“Can you believe this?” the rowdy guy from earlier said as he held his phone out to Jett. “Did you see this article? Local hero goes and fucks everything up because he’s too lazy to put in the real work to be the best.”

Jett nodded politely, because that was the way he’d been raised, and then turned away from the man. I sank farther into the corner, trying to separate myself from the loudmouth, trying to drown out his words.

“Fuck, I can take steroids and beat the shit out of people too. What makes a great boxer is talent. Muhammad Ali didn’t sit there injecting himself with growth hormones so he could win title after title. No, he spent hours upon hours in the gym, working on his craft.”

“Do you mind if we just sit here by ourselves?” Jett asked politely, holding his hand up to stop the man.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the man back off for a second and then nod at me. “Who’s that? Your boyfriend? If you fairies want some private time, go to a gay bar.”

Raising his voice and projecting his temper, Jett said, “I suggest you learn some decorum and shut your fucking mouth.”

“Oh, I get it, you motherfuckers really want some time together. That’s fine. Hey, buddy,” the guy called to me, but I didn’t move, not wanting to engage. “Hey, I’m talking to you,” the moron repeated.

“I suggest you drop it,” Jett warned.

Getting out of his chair, the man shot back, “You don’t fucking tell me what to do.” From my view, I could see that he was a broad man, slightly built, still had some fat on his bones, but he was one who could hold his own, and that was why he most likely felt confident enough to confront both of us.

The man brushed past Jett and pushed my shoulder. “Hey, dickhead. I’m talking to you.”

Not turning to face the man, I said over my shoulder, “I suggest you leave me the fuck alone.”

The bar was empty of witnesses besides the bartender, so the room was silent except for the faint sound of jazz spilling through the speakers. The bartender stood to the side, taking in the whole scene, probably wondering if he was going to have to intervene at some point.

“Oh, you think you’re a tough guy? You can’t even face me? You’re just hiding behind your stupid hood and cowering….”

Rage boiled inside me, and I flipped around, dropped my hood, and stood to my full height.

Immediate shock ran through his eyes as he recognized me. From the look in his eyes, fear passed through him for a brief second before he started laughing, full-on clutching-his-stomach laughing.

“Oh fuck, just my luck. The local hero right in front of me. Did you shoot up before you came here?” he asked, still hunched over and laughing.

“It would be in your best interests if you dropped everything and left this bar,” I threatened between clenched teeth.

“And what the fuck are you going to do if I don’t?” the man said, standing tall now and puffing his chest out.

I was drunk, I would admit that, but I still knew my left hook from my right uppercut, and the jackass was two seconds away from meeting both of them.

“You’re a worthless piece of shit that gives this city a bad name,” he said, pushing my shoulder again, making me wobble back into the bar.

The seven or so drinks I had consumed were now testing my balance, but I could still see the man clearly. He had jackass written over his forehead, and soon my fist would be replacing it.

Jett must have seen the way my hands itched at my side because he stood and urged a hand against the man to give us some distance.

“Step down,” Jett warned.

“Aw, your boyfriend is coming to your rescue. You know—” the man pressed a finger to his chin “—you actually did the sport a favor by juicing up. Now we don’t have to watch a gay fuck like yourself prance around the ring, itching to grab some opponent’s balls.”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Jett spat, getting angry and in the man’s face. Jett didn’t take kindly to discrimination and neither did I, for that matter, especially since Jett’s assistant was gay and probably one of the most thoughtful and admirable people we knew. The dude would do anything for Jett or me, and we would do the same.

Not wanting Jett to get involved, since he had a reputation to uphold, I stepped in front of him and said, “Get out of here, Jett.”

“Kace, do not do something stupid,” he warned.

“I’m not going to—” My words were cut off by the blow the man’s fist made to my jaw. My head flew back as blood flung from my mouth, splattering on the wall behind me. I fell back onto my stool, my head resting against the wall. It took me a second to register what had just happened, but once I was able to collect my thoughts, the pain in my jaw struck me like a fucking high. I actually enjoyed it.

Jett was seconds from plowing into the man, but I stopped him, shaking my head in response to the impact of the man’s punch.

“Fucking fairy, you need those steroids. You’re a fucking lightweight.”

Jett’s fist raised, but I stopped him once again. I knew Jett could easily take down this guy because I’d taught him everything he knew. Jett wasn’t one to mess with, but this was my problem.

“I got this,” I said. Jett nodded and stepped away. He knew when I needed to take care of my own business.

I took off my jacket and handed it to Jett. My biceps flexed under the confines of my tight white shirt, and my forearms revved up, ready to do some damage. The same feeling that took me over in the ring took over my body now as adrenaline started to flow through my veins, replacing the alcohol I’d spent the last few hours consuming.

Pure fear flashed through the man’s eyes as he observed my stance.

That’s right, fuckhead. Don’t mess with me.

“Go ahead, take another shot.” I egged him on while spitting a mouthful of blood to the side. “I fucking dare you to engage me. You want to know what talent is? I will fucking hand it to you on a silver platter. Go ahead, fucking test me one more time.”

“You’re not worth it,” the man said, waving his hand at me and taking a step back.

“Yeah, who’s a fucking pussy now? You’re all talk and cheap shots, but when it comes down to it, you know I can fucking destroy you. I made a living dicking people around with my fists. I would be more than happy to show you how it’s done.”

“What living? You have nothing now because you’re the moron who decided to take steroids.”

Grinding my teeth, I counted to ten before I exploded. There was no point in defending myself against the steroid allegations. I would just look like a whiney-ass bitch, so I kept my mouth shut and tried to keep my fist from plowing through his face.

He’s not worth it, he’s not worth it, I kept saying to myself over and over again.

I opened my eyes in time to see his fist fly at me and connect with my gut. I buckled over and coughed up more blood from the first blow he’d made to my face.

Laughter from the idiot filled the small bar. I looked up to see the man holding his stomach and pointing at me.

“Ah fuck, this is the best night of my life. Boxer? Fuck, you’re nothing but a piece of trailer trash trying to imitate someone you will never be.”

Trailer trash… my fucking hot-button word. I snapped.

Straightening, I quickly stepped forward, cocked my arm back, and blew it through the man’s stomach. Not even giving him a chance to think, I threw a right uppercut, sending his head reeling upward, and then to finish him off, in rapid succession I connected my left fist to his temple and then did the same with my right.

It happened in a matter of seconds, white-hot rage flowing through me. For the first time since I’d gotten the call from my agent, I actually felt a little at ease. That was until I saw the man fall backward from my attack and land on the floor, motionless.

Oh fuck.