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Beast nods. “It’s your call.”
“So do you want to tell me your name?” I ask the kid who takes a step away from Beast, absentmindedly rubbing at his wrists. I can’t help but notice the bruises ringing them. There’s no way those marks appeared just now.
That explains a lot.
“Ford.”
“Ford what?” I ask.
“Just Ford,” he replies, unwilling to give me his surname.
“Well,Just Ford, want to tell me why you came to my club with a flick knife?”
“Open up the door and I will,” he replies.
Beast leans over and clips him around the back of the head. Lightly, I might add. “Have some respect and answer Grim.”
Ford reaches up and rubs a hand over the back of his head, looking sheepish. “I want to learn how to fight, and I was told that this is the best place to do that.”
Beast coughs back a laugh and I shake my head in amusement. “Youwant to learn how to fight?”
“Yeah.” He nods, holding my gaze and ignoring Beast’s laughter.
“Why?” I ask, my finger tapping against the keypad as Beast picks up the paper bag. This time it isn’t my stomach that grumbles, but Ford’s. I frown at that, noticing for the first time how loose his clothes hang from his frame.
“Just because,” he shrugs, dropping his gaze and scuffing the toe of his boot against the dusty concrete.
“You want in my club, you need to tell me why,” I insist, studying him.
He heaves out a sigh, stuffing his hands in his pockets to try and hide how much they’re shaking. This kid wants to learn how to fight more than anything, and that in and of itself is concerning.
“Come on, kid. Out with it,” Beast says, glancing at me before holding up the paper bag and handing it to him.
Ford takes it automatically, looking up at him from beneath his dirty blonde hair, hunger then shame flicking across his features. “What’s this?”
Beast jerks his chin at the paper bag. “There’s a coffee and a couple of chocolate croissants there if you want ‘em.”
“I’m not hungry,” Ford replies, trying to push the paper bag back into Beast’s hands.
“Yeah, and I’m not taking no for an answer,” Beast replies, shoving it back at him as he meets my gaze. I nod. We both know we’re letting this boy in, and I couldn’t love the man any more at that moment. “If you want to learn how to fight you need to fuel up first. I ain’t training nobody who’s gonna faint in the first five minutes in the cage. Got it?”
“So you’re gonna train me then?” he asks, and for the first time since meeting him, I see a little hope fill his gaze.
“Only if you tell me why you want to learn how to fight,” I persist, my fingers hovering over the keypad.
Ford clutches the paper bag in his fingers and meets my gaze. “So that the next time my stepdad beats on me, I can kill the fucking prick.”
“Then I guess you’ve come to the right place,” I reply, tapping in the code and pulling open the door.
* * *
Ford eatsour breakfast but leaves the coffee stating that it tastes like shit, and for the next hour trains with us. By the time we’ve finished, we’re all covered in a sheen of sweat and Ford is near collapse. I’ve got to hand it to him though, he’s got the kind of grit you need in order to pass muster at Tales and has kept up despite his clear lack of nutrition. The kid needs to eat a good fucking meal, or ten.
“You might want to take a shower,” Beast remarks, chucking Ford a towel from the stack piled up on the shelving unit next to the door of the changing room. “Here’s some shower gel and shampoo. Go knock yourself out.”
Ford catches the items, scowling as he swipes a hand through his sweat-slicked hair. “I don’t need your charity.”
“This ain’t charity, mate, this is for my nose. You stink. Go shower before our members start to arrive or don’t come back here again,” Beast replies with a shrug.
