Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland 2)

“I’m here to see Jensen,” I said firmly, making sure both of them knew I wasn’t fucking about.

“Jensen is out of town.” He shrugged. “He’s away on business. Why do you want him?”

I didn’t trust Don Lockwood one bit and I didn’t like the way he was eyeballing me. This guy was twice my age, but I could tell he fancied his chances. I also knew he’d been involved in the whole money laundering bullshit that Emily’s Dad was on trial for. We could never pin anything on him, but he was knee deep in the shit. The fact that he’d got away with it and ghosted Alec Winters ever since must’ve made him feel untouchable. But as far as I was concerned, nobody was unbeatable. If he came at me, I’d come back even harder.

“I didn’t expect to see you here today. Not at the trial?” I asked, hoping to get a rise out of him.

He gritted his teeth as he reluctantly responded.

“That trial has nothing to do with me or my family.”

“Shit always floats to the top, huh?” I glared back at him, daring him to fight back. He didn’t like that I wasn’t cowering away.

“I wouldn’t know,” he said, putting his nose in the air like he was better than me. “There’s no room for cheats and liars in my world.”

“But lies don’t stay buried for long.”

We stared at each other for a few seconds until the tense moment was broken by his wife, Karen, coming out into the hallway. She took one look at me and she gasped.

“Oh my God. You look just like…”

She didn’t get to finish what she was saying. Don Lockwood spun around and charged over to her, grabbing her arm aggressively and marching her away from where we stood.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d leave our house,” he snapped over his shoulder. “We have nothing for you here.”

My back went up at the way he dragged his wife away. Guess that’s where Jensen got his sadistic streak from. Like father, like son.

“I thought my family were freaks.” I laughed. “But yours take the fucking cake. Enjoy living your lies, Lockwood. Tell Jensen I’ll be waiting for him.”

He didn’t reply, just stood gawping at me like the fool he was.

I turned and walked away, but all I’d achieved through my visit was a larger chip on my shoulder and an even stronger urge to hit something.

When I got to the gym, I headed straight for the boxing area, bypassing the weights and the cardio machines. Since coming back to Sandland, I’d used the place to work out and train for my comeback fight, but they didn’t employ me anymore. After bailing on them following the incident with Harper’s brother, they gave me my cards. But luckily, I hadn’t burnt every bridge, and Ken, the manager, still let me use the facilities. It was a good job too, because I was wired and ready to explode.

It was busy, but I found a free punch bag towards the back of the room. I took my t-shirt off, and after one of the guys helped me to tape up my hands, I got to work, imagining Jensen’s face as I pounded the leather. I was so engrossed in hitting the bag with as much force as I could, I didn’t notice anyone close by, not until I felt a hand tap my shoulder. I stopped and pulled the headphones out of my ears.

“Brandon. It’s good to see you.” Pat Murphy clapped me on the back like he was a proud father.

“Pat.” I nodded, feeling too zoned-out to give him anything more.

“You’re in good shape,” he said, looking me up and down.

“Thanks.” I went to put my headphones back in, but he put a hand on my arm to stop me.

“I know you’re back to fighting for your boys again, but hear me out, okay. I still want you to come and fight for me.”

I shook my head. I’d already made my mind up on this. It wasn’t up for discussion again.

“I already told you, I’m not interested. I made a promise to my friends and I don’t let people down.”

“I understand that, and I’m not saying you can’t still fight for them, but if you fight for me too, we could really make something here. You should be fighting on a bigger stage. Punching for the big bucks not for fucking bets. What do you even make on those nights? Hundreds? If you fight for me, I could add a zero to that number.”

Pat was a good guy, but I wasn’t born yesterday.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I need the best fighters on my books. You’re the best I’ve seen in years. I have contacts in the U.S. and I’m setting up a few fights. Bare-knuckle boxing isn’t legal over there like it is here, but there’s ways around it. Don’t you want to be a champion?”