Several other gentlemen were boxing with their shirts off.
Sweat flew. Grunts filled the air as they hammered on one another.
Brookhaven crossed to the cordoned-off area at the center and climbed over the ropes. He indicated Chase to join him with a slight wave.
Chase appreciated that Brookhaven understood what he needed. No waxing poetic, no idle chatter. Just straight to it.
Without thinking, he tore off his coat, threw it to the side. Before it even hit the ground, a waiting attendant easily caught it.
The club was full of young men who worked in exchange for the opportunity to train with Brookhaven.
Chase tugged at his cravat, then his shirt, yanking them off. Once again, the swift attendant rushed forward and grabbed them, then retired just as quickly to find a place to keep the items secure.
Chase rolled his head, stretching his neck, before he climbed into the ring.
He lifted his fists up and said, “Come at me, then. I need a good hammering.”
“Happy to oblige,” Brookhaven replied with a cocked brow. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“A ghost?” he echoed, circling. “No, I’ve merely seen the end result of hundreds of years of British privilege. It is amazing what these men think they can do in private.”
Brookhaven shrugged his massive shoulders. He’d seen worse, no doubt, in his travels to foreign shores. After all, he had failed with The Company.
Brookhaven had left The East Indian Company nearly broken. But then he’d bought his own ship, and then another. And then another. And he’d transformed into one of the most dangerous men upon the seas.
And he’d seen all of what the might of the Empire could do. None of it was pretty. Little of it was good.
Anything that Chase had seen paled in comparison to the cruelty that Brookhaven had witnessed. But the cruelty they’d observed had forged them into champions of those who had no protection against the laws of the land they owed allegiance to.
Fury pulsed through his veins. He was still amazed that, once, he had been such a bright-eyed boy who enjoyed the frivolities of the ton as one enjoys a lemon ice. He’d gobbled it up, delighting in the sugary sweetness of it until he’d felt suddenly sick.
The day his brother died, he’d woken up to the truth of it all. As his mother’s secret had poured out of his father’s mouth, Chase’s entire life had changed. And he’d not been able to enjoy a bubbly, frothy moment of the glittering ballrooms since.
He’d never forget his once-loving father’s face twisting with rancor…
Horror and disgust had filled him that day.
Tonight was no different, as he’d watched men pour out their coins, gambling thousands and thousands of pounds away, losing estates and ruining the lives and their entire families. They gave not a whit for the tenants. For those they might harm.
No, with the carefree pleasures of his class, they cared not.
And the pain of it? Sometimes he could scarce draw breath.
“Hit me,” demanded Chase. “Hit me so bloody hard I won’t be able to think for a week.”
Brookhaven laughed, a deep, booming sound. “We could just drink gin if you don’t want to remember anything for a week. It might cause less lasting damage than my fist to your jaw.”
“I doubt that very much,” drawled Chase. “Now, come on, man. I need it.”
Brookhaven knew Chase wouldn’t simply let him get in a blow. They’d both have to work for the pleasure that this sort of pain brought. For the relief it gave.
They circled each other, looking for a chance to dart in. Chase swiftly darted into the right, bent down, and jabbed his fist.
Too fast, Brookhaven spun out of Chase’s reach. He swung around and slammed his fist directly into Chase’s kidney.
Pain shook through his system. For an instant, he could think of nothing.
He groaned and nearly fell to one knee.