Chapter 14 #2
I stepped out of the cage and made my way back through the crowd.
Feeling someone staring at me, I turned my head and scanned the area until my eyes landed on a guy off to the side.
He stood a few feet behind the cage, arms crossed, watching me like he was sizing me up.
I held his gaze for a second, then spun around.
I picked up my duffel, thinking that would be the end of it.
It wasn’t.
“Hey.” The voice came from behind me.
I turned. He was closer now and taller than I’d initially expected. He appeared to be in his early to mid-thirties and was clean-cut but not in a way that indicated a corporate job. More like someone who cared about how he presented himself.
“You always fight like that?” he asked.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re not worried about getting hit.”
I let out a quiet chuckle. “Worrying about it doesn’t stop it from happening.”
He grinned. “True.”
His attention shifted toward the cage, where the next fight was already starting, then returned to me. “You train anywhere?”
“No.”
“Just doing these?” He gestured vaguely around the warehouse.
“Pretty much.”
He studied me for another second. “You’ve got good instincts. Your balance is solid, and you recover quickly. You’re just … unrefined.”
I gave a humorless laugh. “Good to know.”
“It’s not an insult.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t sure what the guy was getting at.
“Have you ever thought about training for real?”
I adjusted my grip on my bag. “Not really.”
“Why not?”
“Training doesn’t bring in money or keep my car running.”
“Fair enough,” he agreed. “I’m Devon Marshall.” He stuck out his hand.
I hesitated for a moment before reaching out to shake. “Keaton Stafford.”
“I know,” he said.
That made me pause. “How?”
“You’ve fought a couple of times in Sacramento, right?”
I lifted a brow. “You’ve been watching me?”
“Not in a creepy way,” he replied. “I live there and check out the local talent from time to time. About a month ago, you fought a guy twice your size. Dropped him in the second.”
I remembered that fight. The guy was huge, all wild swings and bad intentions, and he’d driven me into the fence hard enough to rattle my teeth before I knocked him out. I went home with cash in my pocket and a bruise blooming across my ribs.
Devon glanced toward the exit, then back at me. “Have you eaten yet?”
I blinked at the shift in conversation. “What?”
“Food,” he clarified. “You look like you could use some.”
I almost said no out of habit, but I hadn’t eaten since I’d gotten on the road. The adrenaline crash from the fight was already starting to creep in, leaving me feeling a bit shaky.
“Depends,” I answered. “What’s the catch?”
His mouth twitched. “No catch.”
“People usually don’t offer to buy me food for no reason.”
“Maybe I’m just a nice guy.”
I took him in for a second, trying to decide if that was bullshit. “Maybe.”
“Or,” he added, “maybe I see someone with potential who’s currently wasting it by getting punched in abandoned warehouses.”
“So which is it?” I asked. “You being nice or are you trying to recruit me into something?”
“Both.”
At least he was honest, and I was a little intrigued. What could be the harm listening to someone with fighting insight while getting a meal out of it?
“All right. I can eat.”
“There’s a diner about ten minutes from here. It’s open all night.”
I nodded. “Yeah … okay.”
I watched his taillights as I followed Devon to the diner. Once we parked, we went inside and took a booth near the window. We checked out the menu, and both ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke.
After the server walked away, Devon leaned forward slightly. “So what’s your story?”
I shrugged. “Nothing interesting.”
“Try me.”
“All right. I work at a pizza joint and pick up fights when I can. Then I crash wherever someone’s got an open couch.”
He frowned. “No permanent home?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“Any family?”
I stared down at the table. “Not really.”
He didn’t push.
The server came back with our drinks, setting the glasses down in front of us.
Devon took a sip and then spoke again. “I own a gym.”
“Really?”
“Titan Elite.” He beamed.
The name sounded familiar, and I remembered passing by the place a few times while out on deliveries.
“In Sacramento?” I clarified.
“That’s the one.”
“That’s not exactly a small gym.”
“No, it’s not,” he agreed.
“And you’re just here?” I gestured vaguely in the direction of where we’d just come from.
“Not exactly. There’s a tournament in town this weekend,” he explained. “I’ve got a couple of fighters competing tomorrow.”
“And you just decided to hit up an illegal fight while in town?”
He smirked. “I like seeing what’s out there. Sometimes you find someone worth investing in.”
My brows furrowed. “And you think that’s me?”
“I think you’ve got raw talent, but you’re going to get yourself seriously hurt if you keep doing this without proper training.”
I sat back in the booth, crossing my arms. “I already know that.”
“Then why keep doing it?”
I held his stare. “Because it pays.”
He nodded slowly, as if that reason made sense to him.
The waitress dropped off our food, and for a minute, the conversation paused while we both started eating. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I took the first bite.
Devon watched me for a second, then returned to his own plate. After a bit, he spoke again. “You sticking around tomorrow?” I shook my head. “Nah, I’m heading back tonight.”
“You should stay.”
I raised a brow. “For what?”
“You could come to the fights.”
I huffed out a small laugh. “I don’t really have the extra cash to hang around.”
“That’s not a problem.”
I froze. “Yeah, it is.”
“I’ve got a room at the hotel with two beds. You can crash there,” he offered.
I set my burger down. “Dude, that sounds like the setup of a horror movie or something.”
He chuckled. “You can always text someone and give them my name. I’ll even let you see some ID.”
I laughed too because he wasn’t giving me any creepy vibes. “Seriously, though, what are you getting out of this?”
Devon didn’t answer right away. “I think you’re worth the time,” he finally replied.
I thought it over for a second, then agreed. “Okay, I’ll stay.”
It may have been a stupid idea, but I wasn’t getting ahead by playing things smart.
As I drove through the streets of Reno, the glow of neon signs and casino lights pierced the darkness. I kept telling myself I could still turn around and head back to Sacramento. Instead, I continued on to the parking lot of a hotel just off the main strip.
I parked next to Devon and grabbed a bag from the backseat before stepping out of the car. Since I didn’t have a permanent home, I kept most of my stuff in my car, which made it easy to stay somewhere unexpectedly.
He was already heading toward the entrance, holding the door open as I caught up.
“Thanks,” I muttered as I stepped inside.
We went straight to the elevator and rode up quietly. I leaned my back against the wall, watching the numbers climb while my mind tried to decide if this was a good idea or not.
The doors slid open, and Devon stepped out first, leading us down the hall to room 414. He swiped the key and pushed the door open. “Go ahead,” he said, moving aside.
I walked inside and saw two beds just as he promised.
A small table sat by the window and a TV hung on the wall above a dresser.
I put my bag down on the table and stood there awkwardly.
“There’s a bunch of pre-fight stuff in the morning.
” He tossed his keys onto the dresser. “You can meet up with me for the first fight at noon.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“You can take the shower first,” he added.
“Yeah, I definitely need one.” I pulled out a change of clothes from my bag and headed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.
The second I was alone, I braced my hands on the counter and stared at my reflection.
I saw a purple bruise forming along my jaw, and the cut near my eyebrow had reopened.
I turned on the water, letting it heat up before stepping in.
The spray hit my skin, and I tilted my head back, letting it run over my face to wash away the sweat and blood. For a few minutes, I didn’t think about anything and just enjoyed the hot shower. When I stepped out, I dried off quickly and pulled on my boxer briefs and a pair of sweats.
When I came out, Devon was sitting on the edge of the other bed, scrolling through his phone. He looked up, and his gaze immediately went to my chest. Then he set the phone aside. “You clean up better than most of the fighters I see.”
“Thanks.” I ran a hand through my damp hair. “So, do you always go scouting at places like that?”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “Sometimes.”
“Seems like a good way to find guys who don’t know what they’re doing.”
“It’s also a good way to find guys who haven’t been shaped yet,” he countered.
“Is that what you want? To shape me?”
He chuckled. “I think I’ve made that obvious.”
“And you do this a lot?” I gestured around the room.
“Do what exactly?”
“Pick up random guys after fights, then offer them food and a place to stay.”
He grinned. “Not usually.”
“Then what’s different about me?”
He stood, closing the space between us by a step. “I’m not sure.”
My eyes tracked his movement. He was close enough now that I could feel the shift in the air between us. His hand lifted, pausing briefly near my jaw, before his thumb brushed the edge of the cut near my eyebrow.
“You’re going to have a scar if you don’t take care of this.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ve got others,” I said, my voice husky.
His fingers hovered a moment longer before lowering, like he wasn’t sure if he’d crossed a line or was waiting to see if I would.
I took a step back. “Devon …”
He didn’t try to close the distance between us, but he didn’t back away either. “What?”