When the client left,ecstatic at his baby being all good again, and not mentioning walking in on usfighting, my belly growled.”Breakfast?” I asked Enzo and thumbed behind me at the cafe next door.
“Nah, ate at our place, and Robbie’s made stuff for lunch, and we’re eating it in his room.” He waggled his eyebrows at that. Jesus, they were insatiable.
“Wait here for a bit. I’m heading next door for me and Lyric.”
“Cool.”
Carter’s café was busy with the usual weekday shuffle—locals grabbing sandwiches, work crews picking up coffees, a couple of teenagers raiding the chip rack.
Simon, owner and all-around nice guy, glanced up from behind the counter and gave me the nod. “Rio.”
“Hey,” I said, heading for the line.
People knew me here. Some nodded, a couple said hi. I nodded back, did my best to smile. No one stared. No one whispered. Around here, I was the guy who fixed cars and kept to himself. It was strangely comforting not to have people avoid me because I was big, broken, or an ex-con.
I scanned the sandwich menu for something Lyric might enjoy but had no fucking idea. Was he a provolone kind of guy? Olives? I grabbed a selectionof Doritos and chips in various flavors, along with an armful of cold cans from the fridge.
I hesitated at the counter, then decided to throw myself on Simon’s mercy.
“Can I get two?” I asked, glancing at Simon. “Different ones because I don’t know what he eats.”
Simon raised an eyebrow. “Uh… then get two that you love, and he can choose whichever.”
“Sounds good.”
He bagged up a chicken salad and a ham and cheese, then added them to the pile of snacks and drinks on the counter.
“Got a new recruit?” he asked, jerking his chin in the vague direction of the garage.
“Something like that.” I paid, gave him a grunt of thanks, and turned to leave—only to run straight into the guy behind me.
“Holy shit, you’re Villareal!” he blurted out, eyes going wide with recognition. “Rio Villareal. In person.”
I blinked. “Yeah?”
“Heard you’re fighting Saturday. Against Bruno Cortez. That’s gonna be a tough one. Word is, he one-punched a guy in some underground fight in Sacramento. Laid him out cold. They say he’s unbeatable.” Christ, he was a squirrel on crack.
I stared at him for a long beat, deadpan. “He hasn’t met me.”
The guy laughed as if that was the best thing he’d heard all week, glancing around as if he expected others to join in. I didn’t. They didn’t.
Funny. I’d been wound tight all morning, snarling about Lyric and the chaos he brought, overthinking every twitch and look. And yet, the thought of stepping into a ring with Bruno?
That made me feel alive.
Excited.
Focused.
I headed back to the garage with the bags in hand and placed them in the refrigerator for lunch, something close to a grin curling at the edge of my mouth.
I can deal with Lyric.
It’s all good.
FIFTEEN
Lyric
