Reese

“How much smaller?”

“Maybe ten or fifteen less than usual.”

I curse because that’s a fucking lot, especially from just one area.

“You see anyone hanging around acting suspiciously?”

He shakes his head. “I keep my head down and keep to myself. Are you sure you’re not a cop?”

“I’m sure. I own the gym over on Henderson.”

He looks me up and down, not in a pervy way but in an assessing way.

“I’m more of a handful than I look.” I wink when I see him look at me like I might be a little bit nuts for owning a fighting gym.

“I’ve gotta go, but if you ever need anything or if you see something shady you think I might need to know, stop by and ask for Malice. You got a name?”

“Bill. Wait, did you say Malice? I’ve heard of you.” His look now holds a bit of awe and, dare I say it, a little bit of hope.

“You got out. Why did you come back?”

“Because someone is hurting these people. My people. I might have left the streets, but the streets never really left me. Some days I forget for a minute that I made it. I wake up, and my first thought is survival. It’s a hard habit to break.”

“You go looking for trouble, you could get hurt.”

“Maybe. But the fear of pain has never stopped me before. If anything, it fuels me.”

I pull a nickel-plated penknife from my pocket. It’s nothing expensive that will draw attention, but it will offer him a token measure of protection like it once did me.

I hand it to him, which he hesitantly takes.

“There is something bad out here, really bad. If someone tries to hurt you, use this and come find me.”

He rubs his thumb over the brass plate where the initials AL are engraved.

“Who is AL?”

“Someone who died a long time ago.”

I stand up and brush myself off. “Take care of yourself, Bill.”

With my takeout in hand, I offer him a quick wave as I leave him to his food.

I pick up a few things and head to the local realtor to see if they have a lead on any properties that might suit me. The woman takes my information and says she’ll call me.

With nothing left to do, I head back to the motel, drop off my purchases, and eat the cold noodles and rice.

Thinking about everything Sugar and I talked about, I realize that whatever the deal is with the guys, it has to take a back seat to everything else. I need them. Maybe we can scratch each other’s backs, depending on what their end game is. Either way, Hank is right. Law is a great source of information to have at my fingertips. I’d be stupid not to see what he knows.

Not having anyone’s number means heading back to the gym. I change out of my jeans and Henley into tight black yoga pants and a matching sports bra before tossing an oversized Willow Creek sweatshirt I pilfered from Dulce over it.

I shove my sneakers on, looking around for my damn key card. Finally, I find the card on the bathroom counter and shove it in my backpack along with my wallet, the gym keys, a bottle of water, and a towel.

As much as I’d like to take the bike, yoga pants don’t offer much in the way of protection if I fall, so I opt to take the truck instead. When I arrive, I’m surprised to see how busy it is. A glance at my watch shows it’s just after seven pm, earlier than I thought it was.

Heading inside, I shove my bag into my locker and make my way to the main room, nodding to people as they offer me hellos. Some of them look vaguely familiar, but none of them automatically stands out until I find Blink bearing down on me.

“What the fuck, Malice? I’ve been worried sick.”