How could I console my brother without feeling like a caged demon that reared its ugly face.
“I’m…” I started to say, trying not to fuck it up anymore. “I’m sorry, brother. I don’t… I don’t know what happened.”
Stray straightened up, stretching his neck from side to side, and rolled his shoulders back, “I do. You got protective.”
Well, that was one way of looking at it, better than possessive.
“And then slightly possessive over a woman that is way too good for you,” he continued.
Well, I was adding possessive to my reasons why I needed her in my life.
He stepped toward me, placing a rough hand on my shoulder and giving it a slight squeeze, “Listen man, before you add a casualty to your running list, make the shit official, and maybe get laid.”
I was fucking trying, at least on the “making it official” shit, but it was more than just getting laid by Amelia. It was about consuming her, making her know who and what she needed. I didn’t know how Hound Dog or Blue or even Hellfire did it. And Blue and Hellfire had kids, they were truly idols. If they couldhold their own and have their family protected and cared for, it makes you wish for the same thing, something fierce.
“Now, let’s get to the fight night before they send the prospects to come fetch us.” Stray joked, almost brushing the whole incident away.
I tried, on the other hand, to clear my mind. Dillon was going to be fighting. A fight that was his way of trying to better himself. One fight would give him a leg up on his education and one that strengthened him, maybe giving him a confidence boost the way I know his fighting style and ego was.
We tried to keep the fight nights to invite only, screening process at least with the help of Greene on the side. It was nice having a man on the inside of the police force.
Though it seemed that it was packed, the moment I stepped in. The crowds rolled in, nervous energy filling the room from the spectators to the fighters and their coaches.
The only fear I had was that Dillon wanted to fight that night in MMA style, while I tried to convince him to change because his strength was in traditional boxing. He argued that he had more power behind his defensive style and the youth to keep him going. I rolled my eyes but thought maybe his youth had a leg up on the competition.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a complete say on who he was going to be fighting, something about being “biased” which was complete bullshit. Stray and Hank handled that; the less I knew the better.
Coaching Dillon with a boot was hell, what Amelia didn’t know was that I was already up and walking better than expected. I would have Hank or Stray take me to the gym on the days that Dillon was there, and I’d coach him the best I could and then hurry my ass up back to the compound, making it seem like I was in bed all day.
Yeah, I wasn’t the perfect patient.
There were a couple of other fights before Dillon but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a chance for him to psych himself out and second guess his own ability. I took my time getting over to his corner of the area, watching him bounce on his touches, tossing his neck from side to side.
A man strode up to me with gusto. “Want in, boss?”
It was an average sized man, bit on the heavier side, he didn’t seem familiar to me. I turned to look around for one of the brothers, no one was in sight.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Lenny.”
“Lenny what?” My voice grew louder.
“Lenny Holts,” he said a little too proudly.
“Lenny, do me a favor and look at the back of my cut and ask me that again,” I challenged him. If he was a regular, he should have known that the brothers are never allowed to bet. Hound’s condition on allowing fight nights to happen behind the scenes.“Let someone else have that addiction, not us.”His words rang true. Gambling addiction was just as dangerous as any other addiction.
His eyes widened, taking a step to the side to look at the patch on the back. Slowly coming to the realization that he fucked up, he nodded and quickly walked away. Not before I noticed that he scurried away to a couple of men in suits. Business looking professionals, a typical type that we get during these nights.
What the fuck was that interaction?
There were usually one or two bookies that we allowed on these nights. I made a mental reminder to ask Hank about it after the night.
The crowds grew restless, wanting the night to begin. For me, it didn’t matter. I had one goal in mind; focus on young Dillon, get him to win, and get him back to burying his nose in those books.
As the night progressed, I stayed by his side. I saw the nerves that started to rattle his body. The fight before his was on the last round, I finally turned to him. “You ready, champ?” I knew I was teasing him, but his face turned white as a ghost.
“Don’t say that, man.” His body became tense.
