Chapter 4
“So,” Asher starts and I screw my eyes shut.
“The new girl.” He smirks at me with a knowing fucking smirk I want to wipe off his face.
This isn’t the time or the place and he knows it.
The Underground is roaring tonight and I’m about to fight a guy who easily looks like he could crumble me with one hit.
I’m going to have to be really smart about this one.
Know. React. Believe. I can do this.
“What about her?” I snap.
“Do you…like her?”
“Jesus.” I sigh and run a hand down my face. “She and I understand each other. Is she cute? Obviously. Does she keep me on my toes? For sure. We’re just hanging out. I helped her out with Frank and his gaggle of morons, not that she really needed my help, but there’s that.”
“So you like her,” Asher says plainly, punching me in the shoulder.
“Shut up,” I mutter and punch him back. “Stop distracting me, I need to focus.”
“Yeah, you do. That guy looks like he’s going to chew you up and spit you out.
You’re going to need to make sure that you watch for that barely healed bruise on his left flank.
I’d guess broken ribs so he’s going to be favoring his left.
That paw might still get you, but I’m going to bet that if you land a few good punches there, he’ll go down. ”
“How the hell…” I let the sentence float between us because Asher’s not always the most observant person.
“When it comes to leaving here with my teeth and a fat stack of cash or being injured and us going without food for days, I fucking pay attention.”
I shrug and nod, can’t fault him there. Taking a deep breath, I try to steady my nerves and channel the adrenaline going through my body. I welcome the adrenaline rush, the rush of emotions that causes me to fidget and move, it forces me to be on edge. Alert. Focused.
“You’ve got this, Ty. He’s bigger than you, but you’re fast. Use it.” Asher nods, pumping my shoulder with his fist. “Know, react–”
“Believe,” I finish and step forward, eyes trained on my opponent as the bell goes off and the fight starts. We circle each other, eyes trained on the other to make sure there’re no surprises.
I can’t take the chance.
Bringing my hands up, I wait.
Patience.
I force myself to steady my breathing before the first punch even lands, and when he steps forward again, I swerve. He’s bigger, thicker, meaner. Every muscle on him looks like it was carved from stone, and I know damn well this is the kind of fight where one wrong move means lights out.
But I don’t back down. I never have. Never will. If I want to make it down here, make it enough that I can survive up there, I need to win this–and every fight–that comes my way.
Losing isn’t an option.
His lips curl into a grin, like he’s already got me figured out. And it pisses me off.
The crowd’s buzzing around us, but all I hear is the blood rushing in my ears. Asher yelling at me to stay focused.
Throwing out the next punch, wild, desperate, a little sloppy, but I’m aiming for his left side, and I land a hit. Hard. The fucker flinches, hisses and stumbles backwards. He snarls, coming at me with a left hook that could take my fucking head off if I don’t move.
I dodge it, just barely, and his fist grazes my cheek. The pain’s sharp, but I’m quick, quicker than him. I swing a hard right to his ribs, and I feel a crack beneath my knuckles. He groans, his eyes closing for a micro-second and I fucking hope this is it. That I’ve won.
But no.
He slams a forearm into my chest, and all the oxygen leaves my lungs. Stumbling back, I struggle to stay on my feet. My chest is burning, my vision going fuzzy at the edges. But I don’t stop.
I can’t.
My legs shake, but I dig in, and I meet his next punch head-on. He doesn’t even see me slip my elbow up, cracking it into his jaw with a sickening thud. My knuckles groan in protest, I can already feel the ache I’m going to have for days.
But he stumbles.
I don’t have time to savor it, he’s coming at me again.
Twisting, I duck under him, using my leaner frame to my advantage. His swings are too wide, too powerful. I keep my movements tight, close.
I’m faster.
He’s already pissed, trying to lock me down with that bear of a body, but I see what Asher was talking about. He’s favoring his left side.
The guy lunges, trying to pin me to the ground, and fuck if I’m not already planning for it. I don’t let him get me. Not like this. Stepping back, I throw an uppercut to his chin, and the sound of it is sick. His eyes roll back, and that’s when I know I have to go for it.
Diving in, I drive my shoulder into his chest, while I jab repeatedly at his injured ribs, I knock him off-balance. We both hit the ground hard, and I feel the impact all the way up my spine. I scramble, getting my knee into his stomach to keep him down. I don’t even give him a second to breathe.
One punch to his face. Another. He tries to grab my arm, but I’m already in motion. Another shot, this time to his ribs. I can feel the blood pooling in my knuckles, but I don’t care. Not now.
He’s losing steam. His movements are slowing down, and I see the desperation in his eyes.
It’s almost over.
He’s too fucking tired. He didn’t think I’d last. He didn’t think I could. But I can. And I will.
I rear back, a final blow ready to knock him out cold. And then I slam my fist into the side of his face with everything I’ve got.
His body goes slack, and I push off him, standing up, my body trembling. My chest is heaving, and I’m bleeding, but I did it.
I fucking won one of my first big fights. First of many.
The rushing in my ears is so loud, all I can hear is my heavy breathing. Asher comes running over, one hand in his jacket pocket that tells me he got the money. People start to swarm me, asking me my name, who trained me, when’s my next fight, why’d I lose them all their money?
Asher pushes through the crowd of people and grabs my arm, pulling me towards the exit.
“Challenge!” Rings out across the pit.
“Mickey,” Asher sighs heavily.
A guy, maybe a few years older than us stands in close to the space we just left and if it wasn’t obvious he was talking to us by embarrassingly commanding the floor, he felt the need to point me out.
It’s Frank’s gangbanger cousin. I don’t know his name yet, but I know all the Franks are assholes. The one that goes to our school, and this one is no different.
“Three nights from now. Your fighter vs mine. $300 buy-in. You in?” he says, throwing down his challenge like a gauntlet.
I know I should let Asher speak for me. For some reason that’s how these things work down here.
Your hype man, your ‘manager’ handles this for you.
But there’s something fucking slimy and gross about this guy.
Something sinister that makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
Or bury him in a hole so deep no one else has to feel this.
“Who’s your guy?” Asher says calmly.
Mickey scoffs. “You don’t know my guy?”
“Should I?” Asher tilts his head to the side and crosses his arms over his chest intimidatingly. “Is he the one you hold tightly after he loses and tell him a participation trophy is good enough down here?”
Oh fuck, I think.
“The fuck did you just say to me?” Mickey snarls and a big beefy guy who must be his fighter rushes towards us.
“Fuck you, Phoenix. Fuck you!”
“I’m just calling it like I see it, Granite. I mean come on.”
I remember him, Granite, now. He was one that Asher fought way back when he started a few months ago. The guy crumpled within the first two minutes and begged Asher to stop. It was definitely something you’d remember seeing–and be second-hand embarrassed for–at a fight club.
“If you think he’s that bad, then have your guy fight him. Let’s put it to the test.” Mickey says, his green eyes swimming with some kind of plan that I know won’t be good.
Asher looks to me for confirmation, and I nod.
“Three nights,” Asher repeats firmly. “If your guy isn’t here at ten, we’re out.”
“Don’t fucking worry, I’ll be there.” Granite–stupid fucking name–sneers.
Asher turns and nudges me forward. Once we rush up the stairs and through the tunnel, up towards the hidden entrance, I can finally catch my breath and breathe in the fresh air that’s not tinged with sweat, blood, and dirt.
“Fucking Mickey,” he answers darkly and we start walking. Neither of us have a car or a bike, so we walk. It takes us for-fucking-ever, but we do what we have to do.
“Wait, that’s his first name? Mickey? Like Mickey Mouse?”
Asher snorts and shoves his hands in his jacket. Noticing the chill now that the adrenaline’s leaving my system, I pull my henley over my head.
“He’s a few years older than us. Nineteen, I think, but thinks he’s the fucking king of The Underground.”
“Ah, so this is a pride thing now.” Trying to tend to a bruised ego while in this business isn’t smart, but unfortunately, it’s what happens a lot.
One dumbass gets his feelings hurt and then hits the wrong person and a whole fight breaks out that wasn’t sanctioned.
Then the fighter gets pulled from the challengers list and they’re out from The Underground for good.
It's happened quite a few times since we started.
“Exactly,” Asher nods. We walk out into the dark night, guided only by the full moonlight and the intermittent stakes in the desert floor that provide a small, dim light for the last fifteen minutes of the trek.
“So you didn’t answer me.” Asher breaks the silence.
I already know where this is going, fuck.
“About what?”
Play dumb, Ty.
“Roxie.”
“What about her? You already asked if I liked her and I told you we have this…connection. It’s weird, and I’m still figuring out what’s up. She’s been through hell and back.”
“Like calls to like,” Asher says simply, nodding his head in understanding.
“Maybe.”
“She’s funny,” Asher throws out there, like he’s trying to convince me to like her.
Like I need any more convincing.
“She is.”
“She’s cute.”
Watch it…
“She is.”
“You guys are in the same homeroom.”
“What’s your point, Asher?” I snap, not knowing what he’s getting at.
Asher sighs loudly, grumbling under his breath.
“Seriously, what the hell is going on?” I slip into Spanish easily, throwing the words at him like he understands. We’ve been friends for a few years now and he’s still not well-versed.
“Nothing is going on!” he says roughly, an eye-roll clear in his voice.
My eyebrows shoot up.
“I’m impressed you knew that,” I say. We’re getting closer to the edge of the road, where if we turn north and follow the road for about ten minutes, we’ll be in town and another ten minutes from Asher’s apartment.
I always get nervous walking this road. If someone sees us walking on the side of the road, they could report it and get the cops involved.
Being fifteen means they’d have to contact parents or get the government involved.
Not only that, but making this trek while one or both of us are injured is a bitch.
“Seriously, why do you care about what I think of Roxie so much?”
Asher sighs and in the darkness, I can see him shrug.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes, if it gets you to stop asking me every two seconds what I think about her.”
“I think you’ve been dealt a hard hand in life.
We both have, I know,” he says quickly when I immediately try to rebuttal that.
“But you seemed happier today at lunchtime eating shitty fifty cent ramen then I have seen you in…a long fucking time. She was sitting there and you tried your best to keep your eyes off her, but the moment you looked at her, your whole face lit up.”
I shake my head, sighing. “Here I thought you weren’t the observant one.”
“I mean, when your energy shifts from broody, dark, asshole to love-sick puppy dog, it’s pretty drastic,” he says with a teasing tone, and I shove him roughly making him fall off-balance. “Damn it, Ty!”
“Oh don’t be a baby. Come on.” I hold my hand out and help him up, his dramatic ass looking at me like I punched him out.
We start walking again and I think about what he says.
“She needs someone. A friend. A protector. Someone. And she’s this picture of rough and tough in a small little 5’5” lithe frame with black hair and combat boots, but I can’t tell if it’s a front or not. ”
“And you want to be that someone?” he asks in that way that suggests he doesn’t actually expect an answer, dropping the metaphorical mic, and going to the treeline so we can walk into town with some coverage from cars driving by.
“I…I think I do.”