The Way Back To You

Chapter 7

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A L E X
 

I hold onto the steering wheel so tightly, my nails make little half-moon indents in the leather. My palms are pressed against the horn, and my knuckles have lost all their color.

A surge of rage and irritation balloons in my chest and I bring my car to a jarring stop at the light, narrowly missing the edge of the car in front of me.

How dare they?

Talk about me like that?

About what I do, about my family, and my profession and...And those girls...

They have no damn right to make such allegations against me, assume things like that and judge me. What I do is none of their business, and nothing of it is anything they'd understand either. All they've ever known is a soft life.

Maybe I should have let that little boy get jumped on at the park that time, a few months ago.

Would have taught him a lesson about life, and also would have gotten that red-head and her friends off my case.

I let out a long whistle and sigh, remembering that day in a flash of detail.

Walking by the center, angry after coach admonished me for an almost-lose. I was itching for a fight, and watching that boy crouch down in the corner, hands above his head, eyes wide in fear, utterly helpless....

Reminded me of a certain someone.

Of course, I targeted the source of that vulnerability, so I punched his attacker in the jaw.

And trust me when I say I have absolutely no regrets about it.

But I guess I should have checked my back, because all of a sudden, two more masses of muscle climbed my back and knocked the air out of me. It was a completely unfair battle, and there was no way I could have walked away from it without injuries.

At least the boy, Ethan she said, got away.

I see her face flash up in my memory, nursing my wounds even though it was obvious she had no clue what she was doing. Then thanking me, and then....Speaking so flippantly. I had to let her know that's not how things work. Best she learn it now, then later on...

April. April in November was her name.

Pretty stupid one, if you ask me.

I let out a short breath and switch on my indicator, swerving to the left and meandering down a cross road.

In a derelict, beaten down old factory is the new location for the ring, where I'm headed. Michael, the owner of the whole shebang gets 50 cut of everything. But everything in itself is a large sum of money, and it's what I need to send to them so they can get by.

As long as they're okay, I'm good.

My coach, Lawrence, breeds us boxers to go against other groups. Winners get to move on to the next level of rounds, which take place week after week.

The longer you're in, the more the stakes go up, the higher the bets rise and the more money you make. Winner gets 100% of the profits, but only gets to actually keep half.

The loser walks away empty-handed, and his past earnings from previous rounds are handed over to the winner.

It's a big gamble to continue boxing in each round, and completely up to the contestant. Nothing the coach says can shake him.