When I get home, Seb and Ben are out, and Scott has texted me to say he’s headed to the club early.
I check the time and sigh. Having an office job in the day and then managing the club at night is going to be brutal, but with the amount of money we have to raise, I don’t have a choice.
As I head upstairs, my phone chimes, and it’s a text from Pippa. She tells me that Jones has extended my time with the company until the end of the week.
Thank fuck for that.
Pushing open the door of my room, I fire back a quick ‘ok’, and she just replies with ‘don’t screw this up’.
I smirk. I didn’t like her at all when we first met. I thought she was a snooty, stuck-up bitch, but now she’s starting to remind me of myself. She doesn’t take shit from anyone, and I can imagine she’s a loyal guardian to the women who work for her agency.
I strip out of my clothes, kicking off my heels, and drag my gym bag from under my bed. If I get a move on, I’ll have time for some sparring before I report to the club.
As I change, I calculate how many hours I’ll need to work at both jobs to stay on top of things.
Jones expects me to report between 8 and 9 a.m., and I finish at the club between midnight and 3, depending on the day of the week. I suppose I can get away early most nights if I get Scott to cover the final hour. Accounting for travel, that should give me four hours of sleep a night. That’s plenty. I’ve always been a night owl, and since my mom died and dad went to prison, my sleep patterns are shot to shit anyway.
Pulling on a hoodie that I grab from Scott’s room, I pack my work uniform into my bag so I can go straight to the club after, and head out.
The name of the underground boxing gym I’m a member of is Marlo’s.It’s my favorite place on earth, and I’ve been a member for the last four years.
I jog most of the way, my bag bouncing against my back as I go, but it’s quicker than waiting in traffic on the bus.
Rory at the front desk waves cheerfully as I come through the door.
“Hey Jax! Hopkins was asking about you today.”
“Probably wants a rematch, they got any bets going?” I ask as I search for my pass in the bottom of my bag.
“Of course. There’s not a lot of money going on you against McGregor next week, though. You sure you want to take on The Tank?”
“How else is he gonna learn?” I say with a grin as Rory chuckles and swipes me in.
The gym looks incongruous from the street outside; in fact, when I first saw it, I thought it might be a brothel. The dark overhang makes it look shady as hell, and as you enter, flickering neon lights down the black staircase cast shadows across the walls.
The smell of sweat and something I can’t quite place invades my nostrils as soon as I walk through.
Everything is catered to men here. The floor, ceiling, and equipment are all black steel, with punching bags evenly spaced around the edges. There are two boxing rings in the center, with a massive locker room for the guys at the back. The ladies’ room is the size of two toilet cubicles and not an inch more.
The guys who frequent the club are huge, and I know my limits in terms of how hard I can punch, but my technique and speed match almost all of them. I’ve won as many fights as I’ve lost.
I wave to McGregor, a.k.a The Tank. He’s a hulk of a guy, cornrows knotted tightly to his scalp, and so many tattoos he seems to have a new one every week. We’ve sparred before, but I’ve never won against him. He’s become my nemesis, and a lot of the members are taking sides in our rivalry.
“Jax, you want in?” I look up on my way to the locker room. One of the trainers is about to start a class, and that’s perfect for me right now. I have thirty minutes, tops, before I need to be showered and heading across town to Jensons.
“Give me two minutes!”
“We’ll wait for you, get your ass in gear.”
I chuckle as I slam into the women’s locker rooms, shove my bag onto the shelf, and shuck off my hoodie.
Two minutes later, I’m slamming my wrapped fists into a punching bag along with six other guys who grunt and swear as they go, getting all their tension out.
I love boxing and channeling my aggression into something other than my brothers. I adore them, but man, I’m getting sick of solving all their problems for them.
My thoughts nervously flit to Scott as I pray that Nick Monroe follows through on his timeline. I have six more days to get as much money together as I can. I hope a down payment will be enough to stall him for at least a little while.
I beat the shit out of the punching bag, getting some looks from the guys around me, but I don’t care.
