Page 25 of Dynamo
Yup, I sure as hell did. Knuckles could match anyone’s aggression. His manager wasn’t too happy, but Knuckles ignored him. We were working out in the gym we underground fighters used. It wasn’t a high-tech one; this was old-school, with the grizzled trainers to boot. They were aware we fought underground but didn’t care.
“Heard you run tyres,” Knuckles said after our bout.
“Yeah?”
“At the junkyard?”
“Fantastic for building stamina and muscle,” I agreed.
“Wouldn’t mind joining you.”
I handed him my cell. “Put your digits in. I’ll tell you the next time I’m going. It should be Saturday or Sunday.”
“That would be great. Morning is the best for me,” he replied, handing my phone back.
“Yeah, can do that. I’ll send a message.”
Knuckles nodded and headed out of the gym. I grabbed my bag, walked to the door, and stoppedwhen Mike blocked me.
“Hey,” he murmured, checking me over. Seeing the bruises gone, he frowned.
“What do you want, Mike?”
“To check on you; you took a beating the other night,” he stated.
Amused, I snorted. “Mike, I’m a fighter. Knuckles is still recovering. I gave as good as I got.”
“The ring’s not the place for you,” he said, and I blinked. Had I heard him right?
“Says who?” I demanded hotly.
“Me. You don’t belong there,” Mike replied.
“Are you fuckin’ dictating to me? Who the hell do you think you are, Mike?”
“Someone who cares. Knuckles hurt you; he could have killed you. You got a death wish or something?” Mike demanded.
“What the fuck?” I was floored for several reasons. Who did Mike think he was, trying to tell me what to do? And suicide? If I did, that was none of his business.
“Mike, I’m a trained fighter, and I don’t fuckin’ answer to you,” I snarled.
“Your problem, Dynamo, is that you don’t answer to anyone. You’re a loose cannon,” Mike snapped.
I checked Mike over before circling him. “Nope. Don’t see it.”
“What?” Mike demanded, puzzled.
“A Royal Bastard patch. They’re the only ones I let talk to me like that. Fuck you, asshole.”
I walked away, but Mike wasn’t done. “Somedemons you can’t beat into submission.”
Temper riled, I spun so quickly that he stepped back, startled. “You knownothingabout my nightmares. Don’t presume you do!”
“Know when someone’s running.”
“Do I look like I’m running? God, I loathe motherfuckers like you. Think you have all the answers, don’t ya? You’ve got shit. Stay the hell away from me, Mike. The underground is my home, not yours, Daddy Perfect.”
With that jab, I left the building furious, hit my bike, and headed for the open road. I needed to ride.
