Page 34 of Craving the Edge

As the usual flow of afternoon gym goers came in, I decided I needed to do some damage control. If I could get ahead of whoever nonsense Gary was trying to pull, then maybe I could protect the gym from any blowback.

Maybe…

I picked up the landline and dialled Gary’s mobile. It went straight to his voicemail without ringing, playing the same idiotic message he’d recorded two years ago. I didn’t bother leaving a message.

My next call was to the publican at his local, The Quarry Hotel. The guy on the other end was cagey, but after some pressing, admitted Gary hadn’t been in for days. He also asked about his tab, which was overdue.

My third call was to a boxing promoter Gary sometimes worked with who told me Gary had been sniffing around for a short-term, no-questions-asked loan. He’d told Gary to get stuffed. He also mentioned a name. A man whose business wasn’t boxing, but breaking things. Usually legs. He warned me to watch the gym and to make sure the security cameras were recording.

I hung up, bile rising in the back of my throat. I’d been right.

Gary had pulled the payroll funds to cover his own arse, then paid me manually from the business account when his other schemes fell through to throw me off the scent. He knew I’d be on to him the moment he touched the accounts.

It also meant he hadn’t been around because he was hiding from people who solved problems with machetes and Molotov cocktails. His reaction to the paparazzi suddenly made sickening sense. He hadn’t seen them as a nuisance, but as a potential payday. A desperate, last-ditch effort to sell a story and grab some cash.

The gym grew dark around me as the sun dipped below the warehouse across the lane. I’d spent years cleaning up Gary’s messes, but this was a gaping hole below the waterline.

I had no one to call. No way to fix this. Praying they’d leave Fighter’s Edge alone sounded like a Hail Mary.

When the last of the daylight vanished. I went through the motions of closing, my body on autopilot. I wiped down the counters. I emptied the bins. I grabbed my keys from the hook behind the desk. At the front door, I paused, peering out through the glass.

The street was empty. There were zero photographers, and no one was lurking in the shadows that I could see. For a second, I felt relieved. I flicked the lock, pulled the roller door down, locked the heavy-duty padlock and gave it a hard tug. Satisfied, I turned to leave, but the low growl of an engine cut through the quiet.

Headlights sliced through the gloom, pinning me against the corrugated metal. A fancy silver Audi slid to a stop in the car park.

The driver’s side door opened and Declan got out. The orange glow of a streetlight caught the broad line of his shoulders as he shut the door and started towards me.

“I came to make sure you were okay,” he said.

I just stared, my mind still a frantic mess of loan sharks and broken kneecaps.

He stopped a few metres away. “The paps won’t be coming back.” He gestured to the empty street with his chin. “I made it clear it wasn’t worth their time.”

His words barely registered. The threat of photographers felt like a problem from another lifetime. A blip compared to the looming catastrophe Gary had created.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

Declan’s expression shifted. The faint trace of a smile vanished, replaced by a focused intensity that narrowed his eyes. He took a step closer, his gaze sweeping over my face. He saw the hollow space behind my eyes and the fight that’d just drained out of me. He saw through it as easily as I’d seen through him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “What happened?”

My mouth opened, but the words caught in my throat. I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t say that the useless owner had taken a loan from some thug and now the entire business was in danger of becoming collateral. I swallowed a thick knot of fear.

“It’s Gary,” I said. “He’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “He’s just…not around. It’s been weeks. I thought he was just staying clear because you were here, but…”

I left out the part about the pub tab, the pay roll excuse, and the shady loans. He didn’t need to know the details. My protective instincts kicked in, shielding the gym’s reputation even as it was sinking.

Declan’s jaw tightened. He didn’t press for more, he just absorbed it. He looked from my face to the dark, empty street, then back again.

“It’s freezing out here. Get in the car. I’ll take you home.”

It wasn’t a request, but I was too exhausted to fight him. Too tired to even pretend I had the energy to get myself home. A small nod was all I could manage.

He walked me to the passenger side, his hand hovering near my elbow without touching. I pulled the handle and slid into the seat. The scent of clean leather and him enveloped me. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing me inside.