But now, surrounded by the sounds of fists making contact with a heavy bag, the stale smell of sweat in the air...I clenched my fists at my sides, unfurled my hands and then closed them again. I could feel myself getting the itch to fight, and I told myself to shut it down.
But shit, on the other hand, all the working out I was doing now, the weight lifting, wasn't doing me any fucking good. Letting my fist connect with something might be what I needed.
It might even be goddamned therapeutic, I thought, smiling wryly at the thought of what MacKenzie's therapist might think. Somehow I thought beating the ever living shit out of someone else wouldn't exactly fit the bill.
"You want to give it a try?" Blaze asked. "Get in the ring with one of those guys, spar a little?"
My muscles tensed up at the thought of it, twitched at the idea of getting in there with one of them. It was like my whole fucking body was on high alert, every fiber tensed up and coiled.
Motherfucking right I wanted to get in there. But there was a rational part of me, a small part of me, that said it would be a bad idea, that I didn't want to cross that line, that I couldn't control myself, once I started. Just like it was with Tink.
For a minute, the image of Tink, broken and bloody, flashed through my mind's eye. I thought about how it had felt, smashing the sledgehammer through his body over and over again, first hearing the sound of bones crunching, then everything just going...softer...as there was nothing left to bludgeon into oblivion. The rage that coursed through my veins at the idea of what he'd done to my wife.
And the feeling of power. Omnipotence.
Did I want that feeling again? I longed for it.
I was afraid if I tasted it again, I'd never stop. I'd go over the edge. I'd need it, like some kind of junkie.
"Well?" Blaze asked, grinning. "It's pretty fucking fun, I'm not gonna lie."
I shook my head. "No," I said. The word came out slowly, languid, like I was forcing it. It was a lie, and we both knew it. I turned away from the fighters, looked at Blaze. "What's the job, Blaze?"
"This isn't the place where the fights happen, obviously," he said. "We're not set up for that kind of shit here. This is just for hobby purposes, training for the couple guys who are doing it."
"So it happens at Benicio's locations."
He nodded. "Yeah. He's got some warehouses he's using for it. Takes bets on the outcomes. It's small shit here, honestly, but the Vegas ones are getting to be more...lucrative. The chapter out in Vegas is acting as muscle at the fights, but he wants an additional layer of security."
"Cameras?" I asked.
"Something like the casinos use," Blaze said. "Eye in the sky or some shit like that. Make sure no one's pulling out a camera phone and recording or anything. Shit that would be used as evidence. You know how people are. We do patdowns, make sure no one has a camera, but it's easy enough to hide something if you're motivated."
"When does he need it?" I still wasn't sure I wanted to get involved, however tangentially it was, in any more club bullshit. Even if it was more of Benicio's thing and less of a club thing.
And even if it involved this fighting shit. Especially if it involved this fighting shit. I needed to stay far, far away from that. I could feel it in my bones.
"As soon as you can do it," Blaze said. "It's Benicio, so you know he's not exactly stingy. He'll pay you fair. Cash. You have to keep it separate from anything else you're doing, that goes without saying."
I tossed Blaze a dark look. If that fucker thought something had changed with me, that retirement had somehow made me disloyal, then maybe I fucking needed to remind him of how loyal I'd been to this goddamned club.
"I thought you might be interested, since this is your area," Blaze said, interrupting my thoughts. "Easy cash, in and out, no questions. Figure I'd rather give the job to someone I trust, a brother, than outsource it somewhere else. Benicio's on board with it, didn't have a guy of his own that came to mind right away, so I told him you might be willing."
I felt my hands relax as he talked, unfurl from their tight clench. Blaze didn't think I was disloyal after all. He still counted me as a brother.
"You heading back to Vegas tonight?" he asked. Then, before I could answer that I was, he said, "You should stay. Prospects are going to grill, got a party going on, some low-key shit though, nothing crazy. But those guys are gonna go at it. For practice."
I nodded. "All right," I said. "I'll stay."
It was fucking strange being at a club party after being away for two years. Strange and familiar all at the same time. I didn't know some of these guys, but most of them were old friends. People I'd considered friends a long time ago.
A brother named Gunner clapped me on the shoulder. "Hammer!" he said, stopping when I looked at him the way I did. "Oh shit, is that not cool? I thought you knew that's what everybody's been calling you."
I took a drag on my beer. "No, you fuckstick," I said. "I didn't know."