Lazarus (The Henchmen MC 7)

The entire fucking place had been burned to the ground during their issues with the Abruzzo family a few months back and it was proving a long, drawn-out process to get it back into working condition.

"Idiot contracting company needs to be fired. If Repo catches any more of them smoking pot when they're supposed to be working, heads are going to fucking roll."

"So where were you last night? I could have used one less woman in my bed," Cyrus said, not looking the least bit put off by such an unfortunate situation as a foursome.

"Found a woman of my own and took her to my bed," I offered, it being completely true even if the insinuation wasn't. "Which is why I'm here. Edison already agreed to cover my shifts so I..."

"Say no more," Cyrus cut me off, slapping a hand on the back of my shoulder. "You get all up in there. But... don't fucking put a goddamn ring on it, alright?" he asked, shaking his head. "I can't be going to the bars and picking up chicks with Reeve and Edison."

"The fuck is wrong with me?" Reeve asked, un-offended. "I took one of them off your hands last night."

"He's a Debbie fucking Downer and he knows it," Cyrus went on. "And Edison scares the chicks away with that growl of his. And if that's not bad enough. With his ridiculous standards, he's the worst fucking wingman on the planet."

"Not putting a ring on it, don't worry," I assured him. "I appreciate the reprieve."

"We'll see you for the fight on Monday though, right?" Cyrus asked, jazzed up to get to see me in the ring.

I didn't fight often. Not anymore.

Back when Ross first hired me, I fought pretty much weekly. But after about a year, I proved my worth as a guard instead and spent more nights doing that than fighting, leaving that for the younger or more blood-thirsty of fighters. I still went in the ring when I needed to- when someone requested me in particular because I made them a lot of money sometime or because another fighter got too hurt, threw in the towel, or was too drunk or high to be any fun to watch get his ass kicked.

So since I started being a probate several months before, I hadn't needed to get in a ring but once and that was when I was way too new to The Henchmen for any of them to give a damn about showing up.

My fight on Monday was therefore a big deal to my fellow probates as well as some of the patched members who informed me that they were coming... and betting against me.

I didn't bother to tell them that they would lose.

If there was anything I knew I could do, aside from cook, it was win a fight. Part of that was just childhood and adolescent skirmishes that turned into early adulthood bar fights. The bigger part, though, was thanks to Ross Ward and his ability to "work with" desperation.

He had made me what I was in more ways than one, taking a big brother role to someone who had no one else in the world. Ross wasn't a warm and fuzzy kind of guy and therefore he would never claim the same kind of bond with me, but I knew without a doubt that he felt the same with me. I was probably the only person save for himself who had ever been allowed inside his residence.

That was just how he was.

Which was why he worked with me so much when I first agreed to work with him.

He actually preferred I didn't fight either.

But Monday night was the biggest fight night of the week and while he had four other fighters doing their two fights, the third fight was missing a major player thanks to a fight earlier the week which knocked three of a guy's teeth loose and he needed to have implants put in. He would be down for a while and all his other good fighters were already fighting.

Mine would be the last fight of the night against a guy named Igor who was about twice my size but only a third as trained. The fools who didn't know me would bet on him.

And they would lose huge.

Me? I'd rake it in.

So would Ross and anyone else who bet on the underdog.

It was going to be a good fight.

Quite frankly, I could use the release too. I was due.

The only problem I currently had was, well, I was worried about leaving Bethany.

But I would have to do what I had to do and, by then, she should be at least somewhat better than she was going to before the next two days.

"Alright. Anything I need to know or are we good?" I asked as they went about making coffee and heating up leftover Chinese from two nights ago because I wasn't around to cook for them.