly pivoted on his heel and pinned Jack with one of his nastiest glares.
Jack didn’t flinch. “He’s right.”
Frustration bubbled inside Morgan. First, he’d lost contact with his men. Now, he’d apparently also lost complete say in who even worked for them.
It was his own damned fault. Turning, Morgan decided the office might be a better place for him. He needed to learn his own business from square one, it seemed.
“Hey, Morgan,” Dewey called.
When Morgan turned around to look at him, Dewey did a few punches in the air, his battered fists flying and missing Morgan’s chin—barely. “Thought maybe you were going back on the circuit.” There was an ornery glint in Dewey’s eyes.
“What the hell are you doing here, Dewey?” Morgan stepped closer, pushing into the man’s personal space. “I thought you were here to work.” He looked pointedly at Jack again, too.
“Ah, come on, man. You know why I’m here. Money. Ain’t that why we do anything?” He nudged Morgan with a hard elbow. “Nice gig you got here. Almost said somethin’ when I saw you in Haskins Corners the other day.” His grin grew wider, if that was possible.
Haskins Corners immediately brought Tara’s image to mind. What was Dewey doing there? Morgan frowned. “Keepin’ tabs on me?” Not even Jack knew Morgan’s actions with any regularity.
“Ah, lighten up.” There was an edge to Dewey’s voice.
Morgan stared at Dewey. The man hadn’t changed in the—what?—five years since their paths had crossed. “You been fighting this whole time?” He almost couldn’t believe anyone would take the abuse that long.
“Yeah, some. Though I do a lot of other stuff nowadays.” The beefy trucker puffed up his chest. “I do some managing.”
Managing? What the…? “Like who?” As Dewey talked about names and faces Morgan had left behind when he’d ditched living dangerously, it dawned on him that Dewey might be just the break he’d been looking for. Had Sylvie left it all behind, as well? Or not? The questions he’d had a couple days ago, when he’d been headed to the bars in Haskins Corners but got distracted by Tara, returned. Was Sylvie still haunting the back roads of the fights? That had been where he’d first met her.
Morgan leaned against the warm metal of the truck’s frame. Casual. Seemingly uncaring, as his heart pounded in his chest. “You seen anyone else from back in the day?”
“Back in the day?” Dewey cackled. “You act like it’s school. Though that last one, I guess you got a heck of a schooling.”
Morgan’s joints still ached from that beating. Mack had been one of the roughest, meanest fighters in the ring. No mercy in that man’s eyes. No compromise in his soul.
“Mack still fighting?”
Another laugh. “Hell, no. He went even further the next fight. Near killed Jacob. No one wanted that. Tate called the authorities. Shoulda seen everyone scrambling to get out before the cops got there. Hauled all of ’em away. Tate’s got a good attorney, but Mack’s ass is in the state pen for a mighty long time.” Dewey’s voice faded, and he stared into the blue sky. “Least, I hope he’s still there. I might retire if he ever comes back.”
Morgan thought that was probably a good idea for them all.
“’Course you, that’s a whole ’nother story. You got potential, Morgan. I’d back you.”
That almost surprised Morgan. He hadn’t fought in over five years. He wasn’t going to start now. Not unless… The idea of going back to that life, even temporarily, left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Now, Morgan—” Jack stepped forward, almost in between him and Dewey. “You quit all that for a reason.”
Morgan had nearly forgotten Jack was there. “I know.” He wasn’t going to explain now what he was thinking to Jack. Not in front of Dewey. “Just wonderin’ about some of the people I used to know.” He turned to Dewey. “There still a horde of followers?”
