Laying a Foundation: Bonus volume: Includes series prequel, The Groundbreaking (The Love Under Construction Series) (9 page)

As soon as he walked in the door, Professor Augustino stopped him. “Peyton, see me after class, please.”
Oh, god, wonder what I’ve done wrong
, Peyton thought. It was too close to graduation to screw anything up.

After class, he hung back. When the room was empty, Professor Augustino motioned for Peyton to follow him to his office. Once inside, he closed the door and pointed at a chair for Peyton.

“Gotten any positives?” the professor asked him.

“Not a single one – another rejection this morning.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I got a call from a guy here in Louisville, an attorney, who’s looking to put together a security team to hire out to his clients who need shadowing, protection, whatever. I know it’s not what you had in mind, but it’s a job, and it would give you experience until you can, well, you know.” Professor Augustino smiled at him and tried to look hopeful.

“I’m not kidding myself anymore.” A gloomy look passed over Peyton’s face. “No police department is going to hire me. And I’m still having trouble with my prosthetic. I don’t know what to do at this point.”

“So do you think you might be interested in working with this guy? If you are, I’ll give you his contact information.”

“Yeah, sure, why not? I don’t have any other prospects. Might as well.”
Oh, great – a life of following cheating housewives around
. He took the contact information and put it in his binder.

“Have a seat, Mr. Stokes. Mind if I call you Peyton?” The tall, blond, muscular attorney pointed to the sofa in his office, and Peyton had a seat.

“No sir, feel free.”
Pretty nice digs
, he thought. Steve McCoy’s office was big and very tastefully decorated, with what looked like extremely expensive art scattered about here and there. “So, I understand you’re just trying to get this off the ground?”

“Yeah. I have clients who are wealthy and they need protection sometimes; not all of my clients, but a few. They sometimes have, how can I say this delicately, questionable business practices, and they make enemies. That’s where we come in.”

Spectacular – career criminals and mafia moguls. No wonder he has a nice-looking office
, Peyton thought. And it wasn’t just the office; it was obvious to Peyton that McCoy knew he was a good-looking man and felt he was somewhat superior to most of the people around him. This was an interesting-looking situation, and Peyton decided maybe this would be a good place to get his feet wet; well, foot wet.

“So, I hear you have a slight difficulty.” McCoy looked at Peyton with a steady eye.

“I have a below-the-knee prosthetic, left leg.” Peyton walked to the side of McCoy’s desk to show him. “I’m having a little trouble with it, but it’ll get worked out, I’m sure. I’ve just got to work with my physical therapist and the orthotist, and it’ll be fine.”

“Well, frankly, I hope so, because I think you’d be great in the field. Until you can get that ironed out, I’ll put you in the office, helping me get everything up and running. There’s a future here for you, if you want it, maybe as a supervisor for the other mercenaries!” McCoy laughed.

“I’d be interested in helping out, especially with startup. I’d really like to help hire the other workers, you know, interviewing and things like that.”

“Good! You know, I like you, Stokes. You seem like an honest guy, and I need that with some of the people I deal with. Plus you were career military and you’re not a kid.” McCoy extended his hand. Peyton took it and shook it firmly. “So, when can you start?”

February 2010

“T
he crowd’s getting rowdy, my man. Time to get out there and do your thing.” Jorge slapped José on the shoulder as the younger man rose. José could hear the crowd, stomping their feet and screaming. He’d both looked forward to and dreaded this night, and it was finally here.

José pulled his waist-length, jet black hair back, and Jorge braided it to keep it out of the way. He twisted his long goatee into a corkscrew and looked in the mirror. The cut above his right eye was healing nicely; he sure hoped it didn’t get reopened.

They took the last walk down the hallway and when the doors opened, José was floored. There had to be five thousand people there, all for the hottest ticket in cage fighting: José Flores versus Devon White. The federation had been promoting it for months and they’d done a good job – every seat was filled. It might not have been the biggest, most prestigious federation, but the fights he won paid the bills.

The spotlight hit him, and José’s whole demeanor changed. What had been an average guy walking down an average hallway suddenly turned into a raging lion, muscles swelling and tingling. He loved the adrenalin rush he got from the crowd, the music, the cage cuties, all of it.

And then there was the cage.

When the fighters walked in and that gate slammed shut, José always felt more alive than anywhere else. It meant that all the work, all the training, and all the frustration and pain he’d lived with all his life had come down to that one slice of time, and he made the most of it. But tonight would be different.

Two of the men Devon White had fought had died. The guy was enormous, a foot taller than José and tough as a Sherman tank. And he’d made it clear: He wanted to fight José Flores, the only fighter on the circuit that he’d been told might actually kick his ass. In White’s mind, this was a night to make sure everyone knew how tough he was. There would be no smack-talking, no dancing around, just fighting and fighting hard. He wanted to take out Flores in the first five minutes, had to, to make sure everyone knew he was the champ.

When José saw the huge guy, something in his gut turned. This would be the defining moment in his life. If he won this fight, he’d finally know that he’d shown all those assholes who’d beaten him, lied to him, cheated him, and generally treated him like shit, that he was one tough motherfucker and not somebody to be messed with. And he was fucking sick and tired of being messed with.

They came to the gate and shook hands. José almost laughed when White tried to give him the evil eye. He wanted to say,
You don’t scare me, punkass
, but the time for that was later. Now it was time to fight.

The cage gate slammed shut, and it was do-or-die time. After sparring a little, they got down to business, and that’s when José noticed something: White was favoring his left shoulder ever so slightly. It wouldn’t be noticeable to most people, but it was a blinding red light to José. He let White hit him twice; that would get him in close, lull him into a false sense of security. White tried a roundhouse kick, which José deflected easily; that would send him back to using his upper body, which was exactly what José wanted. José decided to do something bold; he reached out and slapped White with an open hand, just like a parent would slap a smart-mouthed child. José could tell that it had the desired effect when White glared at him and growled, “I’m gonna kill you, spic!” Then José turned the screw: He smiled at White. A look of deep-seated fury passed over the bigger man’s face, and he came after José like a wrecking ball.

José let him get so close that he could see the veins in White’s eyes, and then he struck, grabbing the bigger man’s left arm and twisting hard. Then the unexpected happened – José heard a snapping sound, like a branch being twisted in a violent storm, and White’s face contorted in agony. He went down with a thud, screaming in pain. If he got free now, he’d be more than dangerous; he’d be a killer. José continued to torque his arm, leaned down to him, and whispered, “You stay down and I’ll turn loose.” Instead, White growled again, and José gave the arm another little twist. As the pain doubled, then tripled, White’s eyes rolled back in his head and he was gone, passed out cold.

The house was coming apart, the screaming so loud that it overpowered the sound system. Jorge came to the gate and opened it, and José walked out to cheering and shouting the likes of which he’d never heard. White’s team had headed into the cage to carry him out, and Jorge and José walked back through the double doors and down to his warm-up area.

“
Mi dios
, that was awesome!” Jorge yelled. “You took him down so fast that he didn’t know what hit him!”

“Is he okay?” José asked, the raging lion gone and the kid from Englewood on Chicago’s south side back in the house. “I hope he’s going to be okay.”

Jorge’s eyes went wide. “What the hell, man? Why do you even care?”

“Because. Because I never thought something like that would happen.” José shook his head sadly. “That’s just not who I am.”
My madre and padre didn’t work themselves nearly to death to see me be a total asshole,
he thought.

“He wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you if he got the chance,” Jorge reminded him. “Shake it off.”

But José wasn’t wired that way. He went down the hall to White’s camp and knocked on the door. White’s manager came out into the hall. “What the hell do you want? Gloating?” the man asked.

“No, man, I came to check on him. Will he be okay?”

White’s manager stared at him in disbelief. “Seriously? Are you for real?”

“Yeah, man. I just wanted to check on him.”

The man’s face softened. “Yeah, I think he’ll probably have to have surgery, but he’ll be okay. But I doubt he’ll ever be able to fight again.” He was surprised at the look of pain that flitted across José’s face. “I’ll be sure to tell him you asked, okay?”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. I wish him the best,” José turned to walk back down the hallway to his area. Photos were taken, autographs signed, and it was time to go home.

Two days later, José went to the hospital to check on White. When he got to the hospital room, two men blocked his way in. “Where the hell you think you goin’, spic?” one of them asked José.

“I wanted to talk to White. I’m . . .” José started.

“We know who you are,” the man spat. “You really wanna go in there?”

“Yeah, I do. I’d like to tell him how sorry I am for what happened.”

The men laughed. “Sure, go on in.” One of them held the door and José walked in.

A hush fell over the room. Everyone moved away from the bed, and when White saw José, he couldn’t believe his eyes. “What the hell you doin’ here?” White yelled. “You think I can’t get outta this bed and kick yo ass? You crazy?”

“I just wanted to see how you were, tell you that I’m sorry for what happened. I know all’s fair in fighting, but I hate hurting anyone.” José’s voice was steady and clear. “Is there anything I can do for you? Need anything?”

White was seething. “Are you serious? Getcho damn wetback ass outta here. I never wanna see yo punkass again, motherfucker. You hear me?”

José turned to leave, and he heard White say, “I’m gonna get outta this bed and when I do, I’m gonna hunt yo spic ass down and kill you.” José just kept walking.

When he got out into the hall, one of the men watching the door grabbed his arm. José drew back to defend himself, but the man yelled, “Hey! Hey! Don’t hit me! I just wanted to tell you that I heard you in there, and that was classy, man. Very classy.” The other man nodded in agreement. “Don’t worry about Devon. When he cools off, it’ll be okay. He’s just pissed and in pain. Hey, congratulations on your win and good luck, okay?” The man extended his hand.

“Thanks.” José took the man’s hand and shook it. Then he walked down the hall and out the door.

That’s it
, he thought.
No more fights. I don’t want to hurt anyone like that ever again
.

March 2011

“I can’t do this anymore,” the stocky blond said. “I can’t support us both, and you just can’t seem to find anything that’s permanent or steady. And this relationship isn’t going where I’d hoped it would either. I think we need to see other people.”

“Please, Braden, don’t do this!” José pleaded. “We’re good together, you know we are!” José felt like his whole world was cracking apart. He’d worked so hard to find a job and just hadn’t had any luck. And now Braden was breaking up with him? That just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t his fault that the economy was down, and it wasn’t like they were hurting; Braden made good money, and José supplemented it when he could find work.