Chapter 8
SIX YEARS LATER
Fuck, I’ve been doing this for so long I barely even register the noises anymore.
I’m straining to see through the blood dripping out of my eyes. It’s been a close fucking fight.
Too close.
The cut on my forehead must be worse than I thought because along with my vision waning, the world is taking on a reddish tint. I knew the last punch from this fucker was too much. The world is spinning, my hearing is going, my vision is doubling.
Fuck, I wish Asher was here.
That meaty paw did some damage. I know I don’t have a lot of time left. I can’t breathe, my head is killing me, my heart is beating too quickly. Something is really wrong this time.
I’m swaying, I’m sure of it, but before I go down, I’m taking this fucker with me.
I’m already aching; nursing some broken ribs, a few broken fingers and a broken nose.
My opponent reaches out to get me–probably thinking that I’m as good as KO’ed–but I take his arm and kick his forearm away before it can reach me.
There’s a satisfying crack as he screams, holding the limp appendage.
He staggers back, and I take a steadying breath. I don’t have much longer.
I look at my cousin Ricardo, and watch Mario. They’re both screaming at me, barely, but I can’t hear them. Ricardo’s pointing aggressively and I turn just in time to see the mammoth of a guy charge at me.
I have one shot.
Lurching forward, I land a blow to the side of this guy’s head. He stumbles back as the crowd cheers, the ring of people around us getting bigger when they realize one of us is about to go down.
And it’s not going to be me.
I charge on the guy, punching him over and over until his head lulls back and his body drops.
Knock-out.
Fucker was bigger than I’ve ever fought before. Mario had said a bigger weight class would pay more as the bets would be against me, but fuck. I didn’t think I’d get my ass handed to me quite this hard. I try to catch my breath, the adrenaline wearing off very fucking quickly. Fuck.
Everything is quiet as my opponent, well-named as The Fist, lays there in the dirt. Like everyone is waiting on bated breath to see if he’ll get up.
I’m swaying on my feet, but still standing. Desperately trying to catch my breath, it feels like time slows down. The lights flicker, the gruff sounds around me fall away and it’s like I’m in a dream.
What is it?
It’s like a siren going on in my mind. Like someone reaching out and running their finger over the length of my back. I have dozens of eyes on me, but someone’s feel more prominently than the rest,and I search for the gaze.
Roxie. Her name goes off like a neon sign lighting up in my brain and I swear I stop breathing. I haven’t allowed myself to even think her name in years.
She’s back. Is she really?
What is she doing here? Anxiety fills my chest at the thought of her being down here at all, even though I’m so fucking overjoyed to see her.
Her mouth opens, but before I can see what she’d say, time catches up with me and everything happens at once.
Mario comes up to me, throwing my arm over his shoulder to carry some of my weight as my leg gives out. Fuck, that guy really got me.
“Come on, come on,” he grunts. I’m at least four inches taller than he is and it really works against us right now. When I look back for Roxie, she’s gone.
No.
My chest tightens.
No. Not again.
I must have imagined her…
It wouldn’t be the first time.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Goddamn it, I really miss Asher coming to the fights right now.
Asher got out and I’m glad he did, but it made it so I had to find another man in the corner. Mario and Ricardo seemed to fit the bill, but it’s definitely not the same.
“Yeah, yeah, you can curse me out as you’re counting your thousands.
Let’s go.” Mario pulls me through the crowd that starts to swarm, like they always do.
They’re usually swarming me in joy and camaraderie, tonight the tone is different.
They think I’ve cheated. Mario’s young, but he knows how to bet on me to make the most money possible in one night.
It brings a lot of angry hecklers.
“Fucking snake!”
“He cheated, get him!”
“No one beats The Fist! What the fuck?!”
All kinds of things are screamed at me, screamed at Mario as we rush through the crowd as fast as I can stand it. The Fist stomped on my shin early in the fight. Pretty sure it’s got a hairline fracture; I can feel it so much more now that the adrenaline’s leaving my system.
“I…can’t. Help,” I whisper, I’m barely forcing myself to keep going.
“Just a little longer, Ty. Come on, big bro.”
Ricardo’s standing at the entrance, a bag visibly full of cash as he waves us along to try and get us to walk faster.
“Come on, quicker, they’re starting to turn,” he snaps.
“You don’t think I can fucking see that?” Mario yells. Ricardo holds the bag tighter and runs out the door to get the car. I’d be more hesitant to leave him with my bag of cash, but if I get caught by the crowd I don’t want that to add fuel to the fire.
Making sure I get paid, and keeping as much as I can, is paramount.
I’m not ruining my pretty face over nothing.
Mario and I limp out the front door and into the car Ricky had right by the entrance. Climbing into the backseat hurts like a son of a bitch, but it’s gotta happen. Mario climbs in after me, Ricardo gets behind the wheel just as the mob starts leaving the venue, a few knuckleheads looking for me.
It’s like these dumbasses don’t realize that if they place a bet and lose, they lose their money too. This is the first time I’ve seen the crowd turn like this. Enough to follow me out. Holy fuck.
“Where are we going?” Ricardo asks nervously, looking around to make sure we aren’t being followed.
“Asher’s,” I groan, my head falling back against the seat. I’m still living with him, so if I need medical assistance and a verbal lashing from my roommate, might as well just go home.
I groan, “Did you guys grab my stuff?”
“Already in the trunk.” Mario nods. I relax, but I can barely see him through the blood dripping into my eyes and the darkness. Maybe I should just stop fighting the darkness.
“How much did we make?” I sigh quietly, breathing shallowly and holding my ribs.
“At least three grand.”
“Good,” I nod, but that hurts too. My fingers trace the black, worn leather cord tied to my wrist. Somehow, my fingers always find it and I can’t deny that it brings me comfort.
Something I need now.
Not just because of the pain I’m in, but because I swear I saw her. But then she was gone and the pain of that flares in my chest, even as I’m losing the fight against sleep.
“No, no, Ty. Don’t fall asleep.”
“Just a minute,” I slur.
“Fuck!” I hear Mario hiss right before I pass out.
“What the fuck? Why didn’t I know he was fighting tonight, Mario?
” I hear Asher growl at my brother, muttering obscenities under his breath and I cry out as he tightens his grip on my bad leg.
“Fuck, this is bad guys. This is why I got out! It’s not fucking worth our lives.
We’re all so goddamn stupid and it’s infuriating.
What were you thinking? What was he thinking? Oh good, you’re awake.”
Asher doesn’t sound happy to see me.
“After we had to carry you up three flights of stairs. Your ass isn’t light.” Asher rolls his eyes and gets back to work.
“How bad is it?” I swallow, trying to get some moisture into my mouth. It feels like I’ve licked the desert.
“Split eyebrow that will need at least two stitches, broken nose, four broken fingers, three broken ribs, a leg that looks like it’s bending the wrong way.
Definitely a concussion. A nasty fucking one.
You’ve been passed out for too long, Ty.
I’m worried we’re talking brain damage. Not to mention you’re covered in bruises and cuts.
Did this guy have brass knuckles on?” Asher frets over me as he wipes the blood from my body and I see just how much is on the rag he wiped over me. “We should go to the hospital.”
“No. No hospitals. We can’t afford it.” I try to sit up, but it hurts so much I get dizzy. “Oh fuck.”
“Yeah, ‘oh, fuck’,” Asher snaps. “What were you thinking? You could have died.”
“That I’d make a shit-ton of money. Money for the family and for the shop. Money we need to get out of this shithole.” I lean back, resting my head on the soft pillow under my neck. “And I did. Don’t get high and mighty on me, Asher. You and I both know you’ve done some stupid shit to stay afloat.”
“Not at this much of an expense of my life,” he grumbles. “Mario told me that you asked to bump up a weight division. Stupid. You’re going to have a concussion and the side effects of it for a long fucking time. Dumbass.”
“I’m fine, it’s fine. Stop mother-henning me.” I wave him off, but out of the corner of my eye I see the needle and thread. “You couldn’t have done that while I was passed out?”
Getting stitches hurts more than I think it should.
“I figured if you felt the stitches, maybe you wouldn’t do this shit again.”
“Asher,” I say through gritted teeth and glare at him. “Leave it be.”
“Fine. I just want to say this though. You’re my best friend.
My brother. Tonight scared me man. You weren’t responding at all in the car.
I haven’t seen you like that before. Then I find out it’s because you tried to fight someone out of your weight group?
Not cool. Fighting in The Underground is fucking dangerous and I don’t think you’re thinking things through.
We will figure out how to get the money for the shop.
It’s not worth your life. I don’t think I’d be able to move past losing you too,” he grumbles, and picks up the needle before flicking a lighter on, burning it to sanitize.
I’m quiet, trying to take in what he’s saying. Asher doesn’t go around expressing himself like that–neither do I–so the fact that he is, says this was the nail in the coffin for him. It was too scary, too close and that scares me.