I tell no one where I’m going.
The abandoned gym squats in the industrial district like a rotting tooth, all crumbling brick and boarded windows.
The kind of place that exists in the spaces between legitimate businesses and outright crime.
I park two blocks away, my cassock exchanged for jeans and a dark hoodie that makes me feel like I’m wearing someone else’s skin.
The side door is unlocked. Inside, the air reeks of sweat and cigarette smoke and decades of violence soaked into concrete floors.
A single bare bulb swings from a frayed cord, casting shadows that dance across punching bags hanging like corpses from rusted chains.
“Father Cross.” Tommy’s voice cuts through the darkness, smooth as aged whiskey and twice as dangerous. “Or should I call you Adrian? Hard to remember which name goes with which life.”
He steps into the light, and I catalog the changes twenty years have carved into him.
Still broad-shouldered, still moving with that fighter’s balance, but his hair has gone gray at the temples and his face bears the map of too many hits taken, too many given.
The scar through his left eyebrow is new.
So is the slight hitch in his walk that suggests old injuries never properly healed.
But his eyes are the same.
Cold. Calculating.
Seeing straight through to the violence I’ve spent two decades trying to bury.
“Tommy.” I keep my voice level, my hands loose at my sides despite every instinct screaming to curl them into fists. “What do you want?”
His smile is all teeth and no warmth. “Straight to business. I always liked that about you, kid. No bullshit, just blood and bone.” He circles me slowly, and I force myself not to track his movement, not to shift into a fighting stance. “You look good. Clean living agrees with you. Though I gotta say, the priest thing threw me. Adrian Crosswell, the meanest son of a bitch I ever promoted, trading his gloves for a collar.”
“That life is over.”
“Is it?” Tommy stops in front of me, close enough that I can smell the cigarettes on his breath. “Because I’ve got a proposition that says otherwise. Fifty thousand dollars. One fight. Underground tournament, three rounds, winner takes all.”
The number hits me like a punch to the gut. Fifty thousand. Enough to fix St. Michael’s roof. Enough to cover Charlie’s grandmother’s medical bills. Enough to solve problems that keep me awake at night, praying for miracles that never come.
“No.” The word comes out rougher than I intend.
Tommy’s eyebrow rises. “You didn’t even think about it.”
“I don’t need to think about it. I’m not that man anymore.”
“Aren’t you?” He moves to the heavy bag, giving it a testing punch that makes the chains rattle. “I’ve been watching you, Adrian. Saw you at that church of yours. Saw the way your hands curl into fists when you’re stressed. Saw you in the basement gym, working that bag like it owes you money.” His eyes find mine, knowing and cruel. “You can put on the collar and quote all the scripture you want, but violence doesn’t leave. It just waits.”
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache. He’s right, and we both know it.
The violence is still there, coiled in my chest like a sleeping serpent.
I feel it every time someone threatens what’s mine, every time I watch Charlie walk away and want to follow, every time Marcus or Elijah look at her with the same hunger burning through my veins.
“The answer is no.”
Tommy shrugs, pulling a cigarette from his jacket pocket. “Your choice. But the offer stands for two weeks. After that, I find someone else.” He lights up, the flame briefly illuminating his face in harsh relief. “You know, I’ve noticed you’ve got people you care about now. That pretty young woman who’s always at the church. Auburn hair, curves that could make a saint stumble. What’s her name? Charlie?”
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. The violence I’ve been suppressing surges forward, hot and immediate, and my hands are fists before I can stop them. Tommy sees it, and his smile widens.
“Easy, Father. Just an observation. She seems sweet. Vulnerable. The kind of girl who needs protecting in this ugly world.” He takes a long drag, exhaling smoke that curls between us like a threat. “Fifty thousand could protect a lot of people. Could solve a lot of problems. Think about it.”
