Smolder: Trojans MC (59 page)

Chapter Twenty

“So, it’s like a promotion?” Kelly asked as she tried to wrangle Sophie into her shoes.

“If it goes well, yes. I know you see the bikers at the club and I just wanted you to hear it from me first. Falcon was sipping a cup of coffee in Kelly’s apartment. It was early in the morning the next day. He had slept fitfully for a few hours and woken up before the sun. There had been nothing from Grace that night or this morning. He had his phone set to the highest volume and was checking it every other minute, but still no word.

He sent her three more texts imploring her to call him, but still he was met with only silence. His waking hours had been a struggle against imagining something very real being wrong. Was Grace all right? Was the investigation still moving forward? The silence was disconcerting. He was ready to give the cops a huge bust against the Screaming Eagles, if only the cops would return his calls.

“Do you want to move up in the gang, Falcon? I thought you wanted to get out,” Kelly said as she sent Sophie to her room for a sweater.

“I want to make some money, Kelly. For Sophie and for you,” he stopped unsure of what to tell her next. In truth he was planning on getting out of the Screaming Eagles, to destroy his old club from the inside out. But he couldn’t tell Kelly that. He didn’t want to burden her with that kind of knowledge.

“I am happy for you. I just don’t want you to end up in jail, that’s all,” Kelly said.

“You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to jail,” Falcon replied with a rueful smile.

“And what about the fights? Does this at least get you out of them? You know how much I hate that.”

“The fights are still happening today,” he admitted. “But hopefully this’ll be the last time I have to do it.

“Good, I don’t want our daughter getting used to you with a face full of bruises and cuts.”

“Hey, Sophie!” he said, a huge smile appearing on his face as his fully dressed and ready to go daughter bounded into the living room. “Want to get some breakfast?”

“Yes!” she cried, her hands up the air. It was one of the things Falcon loved about her. No matter where they went or what they did, she was always happy and eager and ready to go. He knew that, eventually, she would grow into a sullen teenager, but he was glad to able to spend this time with her now, when everything was new and exciting.

He checked his phone again in the car and all throughout breakfast, but there was no message or call from Grace. It was making Falcon uneasy. Was there something wrong, a hitch in the plan? If something bad went down, could Falcon really count on Grace to save him, or would she leave him hanging in the wind? At breakfast he tried to focus on Sophie, he cut up her pancakes for her and let her drink as much chocolate milk as she wanted and she was dead asleep when he gave her back to Kelly.

“I might not be around too much the next couple of days,” Falcon said. Sophie was asleep in his arms and he put her down into her bed and watched her for a moment as she slept in that deep sleep reserved for little children.

“I’m glad you took her to breakfast,” Kelly said. “If she asks, I’ll just say you’re working.” Falcon glanced down at her and could see the worry in her eyes. “Don’t fight today,” she begged with a whisper.

“I have to. But it’s the last time, I promise,” he said.

“Be careful, Falcon,” Kelly said and with a chaste kiss on the cheek he left the apartment and walked out into the still early morning.

There was nothing from Grace. Falcon had no one else in the police department he could talk to. His only connection was Grace and he wanted to keep it that way, but he was in charge of a major operation now. He wanted the operation to fail, and for Grace to succeed and make her busts, but he couldn’t do that if she never called him back.

Falcon arrived back at his small one-bedroom apartment and started getting ready for that day’s fight. He washed his hair and shaved away the previous day’s stubble. Wearing a pair of gym shorts and a white tank top Falcon began to warm up. He lifted his strong arms high above his head and stretched before taping his knuckles and slipping into his sneakers.

In the small patch of grass he called a backyard, Falcon had set up a punching bag on a post buried deep into the ground. He took a few deep breaths and brought his hands up, bouncing on his feet and jabbing at the bag. He hit it hard and sent the bag swinging around. It felt good to fight; it felt good to hit something.

The Screaming Eagles were famous for their weekly fights. It wasn’t just members of the club who came. Anyone who got an invitation could come to the clubhouse for the fight. But invitations for non-members were hard to come by. Only the boss could invite people to the fights; the rest of the gang had no power over them.

There was also a lot of money in the fights. The men who won for the week got five thousand in cash, plus whatever bets they made. It was a normal part of the experience for the fighters to bet on themselves. Falcon always bet big, if not huge. All of the money he won in the fights was put away for Sophie. So far he had about forty thousand dollars tucked away for her, all earned through the fights. He made the stakes high so he would have no other option than to win.

He continued to punch and jab at the bag. His phone was on a stump next to him. There was still nothing from Grace. Where was she? Why wasn’t she calling him? Had he done something wrong the other night? But no, there was no chance of that. He had made her come over and over again, what problem could she have with that.

Falcon pounded on the bag, sending his fist into the canvas and sending the bag spinning and flying. He wiped the sweat from his brow and continued to fight the bag until it was time to leave. He didn’t want to overdo it in training and after an hour he stopped. He picked up the phone and dialed Grace’s number, but all he got was her voicemail and he hung up without bothering to leave a message.

He dressed and drove to the club. He parked his bike with all the others and grabbing his gym bag he walked into the crowded clubhouse. A cheer went up as he entered and Falcon gave a half-hearted wave as he walked to the bathroom to change. The bar was filled to capacity, and there were a lot of non-members there. Falcon knew the boss charged the non-members to come and see the fight, but Falcon had no idea how much it cost them to get in and it suddenly struck him that his boss had been profiting from the fights and not sharing any of it with the actual fighters. Falcon was in that pit getting hit every other week; the boss was in his office or drinking and watching and collecting every last penny.

Dominos were lining up against Ernie. How had Falcon not noticed how corrupt he was until now? They were in a biker gang, so a certain amount of corruption was expected, but it should never have been at the expense of his members. He was supposed to look out for the brothers, to protect them and lead them, not profit from their misery.

Falcon didn’t feel the usual rush of adrenaline that came before a fight. Normally he would be pumped up, a bundle of energy that couldn't stop moving. But that was the old Falcon, the one who still believed in the gang. The new Falcon was less enthused; he had seen between the cracks in the Screaming Eagles organization and had realized there was nothing but rot underneath. He was going through the motions, fighting because it was expected of him, not because he wanted to win.

He dressed quickly while he listened to the hoots and hollers coming from the other side of the door. How was it he was just understanding how barbaric this was right now? How had he not realized it years ago? He was about to go out there and beat up another foot soldier for the entertainment of rich pricks from LA who had paid a pretty penny to come and watch the poor guys from the other side of the tracks hit each other.

Falcon looked at himself in the mirror. He looked as his dark eyes and his dark hair and the muscles that poured out from his tank top. He put a tough and intimidating look on his face.

“One last time, Falcon,” he said to himself.

Chapter Twenty-One

“And now, the main man we’re all here to see...Falcon Marks!” A cheer went up and it was loud enough to hurt Falcon’s ears through the walls of the bathroom.

His heart started to pound and he could feel his body tense as his body prepared for the fight. He might not care about the Screaming Eagles anymore, but he did still care about the money and if he won today, he would get a lot of money.

Falcon stepped out of the bathroom and lifted both of his hands high in the air as the room around him erupted in shouts and screams. The lights of the clubhouse were all low, except for a large circle in the center of the room where the fights took place. A spotlight found Falcon’s face and he squinted as the bright light overtook his vision and he couldn’t see anything else.

But he could hear the voices and the roars and the calls to the bookies. Falcon felt oddly void of emotion, but no, that wasn’t true. He looked deep within himself; he was feeling something, he just wasn't sure what. He walked down a makeshift path in the clubhouse with men on either side. They were cheering him on and patting him on the back. The room was thick with smoke and the smell of stale beer. Falcon wished he could be outside in the fresh air. That was when he realized he wasn’t void of emotion. There was one left. He was angry.

He was mad that he was doing this and that he had been doing it for years. He had been sacrificing his own life and his body for an organization that didn’t give two shits about him. He had always been good at the fights; he was unquestionably one of the best. But he had never been promoted within the organization. Was it because of the fights? Had the boss kept Falcon a foot soldier so he didn’t lose his favorite form of entertainment?

He slipped his mouth guard in and walked into the room. His first match was a joke, it always was. He didn’t remember the name of the guy waiting for him in the circle. It wasn’t until the announcer shouted the fight’s name Marks v. O’Brian that Falcon remembered. Daniel O'Brien was a newbie. He just joined the gang last year. He was nineteen and thin as a reed. He was tall with some muscles, but not too many, and Falcon wasn’t worried about losing. He was worried about hurting the kid.

He shook the sweaty and shaky hand of Daniel O'Brien as the referee announced the beginning of the fight. The ref was there just for appearance. This was a no-rules, down and dirty fight. A bell was rung and Falcon pulled his fists up and began to move around his opponent. Daniel was pulling a real rookie move, jumping and dancing around, trying to stay out of Falcon’s reach. But this was a fight and he could only dance for so long.

Falcon watched him for a full minute before he took two giant steps forward and made an obvious punch at the kid’s stomach. He blocked it, as Falcon knew he would, and then with his other hand Falcon punched Daniel right in his jaw. It was a solid hit and he fell to his knees. He stumbled for a moment as the men around him screamed and yelled, some encouraging him to get back up, others telling him to fall. But Daniel wasn’t a quitter, Falcon had to give him that. Falcon waited for him to get to his feet and then socked him on the other side of the jaw and the kid went down and didn’t get back up.

The cheers were deafening. It was probably one of the shortest fights on record. The ref jumped back in the ring and lifted Falcon’s hand up as the guys in the club went wild and cheered his name. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see O’Brien struggle to his feet as members of the gang dragged him out of the ring.  He left behind a smear of blood on the clubhouse floor that was quickly cleaned up.

Falcon went round after round. He felt untouchable as he beat every opponent. They were all fellow gang members, some friends, some not. One by one he took them out. He took a few hits himself, mostly to his chest and stomach and one right to his nose. But he wasn't done. He was ready to win. They could throw anyone at him and Falcon knew he could beat them.

He fought like a man possessed; he fought and won every fight of the night. The last fight went six rounds, but when it was over Falcon was the winner and his opponent was knocked unconscious on the floor. He was covered in sweat and blood and bruises and he took out his mouth guard and looked out over the sea of faces cheering him on. The fights were over and bets were being paid.

Falcon pushed his way through the crowd around the ring. Most of the guys he passed weren’t members, just visitors here for the fight. His hand was shook and his back was patted. He made his way to the bathroom. It was more like a locker room with a row of showers and Falcon stripped out of his sweaty and bloody clothes and let the hot water from the shower pour over his sore shoulders.

He had won again. It felt good to win, even he had to admit that. For the longest time being good at the fights was the only good thing Falcon had going for him in the Screaming Eagles. But now, not only was he in charge of a major operation, but he was also working with the cops and screwing the hottest chick he had ever seen.

He took his time with the shower, removing every last trace of blood from his body. When he was done, he stepped out and reached for his phone. He was confident Grace had returned his calls. She had to return them at some point. But when he turned on his phone, his stomach dropped and disappointment flooded through him.

He had a lot going for him at the moment and somehow the fights had taken a backseat. As he turned off the shower he realized this might be his last fight ever. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could play the double agent, or even how much longer the Screaming Eagles would be around. Would he miss the fights? It was too early to say. He did enjoy the thrill of it and the feeling of being a winner.

Falcon changed into clean clothes and left the locker room, walking back out into the clubhouse. Now that the fights were over most of the non-members had been sent on their way and there were only Screaming Eagles left.

There was a line of them at the bar and when Falcon joined them they barely even glanced in his direction. He ordered a beer and stood there awkwardly as no one looked at him or spoke to him. He felt invisible. Normally, after a fight it was the one time the rest of the gang members remembered he was alive, but this time they were giving off a strange vibe. They were standoffish and Falcon didn’t know why and it worried him.

A member came up to the bar and gave Falcon a curt nod before turning away. He couldn’t help it; his imagination began to run wild. Why were they acting like this? Did they know something he didn’t? Were they mad Falcon was always winning the fights, were they jealous of him?

Or maybe the job by the boss was a setup. Maybe they all knew he was working for the cops and they were giving him just enough rope to hang himself with.
No!
he thought to himself. It was dangerous to start to question everything and doubting himself. He needed to stay confident; his confidence had gotten him this far and he needed to keep using it.

But he had so many questions and was unsure about so many things. He needed to talk to Grace. He needed her opinion and expertise right now. And he missed her. He missed her green eyes and her body; he missed being able to hold her in his arms. He grabbed his phone and dialed her number again, and again it went straight to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me. You need to call me now. Right now.” He hung up the phone and looked at the men around him trying to figure out what they knew. He kept his face a blank mask as he looked from man to man, and each face he encountered quickly looked the other way. But his resolved was firm, whether or not the Screaming Eagles knew what he was up to, Falcon wasn’t done yet. He was still going to bring them down.