THE HIGH TABLE

Reader Note

The events that bring Tommy Davis and Micah McIntyre together in Cannon Towers can be found in the following books:

Cannon’s Cantatas
https://mars.chatfighters.com/book/1164

The Hunter Virus Files
https://mars.chatfighters.com/book/1287

These stories provide additional background on Tommy Davis, Micah McIntyre, and Silas Thorne, offering insight into how their pasts shaped the present and the circumstances that bring them together in Silas’ Return.

Micah McIntyre
I don’t look back at him while the car moves. I don’t need to. I know exactly how much of him is still there by the way the restraints pull when he breathes. By the way his body tightens every time the speed changes, like it’s learned to expect pain as part of motion. Silas Thorne used to fill rooms without trying. Now he fills space the way damaged equipment does, awkward and heavy, something you transport carefully because it’s already past saving.

London slides by outside the window, polished and unconcerned. Cannon Towers rises ahead of us, all clean geometry and reflected light, a structure built to look permanent and legitimate. Places like this never show their teeth. They let other people do that for them.

Silas shifts when I adjust my grip. He makes a sound he can’t stop, too small for his frame, and it pulls me back to the moment we finally saw him for what he was. He had been there the whole time, hiding in plain sight, moving through Hunter Productions undetected. Spreading mind-numbing poison through the air. Weaponizing the Hunterverse technology and making me believe my best friend and co-star was determined to injure and go so far as to kill me to keep his place in the spotlight. It almost worked. I remember the pressure behind my eyes, the way my body moved without asking me first, the moment I realized I was about to kill the only man who actually had my back.

Tobias broke me out of it. He didn’t hesitate. He took control of the neural headset Silas was using to run the Digital Twins, those programmed copies of us designed to bleed and bruise and exhaust our bodies without leaving obvious fingerprints. When Tobias turned the system, the Twins didn’t come for us anymore. He turned them on Silas. That was when the truth finally surfaced. Not because he wanted to confess, but because pain stripped everything else away. Under the influence of the same hypnotic drug he’d been feeding us, Silas gave up the name behind it all. James Cannon. He said it like saying it was a relief, like the damage needed a face.

The silence afterward was worse than the noise. I remember sitting there, trying to catalog what still belonged to me. My body felt familiar again, but it didn’t feel safe. Too many hours missing. Too many injuries that didn’t line up with memory. Silas hadn’t just tried to sabotage a fight. He had tried to hollow me out and wear the shape, nearly killing me in the process. That kind of theft stays with you.

The car rolls over uneven pavement. Silas groans, low and reflexive. He’s earned every sound. The Digital Twins left him wrecked, their strikes precise and relentless, both physically and mentally. They were programmed to punish without mercy. Tobias didn’t stop them early. Neither did I. And when the system went dark, when Silas couldn’t hide behind tech or influence anymore, we kept going. We beat answers out of him the old way. Hands. Weight. Time. Every day leading up to the pay-per-view and after it, until his body learned the rhythm and stopped pretending it could hold anything back.

The night of the event comes back to me as the city lights smear across the glass. Cannon tried to kill the fight before it happened. It went on anyway. Tobias and I stepped into the ring and took what was ours. At ringside, just long enough to be seen, we made sure that Silas was there. Restrained. Bruised. Barely upright. A message without words. The crowd didn’t know who he was. They weren’t meant to. Cannon was. It wasn’t cruelty. It was proof. A receipt sent while the fight Cannon wanted buried played out in front of him. The feed cut. The noise faded. But the message was sent, and it landed exactly where it was supposed to.

We slow as the car approaches the perimeter. Cameras track the car. Security watches without reacting. I roll my shoulders, settling into myself. This is why I came alone. Tobias doesn’t walk into another man’s empire unless he’s ready to burn it down. I came to look, to reconnoiter, not to declare war. This part was mine to finish.

Thoughts of the invitation surface as the towers fill the windshield. It came through channels that knew how to stay clean. No name. No threat. Just the promise of access framed as curiosity. ‘If you want to see where Cannon keeps what matters to him, bring Silas.’ That was enough. Silas had already hinted at it in broken fragments, about how Cannon didn’t handle damage where it could be seen, how problems were processed somewhere controlled and quiet. The message confirmed it. I didn’t need more than that.

I didn’t bring Silas back because he belongs here. I brought him back because I wanted to see the place that thought it could take everything from me and never be touched in return.

The car slows to a stop in the open plaza before Cannon Towers. The building glows against the night, glass and steel softened by warm lighting meant to suggest welcome. Seasonal touches sit at the edges of the space, understated and tasteful, the kind of decoration chosen to reassure anyone watching that this is a place of order and legitimacy. It’s the kind of surface people trust without thinking too hard about what it covers.

Security cameras adjust as the doors open. I stay seated while Silas is pulled upright. He hesitates, not because he can’t move, but because his body remembers consequences. Silas steps into the cold unsteadily, restraints visible, injuries impossible to hide no matter how he angles himself. His face carries the evidence of sustained attention, swelling that hasn’t fully settled, bruising that’s gone through more than one color, damage that didn’t come from a single outburst. This is not the condition of a man who lost once. This is what happens when someone keeps losing for a long time.

I follow a moment later, hood already up, head angled just enough to keep my face out of the cameras’ clean sightlines. This place runs on observation. I’m not here to give it anything extra to catalog. I stay a step behind Silas, one hand firm at his shoulder, not guiding him forward, just making it clear that he doesn’t move without me deciding it’s time.

The plaza is quiet. Holiday staffing. Fewer bodies. Less noise. The kind of quiet that makes damage easier to manage. The doors to the building open. A thick, muscular man steps out alone. His attention locks onto Silas immediately and doesn’t let go. He doesn’t look around. He doesn’t assess the situation broadly. He focuses on the injuries, on the restraints, on the way Silas stands like his balance is still negotiable. Whatever connection exists here, it isn’t professional distance. It’s personal, and it hits him harder the longer he looks.

He stops a few feet away. His hands tighten, then settle. Control, barely held. He still hasn’t looked at me. That tells me enough. I stay where I am, face hidden, posture relaxed. Whoever this is, he matters more than the cameras right now. He sees what’s been returned to him and understands immediately that it isn’t intact. That reaction confirms what the message promised. This place doesn’t just hold fighters. It keeps men bound to the misfortunes they find here. 

I didn’t come here to make a scene. I came to see how this operation handles its failures when they’re dropped back on its doorstep. Standing in the cold, watching the man in front of me absorb the cost written all over Silas’s body, I understand that the invitation wasn’t about access at all.

It was about collision.

Tommy Davis

It was three months.  THREE FUCKING MONTHS.  Silas and I had finally broken down a major part of the block that he has been living with his entire life and then as we were about to start getting closer…..CANNON. 

Appearing on the screen in Si’s quarters like the omen of suffering I am starting to see him as, demanding that Si do his bidding and leave on a mission of “great import”, nothing else, nothing about a timeline…..NOTHING.

I wake up the next morning and he is gone. He crept out like I was some cheap date and he was looking to leave before I woke and caused complications, I mean I am not saying I would have made his leaving easy, I would have dragged him back to bed at least once, but no note.  

So I trained, worked hard on getting ready for the war with Brakkus and Stone. Each day I worked my ass off in the gym. Sweat, blood, and pain kept me going, each day I returned to my quarters hoping to see that flashing red dot on the screen to say I had a message from him…..hell from Cannon letting me know what the hell was going on. NOTHING.

I tried calling Cannon, I tried texting him, I even tried to get him through his PA and got the run around with that fucking bitch. 

And so I hit the gym harder, working out my frustration on the heavy bags and even on the sparring partners that were still being set up for me. He can arrange for big men to come and train with me, but he can’t answer his goddamn fucking phone. 

By the second month I hated going back to my suite as I hated the thought that there would be a message, this one telling me that Si was gone and not coming back. 

It was during the beginning of month 3 that I finally got a message from Cannon. It was a video of a match taking place for some company that I had heard bandied around a few times. Hunter something or other. It was a long bout and the 2 men fighting were good for sure but it was more wrestling than I like and I was starting to wonder why the fuck he had gotten me watching it.  

Then there he was.  Walked out during the end of the fight and just made to stand in the background. He was hurt, bruising new and old from what I could see. Then it clicked.  This was a message for Cannon. He had done something, sent Silas to get something or do something and it had gone wrong. They were telling Cannon that they knew and that they had his man.  MY MAN.

RAGE.  The next thing I knew was that I was being held down by 6 men and them screaming at me to get a hold of myself.  After a few long moments of trying to get free, I am strong but 6 big men are too much for even me it seems, I relaxed and they let me up.  I could see the bruises on some of them and the wary looks they had given me, the looks of men that knew I could fly off the handle at any given moment. And hell back then I was close to it.  It was then that I saw the state of my suite.  The large tv had been smashed and ripped from the wall, the bed was on its side and anything that could be tossed had been.  I recall asking who had done this and had they gotten away and 2 of the men snorting. One of them eventually told me that I had done it. Heck they even pulled up a video on one of their phones. If Brakkus and Stone could see what I did to that room, they would be fucking running.

I was put up in another suite for the night with a heavy guard presence, I guess they thought I would do a runner, or fuck up another room.  But the fire that had burned so brightly for that moment was now ice cold.  The fury was there but it was now an ice storm, cold and calculating. I needed to get Silas back and I would do whatever needed to do this.

I did not bother Cannon with any questions, he had not deigned to tell me of the plan that got Silas captured and hurt and so I would not bother the asshole with the plan to get him back.  I watched the video again, forcing myself to watch and take in whatever details I could.  Names……Hunter Productions…….Tobias…….Micah……….I could work with this.

Slowly I found out details about the company and the men that ran it. I asked some quiet questions of some of the suits that came to watch me train, silly questions, airheaded ones that a silly young fighter might.  

“Had they heard of this new group Hunter Productions?”

“Did they think that I could get Cannon to get me a match on some of their shows as they looked awesome?”

And slowly I found out small details that let me know that indeed Cannon was interested in acquiring the group, and that maybe he had something in motion that would get them the knowledge they needed to buy it. I was pretty sure that the men running it would never sell to the snake now, but maybe I could use that. And so I sent the message, a small note, just to show them that they had an in here. Someone on the inside that might want to help them, but with a caveat……Bring Silas!!

Days later I get a note back saying that they have landed and are on the way. And so here I am, pacing like a caged beast, the ice storm roiling within my chest as I pad back and forth across the lobby. The reception staff nervously watched me and 4 guards standing with their hands on tasers, I had made an impression it seemed.

Suddenly a car pulls up out front and a man gets out and helps out…..SILAS……Oh my god he is hurting still, still bruising on his face and the way he is holding himself, they have hurt him more and maybe even messed him up.  I start to move out as another man gets out behind him, hooded and making sure to keep his face deep within the dark cowl. I assess him and he registers as a fighter. The way he moves, holds himself and the thickness of his build. All point to knowing how to handle himself. We will see if he can handle me…..

I step out, slowly, keeping myself in check, barely.  I cannot stop my hands from forming fists as my eyes lock on Silas and stay locked.  The storm within builds and rages and the ice begins to melt as fire forms and threatens to escape. Not yet.  I need to focus.  I turn my eyes slowly to the hooded man and speak, forcing my tone to be normal, conversational.

“So I see you got my little invite.  Welcome to Cannon Towers.  Maybe I can show you around.  Thanks for returning my lost friend here.  I will make sure that he is taken care of. Maybe I can get you a beverage but first, let us get out of this cold and into the warm.”

Stepping aside and gesturing them in.  

Not yet Davis, Keep the cool for now. Find out details and get Silas the help he needs first. 

Micah McIntyre
I don’t flinch when you step out to meet us. The building behind you is all glass and height, built to impress men who confuse scale with power, but it barely registers with me. You do. The way you move is measured, like you know exactly where the cameras are and don’t care. The men behind you seem competent enough, hands close to their weapons, eyes flicking between Silas and me, but they’re background noise. You’re not. You’re here because this matters to you, and that alone tells me I didn’t bring him to the wrong place.

Silas gives himself away the second you speak. His body reacts before his head can stop it, breath catching, weight shifting toward you like an instinct that hasn’t learned better yet. That’s the part you can’t fake. My hand stays planted on his shoulder, not squeezing, not guiding, just reminding him where he is now, and who is in control of his fate. Your eyes take in the damage, the bruising that never fully faded, the way he’s still holding himself like he’s bracing for the next blow, and I see it hit you. Whatever you are to him, it isn’t casual. Good. You need to see the shattered, broken, shell of a man I’m bringing back.

You finally look at me, and I stand my ground. Hood up, face kept just out of reach, posture loose in a way that makes your people uneasy. It isn’t arrogance. It’s certainty. I survived something that was meant to break me, something designed to turn my body against itself and destroy the men closest to me. The man who ordered that never had the spine to stand in front of me. He hid behind systems, drugs, and borrowed hands. This place feels like more of the same, just dressed better.

“You sent the message,” I say, easy, like we’re discussing logistics instead of wreckage. “He’s alive. He told us what we needed.” I smirk thinking back to the punishment Tobias and I unleashed on this lackey once we realized what was being done to us. “Everything after that was just making sure he understood it couldn’t be undone.” I glance at Silas, then back to you. “You wanted him back. Now I want to know why someone thought they could pull my strings without consequences.”

I don’t step inside when you gesture toward the doors. I don’t need the warmth, and I’m not here to be shepherded. My eyes lock on yours as I let the moment stretch, letting you decide how this goes. “So if this is the part where you explain why my life suddenly became your employer’s problem,” I add, voice calm, almost amused, “I’d suggest you start talking.”

Tommy Davis

Your hand on Si’s shoulder almost unleashes the storm within but I manage to rein it in. Seeing him react to your touch, your command, almost breaks me. What the fuck did this asshat do to you Si?  

The hood moves slightly, enough that I see your eyes from within the darkness. I repress the grin as you try and almost impose your will on me with that gaze and the long silence. I have learned from watching a master and this is just banter where he is concerned. Sure the fucker is the one that got Silas hurt, but I will use the tools he gave me.

Your words slap out into the air and then, not quite a demand, but the viperish snip to your words……that tells me you think you hold all the cards because of your hand on Silas. And you do hold a bunch of them, but I will never let you know this and my face remains stoic as I glance over at Silas once more.

“My ‘employer’?  Oh my you have the wrong end of the stick. Sure I stay here and train here, but hey, who wouldn’t use some of the best equipment and coaches around in return for getting some high-end matches. And that is maybe why you should think of who came after you. I would also WATCH what I say around here.”  My head shifts almost imperceptively towards where one of his hidden cameras are. I can see you watching me and am pretty sure you got the hint.

“Why don’t we get my friend here inside and get him some attention and then you and I can go somewhere and have some words?”   The ‘private’ part is skipped from my speech but I hope those thick shoulders support a head that can read between the lines a little.  

“Don’t worry, I do not bite…….”

Micah McIntyre
You try to hide it, but I can see you tense up as you look at Thorne’s wrecked body. I keep my grip steady on his shoulder, while my eyes lock on yours, measuring your reaction. Silas reacts before either of us can stop him, breath catching, shoulders tightening in response to your proximity alone. That reaction has nothing to do with fear. I don’t look at him. I watch you instead. You’re holding yourself together well, but not perfectly. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s loud enough that I can hear it without you saying a word.

Our eyes lock as I peer at you from under my hood, and you seem to want to turn it into something else, some kind of contest. That almost makes me laugh. I’m not here to stare you down. I’ve already walked out of worse than this building could ever throw at me. You talk about arrangements and training and how things work around here. I let you ramble. Men who live inside someone else’s system always sound like that when they’re explaining why they’re free. I clock the cameras when you tip your head, already knowing where they are, already knowing who’s watching and who isn’t worth worrying about.

When you talk about getting Silas inside, I finally move. My hand leaves his shoulder slowly, deliberately, like I’m setting something down instead of letting it go. I glance at him once, then back at you. “You asked for him back,” I say, easy, almost casual. “This is what’s left when someone tries to erase me. What you do with him from here isn’t my concern.”

‘It’s a shame you don’t bite,’ I say, giving a subtle lick of my lips as I look up at the glass tower in front of me. “I was hoping all this polish came with at least one bad habit.” I look past you to the doors, then back again. “Let’s get this broken piece of trash inside and taken care of. After that, you and I can clear up why someone thought turning my life into collateral damage was a smart move.”

Tommy Davis

My eyes stay glued to yours as your hand comes off of Silas’ shoulder and I start to turn to gesture you into the building, then you call Silas a ‘broken piece of trash’ and my shoulder tense hard and I turn, taking an almost unconscious step towards you as my fists clench into the weapons they are.

Breathe…..don’t let this fuckwit bait you any more 

I relax myself forcibly and then return the smile to my face as my eyes once more lock with your own. “He was broken before, and he got the help he needed, and I……..we will do it again. I am sure he did not know why he was there doing what he was doing.  The person who owns this place is very good at…..pulling strings, as you know. Let us get inside so we can get the healing started and then you and I can have a very frank discussion”. 

I keep my words as casual as I can but hear them coming out clipped and a little forced. I do not care.  Holding out my left hand as I shift my gaze to Si and encourage him to approach with my eyes. I see the almost imperceptible look in your direction for approval and that almost breaks my control again. 

Micah McIntyre
Silas glances back at me before he moves, barely a turn of his head, but it’s enough. I meet his eyes and give him a small nod. Nothing dramatic. No reassurance. Just permission. That’s all he needs. He steps toward you then, slow but deliberate, and I let my hand fall away completely. The choice is his, but the moment belongs to me. I watch your reaction closely, the way your control tightens as you take him in, and I file that away. You can tell yourself you’re taking him back. I know better. I’m the one who decided when he could leave.

Tommy Davis 

Slowly Si steps over to me and I take his hand in mine, letting the healing begin with a solid, firm, grip. Letting him know he is safe now and that I will take care of him, he is back with me and safe.

Leading Silas into the building carefully, not moving too fast and seeing how well he walks. My heart goes out to him as his steps falter a few times and I want to reach out and carry him but know he needs to get his sense of self back and that doing this will start that process. As soon as we cross the threshold into the bright lights, the warm, processed air bathing over us, I bellow for a medic. The guards shift their stances to a defensive one and then I can see them make themselves relax once more. Good they are still afraid of me just enough to keep them on edge. One of them speaks into an earpiece after looking at Silas and moments later a full medical team rushes into the lobby. 

I push them away as they bring in a wheelchair and bark at one of them, seeing him almost piss himself, to lead the way to the medical area. As we walk, slowly so as not to bother Silas too much, I watch this new guy, see the hood shift from side to side as he takes in the guards, the cameras, I am sure he is filing stuff away, if he does not have some kind of hidden camera on him somewhere, recording this or streaming it for his buddies. Let them watch, I care not for them.

Long minutes go by as we take an elevator up to the medical floor and then walk Silas into the pristine white room that he will spend time in.  I stand and watch, close by as the team swarms over him. Offering a word here and there as he flinches at their touch. This fucker and whoever did this will pay. 

After a while, I can see them inject something into the IV drip and I step forward pushing two of them aside as I grasp his hand again. 

“Si, I am here. Let these men get you started on the road to recovery. Go to sleep for a bit yea, and I will be here when you wake.”  I lean in and brush my hand through his hair and as he flinches a little, my jaw tightens. He drifts off and I stand holding his hand until the medic taps my shoulder and I lay his hand down on the bed and step away.

Micah McIntyre
I stay where I am while the medical team works on him. I don’t crowd the bed or pretend this is my space. My focus remains on the man who greeted us. The way you hover without hovering, how your hand stays close even when you force yourself to step back. Silas settles under the medication slowly, his breathing evening out, his body finally giving up the fight it’s been trained to expect. We took him apart methodically. Not all at once. Not just with our fists. What we did reached deeper than bruises, and it shows in the way his muscles still tense even as the drugs pull him under.

When it’s done and the room goes quiet, I lift my gaze to you. You’ve already turned away, already headed for the door like standing still would cost you something. I adjust my hood and follow.

Tommy Davis

Turning on my heel I storm out of the room, barely nodding at the hooded figure and head to the stairs, taking them three at a time like a hurricane with a purpose.  Coming out of the stairwell, two floors up, I head into a conference room, making sure there is nobody inside quickly before I turn, plant my feet, my fists clenched hard and wait for you to follow me inside.

Micah McIntyre
I follow you into the conference room and stop just inside the door, letting it close before I move any farther. The hood stays up. Buildings like this record first and ask questions later, and I’m not interested in having my identity recorded by anyone who isn’t in this room. My eyes move once around the space, slow and unhurried, taking in corners, the ceiling, the table. If you notice, you don’t say anything. That’s fine.

“I brought him back,” I say, voice level. “Alive. Breathing. Yours again.” I step forward then, just enough to claim my place without crowding you. “I held up my end. You offered something in return.” My head tilts slightly, more impatience than threat. “So let’s clear the air. Tell me who the fuck you are, and tell me why someone thought turning my life inside out was so goddamn important.”

Tommy Davis

You step into my personal space, not too close, but if you think that small gap will save you, you are so wrong. And yet I hold myself back, wanting to know more. Si is broken in a bed and you are standing here assessing the guy……Just like Cannon   I shake my head ever so slightly as your words cut through my inner thoughts and my eyes blaze anew.

“Alive……Breathing. Barely!   I get that Cannon sent him to do whatever the fuck he did and you got your feelings hurt.  To do that?  To someone who was just doing what they were told?”  Realising my voice is getting louder and I need to rein myself in, I stop and take a slow breath.

“Sure.  So you wanted to see Cannon’s love. Look around you. The tower, the opulence. THAT is his love. Money. He cares for what he can make from people and how long they can make money for him.”  I step back and lean, almost too casually, body still tight and ready to pounce if I feel this fucker is baiting me.  “As for me, I am Tommy, Tommy Davis.  I got recruited by him and after some……events……I owe him too.  Now who are you and why did you come here?”

Micah McIntyre
I watch you for a second after you give your name, then reach up and pull the hood back. No pause. No ceremony. You already said too much for this room not to be clean. My face is just another fact now.

“Micah McIntyre,” I say. “And I’m not going to pretend we didn’t know exactly what we were doing with Silas.” My voice stays level. “He drugged me. He fucked with my mind. He tried to turn me on the man I trust most and nearly finished the job. That wasn’t just Cannon’s money talking. Silas made his own decisions. They were the wrong ones, and he paid for it.” I shrug once, small. A faint smirk cutting through. “Yeah, we took our time with him, and made sure the message was clear. Cannon needed to see it, and he did.” I hold your gaze. “If you’re angry about the condition Thorne came back in, that’s between you and Cannon. I don’t apologize for surviving.”

I shift my weight, leaning into the mountain of man in front of me. “You’re angry about what was done to him. I can see that. We’ll deal with it in due time, I’m sure.” My eyes stay on yours. “I know why Silas was sent. Cannon wanted our pay-per-view dead. He thought Hunter Productions was getting too close to his business.” I press in closer. “What I don’t know is why he decided to use Silas the way he did, why he pushed it as far as he did, and why he thought turning me into collateral damage was worth the risk.” My gaze doesn’t move. “You’re inside his operation. So tell me what he was really trying to protect, and what I need to know to take the bastard down.”

Tommy Davis

Your hood falls back and I look at your face for the first time. Not bad looking for sure, shame he is the one that hurt Si. Then you tell about the ordeal that Cannon made Silas put you through and internally I recoil at the depths that the man will sink to, while at the same time realising that he would have gone further if he knew his plan would fail.  I keep my face impassive as you lean into me and ask why.

My own lips turn up in a small smirk as I stand upright again, towering over you as I gesture around. “What is he trying to protect?   You answered your own question. He thought your event would cut into his profits and take away his viewers and backers. The man will do anything to protect his money. I mean look at me, I am an investment and after……….” I stop myself from speaking about that beating I took and the time it took me to heal, also what Cannon might be doing to hunt down two men who hurt one of his “earners”.

“Well that is not important, suffice to say you have seen how far the man will go to protect his money and the men who earn it for him. And that is his issue, one I am going to have words with him about in person when he returns from his latest trip. However, we have to talk about something MUCH more important.”  

Now I step in closer and loom over you, my hands at my sides clenching and unclenching for a moment, looking quickly over your shoulder to check that the auto lock on the door is on and seeing the double red light know that we will not be disturbed.  “You yourself got hurt because of Cannon. So you thought it was okay to hurt someone else?  And then think you can bring him back here and all will be okay?”  I let my voice drop low, menacing on the last question as my eyes return to yours and lock in.

Micah McIntyre
You lean in, trying to intimidate with your size. I don’t give you anything back for it. When you talk about money and investments and then stop short, I catch it. You don’t hide the damage as well as you think you do. My eyes move over you once, unhurried, taking in what hasn’t finished healing yet. “Looks like you learned firsthand how disposable Cannon’s ‘earners’ really are,” I say quietly. “Funny how fast loyalty turns into collateral.” 

As you step closer, fists tightening, I smile, brief and cutting. “You’re framing this like I got hurt and decided to pass it on,” I say. “That’s not what happened. Silas didn’t take a punch meant for someone else. He chose to drug me, to use my body as a weapon, to try to finish a job that would’ve left me dead or empty if it worked.” My voice stays even. “That’s not following orders. That’s deciding the ends justify whatever you do to another man.” I hold your stare. “So don’t dress this up like I crossed some moral line you’re standing on.”

I shift my weight, leaning into the mountain of man in front of me. “So don’t talk to me about whether it’s okay to hurt someone else. Talk to me about where you draw the line.” My gaze holds yours. “Because you’re still here. Still training in this building. Still calling Cannon a problem you’ll deal with later.” I shrug once, small. “Either the ends justify the means around here, or they don’t. And if they don’t, then stop pretending this is about Silas and be honest about what you really want from me.”

Tommy Davis

I listen to you tell more of the story of what happened and I sympathise, I know what Cannon is capable of. However, my mind flashes back to Silas in the medical bed, machines beeping and flashing as they check him over and then his eyes, boring into my own before they close and some of the stiffness; a stiffness of pain I know all too well, fades slowly from his body.

I come back to the now and the words you have spoken play back through my mind. The pain in your own voice, try as you may to hide it behind a facade of bravery, is evident. I feel for you, I really do. However……

“Yea I get that Silas was the instrument, I understand that he was the one there and you had been hurt. However you do not understand the depths that the snake Cannon will go to, to get what he wants. He makes people think that they are doing the right thing. He gets you to work with him and do stuff you would never consider doing.  However the target of your rage, your ire, is the snake himself, not the tool he employed. I have been a tool myself, unwittingly in a quest for my own revenge.”

I take another step toward you, my pecs almost touching your own. “You hurt someone I am starting to care for, a person I helped break through walls that had been there a lifetime. Not just physically…….no that can be healed.  You have made him retreat further into his psyche than before and you DID NOT HAVE TO DO IT!”

My voice raises but I keep my body under control, just barely. My hands clench into fists and I feel my right eye twitching as the rage, smoldering under the surface begins to boil once again.

Micah McIntyre
You’re close enough now that I can feel your breath hit my chest. I don’t give you space. I step in and take it, chest to chest, forcing you to either move or own it. “You keep calling Thorne a tool, like that makes what he did smaller,” I say. “Like being used wipes the slate clean. It doesn’t.” My voice stays flat. “You didn’t break through his walls. You gave him a place to hide behind them. And now you’re angry because I didn’t play along once he showed me exactly the man he is.”

I close the last inch you were daring me to cross, chest brushing yours.

My hand comes up and closes around the front of your shirt, locking you in place so there’s no pretending this is still a conversation. I tilt my head slightly, eyes never leaving yours. “You want to talk about Cannon like he’s the monster in the room, but you’re still thinking like one of his men. Still explaining why it had to happen. Still protecting the instrument instead of owning the damage.”

Leaning in, my lips gently graze against your ear, slow and deliberate. My fist tightens in your shirt, pressing into your chest hard enough that you feel it. “If you’d been the one he sent after me, and you’d gone as far as Silas did, I would’ve done the same to you.” I loosen my grip but don’t step back. “So don’t tell me what I didn’t have to do. Either you deal with me right now, or you admit you’re still hiding behind the snake that’s calling the shots.”

Tommy Davis

You grab my shirt like you are somehow controlling the situation, somehow making yourself the one in charge. You say that you would have done the same to me that you managed to do to Silas and I manage to hold my laughter in until you finish your little diatribe. And then I reach up and grab your wrist in my large hand and press down on the bones there to make you release your grip, nothing too painful but now I am showing you who is in control here as I shove your hand away with a snort of derision.

“You think you would have done to ME what you did to Si?  Oh that is some wishful thinking from a small man. Have you heard of a Frenchman called Napoleon, he was much like you, and like you he was wrong.”

With my last word, the hand that dislodged your grip, snakes out and grips your shoulder. Not bad size I think to myself quickly as I hold you in place as my knee lifts up and into your abs, drilling in before I shove you back.

Stalking forward as you stumble, my words as cold as ice.  “You are here in my world now. You hurt someone I care about and then speak as if you are superior somehow for hurting him. Well………..I think it is time I show you why you should not have done that.”

Micah McIntyre
Your knee lands solid, driving the breath out of me in a sharp grunt as I stagger half a step. I suck the air back into my lungs and let out a laugh that sounds wrong in your face, my hand rubbing once over my abs, checking your work. “Not bad,” I say. “You hit like a man who’s used to people staying down.”

I straighten and roll my shoulders, eyes flicking up to meet yours, amused and bright. “Napoleon?” I snort. “That’s the one you go with?” I step back into you, palm snapping up to your throat, not crushing it, just controlling it long enough to make the point. “Size didn’t beat him. Arrogance did.” My eyes lift to yours. “Careful you’re not proving the point.”

My hand drops from your throat as the words leave my mouth, but I don’t give you space to recover. Before you can react, I step inside your reach and lock you up, my arm threading under yours as I turn my shoulder in tight against your chest. I don’t try to drive you straight back. I pivot, drag you half a step across yourself, and walk you sideways, forcing your weight to follow where your balance already went.

For a brief second, I have you turned and off-balance, your own size working against you as I shove you down to the ground.

I circle around you a half step, still keeping close. “You think this is your world?” I grin. “You bring me into a room, throw a knee, and suddenly you’re king?” I lean down over you, forehead almost touching yours. “Careful. Men who rely on size always get real quiet when it stops working.”

Tommy Davis

You are quick and can take a shot. Noted. Coming right back at me, your hand on my throat to prove a point and then you step in closer and drag me off balance before shoving me to the ground. Your words about the French peanut have me laughing as your forehead leans in close.

Close enough as I snap my own forehead up into yours forcing you to stand up. Quicker than my size belies I reach and grab your arm before you can stagger back too far and to keep you in position for me to kip my feet up and then swing them hard to the side causing me to pivot on my ass and I spin the back of my calves into your own and trip them out from under you. I release your arm as you fall and complete the turn, get my knees onto the hardwood floor and surge forward on top of you.

I dig one knee into the centre of your chest as the other digs into the elbow I had previously grabbed. My right hand lashes out to grip your throat in my own grasp, not too tight as to restrict your airflow, not just yet.

“Arrogance indeed. Is that not the point, you yourself just proved. People always assume I am a lumbering ox of a man, and I can be. One other thing I learned here, other than how to read and manipulate people, is how to use a perceived weakness and turn it on its head. Now, I so wanted to talk to you, but it seems you want to try more of what you did to Silas. However, I think you did not work on him alone nor did you give him the honourable chance I am going to give to you.”

Slowly I release your throat and, digging my knee into your chest once more for effect, I stand up off you.  “I have a ring two floors down where there are no cameras and there will be no witnesses. I will give you a chance to take me on and prove yourself. However, when I have taken you down, you will listen to ME and we can talk properly.  Deal?”

Micah McIntyre
“Fuck!!” The headbutt snaps my head back and the word tears out of me on reflex. Before I can reset my feet, the floor is suddenly there, the air knocked out of me as your weight crashes down. Your knee digs into my chest, the other pins my arm, your hand at my throat. I drag in a breath through my teeth and grin up at you anyway. “That’s better,” I rasp. “Now you’re actually trying.”

You start talking about arrogance and honor and what you think I did or didn’t do with Silas, and I laugh again, short and ugly. “Honor?” I cough. “You opened this with a knee to my gut and you’re hovering over me lecturing like I asked for a sermon.” My eyes stay on yours. “You made this physical. Don’t get precious about it now.”

When you ease off and stand, I roll to my side and push up, slower than I’d like but steady, brushing a hand across my chest where your knee was. “And don’t flatter yourself thinking I needed help,” I add, voice low. “Silas didn’t get broken because of numbers. He got broken because he chose to go as far as he did, and I made sure he understood the cost.”

At the mention of your ring, my smile widens, sharp and interested. “Two floors down, no cameras?” I glance around the room once, deliberate. “In this building? That’s a hell of a promise.” My eyes come back to you. “But yeah. Deal. We’ll talk down there.” I step in close again, close enough to make it clear I’m not backing off. “And when I take you down, you can explain all you want. I’ll be listening.”

Tommy Davis
Your mouth twitches into something that might be amusement, or might just be another warning.

“Good.”

I turn toward the door, one hand already reaching for the lock. The conference room lock gives a soft mechanical click as it releases.

I look back at you once.

“Because downstairs…”

Our eyes lock, my jaw tenses.

“We continue this conversation.”

“And I promise you… it’s going to get a hell of a lot less polite.”

END PART ONE

Published: 8 days ago, viewed 77 times.