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"So, what do we do?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Well, no sense in panicking until we know there's a problem. I'll line up someone else for next month. Make Task work for his dinner. My gut says it probably won't do much good, but maybe he's had his fun. In the meantime, keep thinking. Maybe we can reason with him."
I grunted in reply. I felt an overpowering urge to hit something.
As I reached the door, Charlie spoke again. "Logan, don't do anything stupid."
I nodded, more because I couldn't come up with anything stupid to do than because of any sort of self-restraint.
I worked the bags in the gym for a solid twenty minutes without a break. A torrent of rage and fire poured out of me through my limbs, but it didn't help. The supply seemed endless.
Finally, I collapsed on the mats. Everything burned. I was going to be stiff as hell the next day.
"Fuck!" I screamed to the empty room, because what else was I going to do? The situation made me feel so powerless. Fighting was all I had. It was my passion, my crutch, my life. And now, because some company I didn't care about in some city I'd never been to needed to pad its bank account, they were trying to take that away from me?
It was bullshit.
Chapter Seventeen
Grace
That night at Logan's house changed things. The sex had been like nothing I'd ever experienced before, but it was our talk after that really drove home how fast I was falling for him. That conversation had been so intimate, so raw. Logan had bared his soul to me, and it was as wonderful as it was frightening.
I couldn't believe one man could carry so much pain. That story he'd told me about Ace was just the tip of the iceberg. I was quite certain if the roles were reversed, I'd have buckled under the weight of it all a long time ago, but Logan was a rock. Obviously it left its scars, but it didn't break him. I had so much admiration for that strength.
For a little while afterward, he was in great spirits. We were spending all the time we could with one another. Charlie had even altered our shifts to give us as many nights off together as possible.
But then Logan's fight was mysteriously canceled, and most of those good vibes evaporated. He made an effort to act unperturbed, but I could read him now. I could see the extra tension he carried in his muscles, feel the extra weight in his silences.
For a few days, I left it alone, figuring maybe it was just garden variety annoyance. Fighting was important to him. It was more than just a hobby, it was a kind of therapy, and so it made sense that he'd be a little off after missing out. But when days turned into a week and his mood continued to decline, I began to realize there was something more at stake.
"Is everything okay?" I asked one night when we were alone in the bar.
He shrugged. "Fine."
A few weeks ago, I'd have gotten some quip about how of course he was, because wiping down benches was one of his lifelong dreams, but now he just went monosyllabic. Everything we had was founded on communication but now, all of a sudden, he'd decided to close up.
"We both know that's bullshit. You haven't been the same since your fight was canceled."
He stared into space for several seconds. "I'm sorry," he said eventually.
"It's okay. I just don't like seeing you like this. Did something else happen?"
He sighed. It looked all wrong on him, a gesture of defeat from a man who seemed indestructible. "You know how I told you about that guy, Task? The one that offered me a contract?" I nodded. "Well, he's the one who poached Billy."
"What, as revenge for you saying no or something?"
He shook his head. "Revenge I could have dealt with. This is worse. The same day, he contracted Johnny, as well. The guy I was supposed to fight next month."
It took a few seconds for me to process what he was saying. "He's trying to bully you into joining?"
"It looks that way." Logan reached into his pocket and handed me a slip of paper. "We weren't sure, but I found this taped to the door of the gym when I rocked up today."
The note was plain and concise.
There are plenty of people who'd love to fight you in TPW.
It had no signature, just a phone number underneath, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to identify the author.
