Chapter Seven

“Why are you not at Gabby’s house?” Fighter squinted when Mark stepped into the office.

“Because Cobalt has someone on her place.”

Fighter narrowed his lids. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know, but it’s Felix and that Gunner guy. I’m not tangling with him. Not alone anyway.” Mark sighed and dropped down onto the cracked and broken chair that sat against one of his office walls for support. Bishop, who was already sitting in an equally shitty chair, gave Mark a sideways fist bump.

“I second that,” Bishop said. “Gunner lifted Brick with one arm earlier.” Bishop rubbed at his chest where Gunner had kicked him.

“Lifted him?” Fighter quirked one eyebrow.

Bishop nodded, unwilling to say that he’d been the one to attack first.

“Text Wyatt and tell him to have Gunner and Felix removed. Bishop, call a few of our men and have them go to Gabby’s house,” Fighter growled, and Bishop jumped on the phone.

No fucking way did he want to be beholden to Brick or Cobalt in any way, shape, or form. Gabby was hurt because he’d been locked up. That was his own fucking fault.

Damn it. He should have never gone to the Cobalt building, but he’d wanted a piece of Brick so fucking bad.

Bishop hung up. “They are on their way.”

Attorney Carl Withers appeared in the doorway and knocked on the open door.

“I’ll mail you a check,” Fighter told the man before he could even speak.

Perhaps it was the praise, but Withers looked confused before he straightened the pale blue jacket of his suit with a nod. “Ah…okay.”

“Thanks for getting those charges dropped,” Fighter added.

“N…no problem, Mr. Suwan. Call me anytime.” Withers gave them a bright smile and quickly disappeared.

All three men stared at the empty doorway for a few moments. The only noise was that of the door closing after Withers left the building.

Quiet settled in, broken only by passing cars on the street.

“I miss the sound,” Bishop said.

“Me too,” Mark nodded, scratching at his head, leaving the short strands ruffled.

Fighter didn’t need to guess what they were talking about. It was the sound of men training in the room situated just outside of the office. The space out there was large, but crammed with equipment. They didn’t have near the space and facility that Cobalt Security had, but Suwan Guardians had an outstanding reputation for getting the job done.

Now he just needed to drum up some work to keep the lights on and food on the table.

“When does XiXi get out of rehab?” Mark asked.

Fighter glanced at the small paper calendar. “Middle of next month.” His sister had voluntarily gone into a clinic for ninety days. Her boyfriend had paid for it. Chuck wasn’t much of a dad to the kids, but Fighter couldn’t fault him on his love for XiXi.

“Do you think she will take the kids back?” Mark asked.

“I don’t know. You know we’ve been sharing them since they were born,” Fighter said. XiXi didn’t know who Eli and Emma’s fathers were so Fighter had naturally stepped into the role. He’d always wanted kids so it wasn’t hard to do.

“Hey,” Bishop said suddenly. “Why don’t you try and get a business partner?”

“Huh?” Mark frowned. “We’re talking about the kids.”

“I know. And making this place thrive will help them,” Bishop said patiently and Mark huffed and crossed his arms.

Fighter shook his head. “I’ve tried. I can’t seem to get anyone to invest.”

“That’s weird, isn’t it?” Mark swiveled in the lopsided office chair that was missing one wheel.

“Not really. The rich only give to the rich,” Fighter said flatly.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that it’s typically the middle class that helps out the poor.”

“Most of the wealthy give to higher education,” Bishop told Mark. “Like Cambridge or Stanford.”

“Like they fucking need it?” Mark said with disbelief.

“I’m all for higher education,” Fighter interrupted before Mark could go off. “I just wish they’d spread the wealth around a bit better.”

All three men sat quietly for several moments and Fighter knew his two friends, who were also employees, were trying to come up with something that would save his business.

“What about a loan?” Mark said.

“I need collateral,” Fighter said with a shake of his head and waved a hand at the office. “And this place is rented, so…”

“This place sucks anyway,” Mark grumbled.

“Cobalt’s high-rise is a few blocks away. You can get a job with them,” Bishop told Mark and then snickered at the man’s affronted expression.

“Fuck you.” Mark kicked the back of Bishop’s faded and ripped folding chair, and Bishop swiped a hand out. Mark had to lift his chair in order to make it roll away and ended up going sideways. He leaped to his feet as the chair toppled over and Bishop laughed.

Fighter smiled at the pair. It kind of reminded him of when he’d hung around with Bishop growing up. Mark had come a few years ago and was closer to his age than Bishop.

Fighter checked his pocket watch. It was a little before noon and they’d yet to have one job application come via their website.

“Why do you still carry that?” Mark eyed the watch.

Fighter smiled, running his hand over the face of the eighteenth-century pocket watch. He’d had it appraised at one point and was told that the watch was very unique and extremely unattainable. That put the value at over one hundred thousand dollars. It had been handed down through three generations in his family and given to him by his grandfather before his death. He could never part with it.

“It’s been in my family for a long time,” Fighter reminded Mark.

“I know that. You should keep it in a box,” Mark added.

“What’s the fun in that?” Fighter smirked and tucked the watch into his pocket.

“So, what now?” Bishop asked.

“Let’s start with some job searches out of state,” Fighter said decisively.

“I’ll take Nevada, you take Arizona,” Mark said, and Bishop argued that he needed Nevada.

Fighter turned to the window and gazed out the dirty glass at the fading light.

It was odd that only a few blocks away from this part of town sat Denver’s high-rise buildings and snob-hob hill…

Where the rich got richer.