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Nix
“What’s the holdup?” Max grumbled as we stood in Bryson’s back room. It doubled as his office and apartment, depending on what day of the week it was.
There was an old threadbare couch pushed up against the wall, littered with cushions and a ratty throw. Framed posters of some of boxing’s greats hung around the room. The place smelled of old sweat, but it was familiar in all the ways that mattered. Bryson wasn’t exactly what I’d call a father figure, but he’d been there for me when no one else had. And yeah, maybe he exploited that a little, but he’d never made me do anything I hadn’t wanted to.
He just didn’t believe in doing things out of the kindness of your heart.
In a place like The Row, everything had a price, and Bryson’s favors were no different.
“Aw that’s right, rich boy isn’t used to waiting,” Zane drawled.
“Fuck you, man. You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough. Walking in here like you’re somebody when really you’re—”
“Z, knock it off,” I said.
“Seriously, you’re taking his side?”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side. But Bryson will be here soon, and I don’t want—”
The door flung open and the man in question appeared. “You’ve got five minutes,” he grunted, throwing his keys down on the table.
“I want to fight.”
“Come again, kid?”
“You heard me,” Max pulled to his full height, “I want to fight.”
Deep, teasing laughter rumbled in Bryson’s chest as I stood there dumbfounded. It was the last thing I’d expected Max to say. I’d assumed he’d come here to score drugs or some under the table work.
But to fight?
The kid had balls of steel, I’d give him that.
“How old are you, kid? Fifteen?”
“Sixteen.”
“Give it a couple of years, beef up a little, come back and see me and we’ll talk then.”
“I can’t wait that long. I need to fight now.”
“Now? Now?” Bryson leaned back on the edge of his desk, crossing his ankles. “That’s not how shit around here works. You think you get to waltz in here and start throwing demands around like a spoiled brat? I don’t know what Nix told you—”
“Whoa, I didn’t tell him shit,” I said, holding up my hands. “I only set up the introduction.”
“I can pay you.”
A ripple went through the room. Zane and Kye both looked at me as if to say, ‘What the fuck?’
“Let me get this straight. You want to pay me to let you fight? What’s your game, kid?”
“No game, I swear. I’m just here to fight.” For the first time since walking through the door to Buster’s, Max looked visibly uncomfortable. The kid had swagger, that was for sure, and shit ton of arrogance. But there was something lurking beneath the surface that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
Bryson stroked his cheek, studying Max.
“You’re not actually considering it?” Zane broke the tense silence. “He’s barely out of kindergarten.”
