Free Fight by Kelly Wyre Page B

fuckin’ nuts, man.”
    “Then why’d you come with me?” Fury had returned to window gazing.
    “I don’t know,” Nathan mumbled, and he grabbed the door handle. He didn’t pull it, though.
    “Didn’t see you puttin’ down any cash back there.”
    “I don’t gamble,” Nathan muttered. He leaned his head against the cab’s rear window. “Not with money anyway.”
    Fury got quiet. There was a trick that Nathan had read about in some intro to psychology class in college. Shrinks often used silence to get people to talk. Go without words long enough, and the person with something to say would spill it eventually. Until this chat with Fury, Nathan would have said he’d never fall for that shit. Then again, Nathan was usually wrong when it came to knowing or predicting himself.
    “I don’t know,” Nathan said when he couldn’t stand it any longer. “You’re right, okay? I was… I needed… I was looking for something but didn’t want Duke’s version of something, you know? I’m getting tired of where that leads. But shit’s kind of…complicated. Right now.” Nathan shook himself. “Who was that guy?”
    “Dennis?”
    “Yeah.”
    “He owns that building and those fights.”
    “And you work for him?”
    Fury chuckled, a rich, thick, throaty sound. “I work around him. Fight for his pay sometimes.”
    “But you two know each other.” Nathan told himself that he didn’t sound like a jealous lover with that accusation.
    Fury hummed to the affirmative. “Dennis and I go way back.”
    “You fuckin’ must,” Nathan blurted.
    “What you mean?”
    Nathan clenched both fists. “What you said to him in front of me… I mean, even just that little… You’d have to trust… You act like know me, and you don’t, but you’re acting like you trust… Not me. You couldn’t trust—”
    “I could trust you,” Fury said, nice and easy as though suggesting a stroll on the beach.
    “What?” Nathan faltered. “Why?”
    Fury chuckled again. “I don’t know. Maybe ’cause I want to.”
    It was like falling down a deep, dark well, talking to Fury. The dumbest part was that Nathan wanted to believe him, accept his word at face value. Nathan attempted to clear his head of fog. “How the fuck did you know my name and my car?”
    “I asked around, and I’ve seen you get in it.”
    Such a simple explanation, and Nathan couldn’t think of anything to ask or to add. They both got quiet. Nathan’s trembling was getting better. Another hour, and the night would feel like any other bad trip, sans vomiting. That was a perk.
    “’Sup with the religious billboards?” Fury asked.
    “That stupid fucking deal, I swear to God.” Nathan rubbed his eyes. “I work at this marketing firm, and the boss offered me… Know what? Doesn’t matter. They needed a face. I gave ’em mine.”
    “That’s it?” Fury asked.
    “Yeah.”
    Fury lapsed into another one of those long, aggravating silences. This time, the tension ratcheted, and after a few minutes, Nathan couldn’t deal. “I gotta get going.” He twisted, working the handle and then trying to figure out how the door unlocked when it didn’t open.
    “Nathan?”
    He paused, not facing Fury. The way Fury had said his name in that rasp-grit voice sent feverish heat through Nathan. “Yeah?”
    “You said you were lookin’ for somethin’ tonight, right?”
    “Yeah?” Nathan repeated. His palm slipped on the metal.
    “You weren’t lookin’ for me, were you?”
    “Wha…?” Nathan twisted around on the bench. Fury had slid closer, one elbow on the steering wheel and the other arm resting on the back of the seat. One massive boot was planted on the floorboard between them, and Nathan was awestruck at how big Fury was. Nathan wasn’t small, but Fury took up all the available space. His braid touched the cab’s ceiling, his chest blocked the view of the window behind him, and his heavy thigh was caught under the wheel. And his eyes… Nathan