Chapter 4
FOUR
Saniya.
I glanced around the room, and as if I could feel someone staring, my head whipped to an angle where my eyes locked with a pair of deep browns that felt eerily familiar. He glared until my eyes dropped before he pushed through a metal door and was no longer visible.
Well shit.
After the strange encounter where I found myself drawn to a man that I didn’t know but would attest to being connected to, I managed to regroup and focus on the reason I was in an abandoned warehouse thirty miles outside the city limits. The location had been sent only hours ago.
After texting the number I obtained from the bartender at The Pit, I thought for sure I wouldn’t get a response because an entire day passed prior to receiving confirmation by way of a cryptic text which only provided longitude and latitude directions. I was confused until plugging the latitude and longitude provided into a location finder I searched online.
Clever!
Much to my surprise, the accommodations were a complete contrast from what I expected. There was nothing small and dingy about the inside. Bright lights, music blasting, and hundreds of spectators filled the space. An elevated boxing ring was surrounded by organized seating. Some sections were roped off with bright red and gold cording that extended between shiny steel posts. The chairs in those sections had cushioned seats and backs while the other sections housed simple plastic folding chairs.
Servers moved around with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. There was also a fully stocked bar sitting in one corner. As appealing as the atmosphere was, I couldn’t shake the intrigue I felt from the man who held my attention moments before. The moment I was under his loaded gaze, I felt a spark of something explode internally.
A shift so rare that it was only granted with the acknowledgment of a virile man. I remembered him from The Pit. The man who came
to my rescue then disappeared as if he hadn’t knocked a guy on his ass, rendering him unconscious where he had to be carried out by security. He was a rare breed. The type who, without effort, had a woman’s heart racing and pulse quickening. Seeing him had my entire body on hyper alert.
He’s a fighter.
The heated sensation that warmed the back of my neck before spreading lower and extending throughout the rest of my body was unexpected. So much about him unsettled me and that feeling only intensified after I dropped my eyes, only to find him still staring when my gaze found his again. The man was intense in the type of way that warned me to keep my distance but if the opportunity presented itself, I wouldn’t because I was subconsciously drawn to him at the same time.
Deep brown eyes that appeared arctic pinned me in place. His stare cut right through me. He was tall and powerfully built. His eyes were cold but beautiful and further complemented a hard, gorgeous face. The way he moved was both confident and elegant which carried an air of discipline and power. I hated that he managed to hold my gaze so intensely for that brief moment then took off as if I was just another face in the crowd.
Because you are.
A server approached. I paused the young woman long enough to snag a flute of champagne from her tray and moved deeper into the crowd. I handed off the empty glass to another by the time I crossed the room.
The seating around the ring was beginning to fill up but I planned on staying mobile to ensure I had the freedom to fully capture the best shots. Bypassing the rows of chairs, I found a spot on the wall and removed the camera I selected for the evening from my shoulder to do a once over before the fights began.
“I didn’t think they allowed media?” A rich male voice sounded from somewhere close.
“I’m not media.” I lifted the camera and fired off a few test shots instead of entertaining the man next to me.
“Then what’s the deal with the camera?” Since he didn’t take the hint that I wasn’t interested in striking up a conversation, I turned to find a bearded face and eyes so dark they appeared black. His expression was neutral, which didn’t give away much. But I stayed on the defensive with men who approached me because I was often hit on without much of an invitation on my part.
“I’m a photographer. Not media, just photos.”
“You gonna post those?”
“No.”
I wouldn’t but Joe would.
The blunt response granted me a smile that enchanted the face that was staring back at me.
“Not much for conversation either, I see.”
“Nope.”
After swiping through the test shots and making a few minor adjustments, I removed my phone and attempted to open an email account to see if any new job requests had come in only to find I had no service and nothing on my phone would connect.
“Signal’s scrambled for about a mile surrounding the building. They do it to make sure no one livestreams the fights. Kinda defeats the purpose of being exclusive if someone in here leaks it to the general public.”
“Makes sense,” I muttered. Most of the events I had experienced in the past that wanted to maintain privacy simply confiscated phones upon entry of the guests. Blocking internet access was just as beneficial, however I didn’t like feeling as if I were trapped in a situation without the ability to communicate with anyone outside of the building. I didn’t know these people.
“They’re about to start. You might want to find a seat if you want to be up close,” the man offered, pushing away from the wall. He realized I wasn’t trying to engage and thankfully wasn’t the type to force a woman’s hand. Based on the man’s looks, he had plenty who were more than willing to not only offer conversation but plenty of bonus options as well.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll hang out here.” I offered a genuine smile since the man hadn’t actually tried to hit on me. I assumed he would have had I shown the least bit of interest, but because I hadn’t he was respectful.
Rare, but appreciated.
With a loose nod, he walked away and I took the opportunity to take him in—tall, medium build, tattooed brown skin, and a tight low fade. He was actually kind of handsome but I wasn’t there for personal reasons. Tonight was about money.
Shortly after, an emcee climbed the portable metal stairs and dipped under the ropes with a microphone in hand. After he moved to the center of the ring, he provided instructions about how the evening would go. Three fights, three rounds, nine minutes each. If there was no knockout, the decision would be made by the crowd. I didn’t know much about boxing but the rules seemed fair. The entire event was well-organized, nothing like I expected.
By the time the first two matches came to a close, I was over the entire night. Brutal force, blood, and sweat was about the summary of what took place. I wasn’t sure if I could suffer through the final fight until I recognized one of the opponents.
It was the guy I’d locked eyes with earlier and everything about him had changed. No longer was he dressed in black sweats and running shoes. He was only in black athletic shorts with black compression shorts beneath them. I could see them peeking from under the cotton fabric that stopped a few inches above his knees.
Those were the only articles of clothing he wore, leaving a nice visual of his body that I couldn’t help but enjoy.
“Ladies and gentlemen. It’s time for the main event. We have a good one for you. Our reigning champion, Levitt, is facing a newcomer. He wants a chance to take down our reigning king. Sit back and enjoy.”
A roar lifted from the crowd as they clapped their appreciation for the upcoming match. Two contenders faced off, one in each corner. The larger of the two, Blue Shorts as I’d labeled him because I didn’t have anything else to go by, bounced on the balls of his feet, flashing bared teeth as he growled, eyes locked and focused. His bravado was loud, but it was also forced. One thing about my trade, it allowed me to pick up details that others easily overlooked.
His opponent, my mystery guy, was a calm, steady force. His confidence was innate, like he wasn’t concerned in the least that his opponent was a few inches taller, considerably wider, and more solid compared to his lean frame. He didn’t smile, neither did it seem he was absorbing any of the crowd’s energy. If I had to guess, he’d blocked them out the minute he climbed through the ropes to enter the ring.
While they applauded and cheered, his eyes never left his opponent, who continued to dance around his corner of the ring. He even turned his back, throwing his arms up several times, begging for them to praise him further.
Moments later, the first round began and Blue Shorts launched himself at Mystery Guy. One, two, three solid shots to the torso, only to step back in confusion when Mystery Guy absorbed every one instead of attempting to block or dodge his fists.
Blue Shorts descended on Mystery Guy with even more vengeance, pummeling his fists into Mystery Guy’s body until he put an end to the assault by shoving Blue Shorts back, which only pissed him off and had Blue Shorts charging again. Only this time, Mystery Guy reciprocated. Six precise, calculated jabs that landed so quick and hard Blue Shorts wasn’t able to avoid the contact.
My Mystery Guy was the better fighter. There was no doubt in my mind, yet he allowed Blue Shorts to persist as if he were, only delivering an occasional punch between the ones his opponent landed. I was gravely confused by what was happening and even more confused about why it evoked such strange feelings inside me. The brutality of what was happening had my body hot and yearning.
This rotation took place for two complete rounds and I assumed the third would be the same but I was proven wrong as the end of the match crept into place. Frustration overtook Blue Shorts. He wanted Mystery Guy to fight him with just as much vigor and assertion as he was putting forth and when the engagement wasn’t returned, he snapped and charged him, swinging wildly.
Mystery Guy dodged his attempts, throwing Blue Shorts off balance and for a brief moment I swear I noticed Mystery Guy smile; if it could be considered as such. On anyone else it would have been considered a snarl at best but for a man who had shown no emotion, when the corner of his lips curled and the muscles around his eyes loosened just a bit, I found my own smile surfacing. He was amused and ready…
To end the match.
At some point I’d moved closer to the ring. I hadn’t noticed how close until I lifted my camera and aimed at the center of the ring. After doing a quick adjustment, I fired off a succession of shots. This man was starkly beautiful with all of his rugged sharp edges.
Blue Shorts took a minute to regroup after another failed swing, gritting his teeth before he charged once more. Mystery Guy’s expression stoned over. He shifted left to duck a punch and returned two which nailed Blue Shorts right in the liver. That whisper of a smile was back. He was completely at ease, settling into his element. The kill was near.
“Now you want to fight,” Blue Shorts yelled. “Fine, bring it.”
Mystery Guy didn’t respond verbally. He moved into the range of Blue Shorts’ swing, blocking the right that came his way. He delivered back-to-back body blows, quick and precise, that had Blue Shorts stumbling toward the ropes. Mystery Guy didn’t advance, he dropped his arms and lowered his chin. He was taunting Blue Shorts, daring him to take the opportunity while he was fully exposed, fists at his sides, rendering him open and vulnerable.
I grinned, foreseeing how this would end. Blue Shorts was going down but his ego overshadowed his intellect.
“You want to keep your title. Come on. Here’s your chance.” Mystery Guy’s focus was rough and angry. I could see the brief moment when Blue Shorts hesitated. When he met Mystery Guy in the center of the ring, raining punches into his torso, Mystery Guy didn’t falter. He allowed Blue Shorts to present his best effort at taking him down and when he’d had enough, one quick, fast movement of his arm placed his bare knuckled fist beneath Blue Shorts’ chin. His head snapped back, then to the side when another right fist cracked against his cheek, sending him spinning a hundred and eighty degrees before he flopped into the ropes and sank to the ring floor.
Mystery Guy stood over him, breathing heavily, eyes lowered to the body below him. He was a vessel of power. I had never seen anything like him before. The blows he took should have had him struggling out of the ring, regardless of the win. However, he moved with an unwavering confidence. Had I not witnessed the match for myself, I wouldn’t have believed the beating he endured. The way he fought was strange. This guy allowed his opponent to deliver blow after blow which he didn’t attempt to dodge or defend. The only thing he made an effort to protect was his face.
The referee ended the match by motioning to Mystery Guy but there wasn’t any clarification as to who the victor was until the crowd cheered uncontrollably seconds after the referee placed his attention on him. With a nod, he claimed the victory.
I captured several more candids as he left the ring and moved through the crowd that parted to allow him room to travel through the building. The spectators did, however, congratulate the guy, sending spoken worship his way. All of which he ignored. Not once did he acknowledge any of them. His focus was that of a man lost in his own world. It was as if no one existed which was also interesting. I watched him move with another flood of intrigue rushing through me. A slow crawl of goosebumps prickled across my skin.
In my experience, fighters loved praise. They pushed their bodies and tried to secure the win, not only because it was lucrative, but because that praise was the narcotic their egos thrived on. I had a feeling, this guy didn’t give a damn about any of it, which had me intrigued and dipping through the crowd trying to get a closer look. One that wasn’t filtered through my lens. By the time I reached the area where he’d traveled, I was too late. Missed him by just a few seconds as he pushed through the door and disappeared behind it.
My eyes scanned the crowd once more until they landed on someone else. He was just off to the side of the same door, speaking in hushed tones with a man in a dark suit who wore a hard expression and had an expensive appearance. Their exchange only lasted for a brief moment and ended with the transfer of a black envelope.
This guy must be the owner. I captured a few shots of the two men as they shook hands and hurried to the door, blocking it just as the guy returned.
His brows pinched but a smile surfaced seconds after.
“You looking for me?”
“Not exactly. Can I ask a few questions?” He followed my line of sight when my eyes darted to the door that separated us from the fighter.
He chuckled dryly. “If it’s about Grand then, no.”
Grand.
The name fit. Mystery Guy was certainly Grand.
I was amused by the way his mood shifted. It wasn’t that he was offended by the assumption that my interests had bypassed him and skipped over to this Grand guy. If I wasn’t mistaken, the shift was of a more protective nature. He had settled into the role of a shield, which was odd because Grand had more than proven he could hold his own.
“Nothing too personal. Just a few…”
“You said you weren’t a reporter. Why the fuck are you asking questions about my cousin?”
Cousin.
Now it made sense
“And I’m not. This is more of a personal inquiry.”
He snorted. “Grand doesn’t do ring rats.” His eyes traveled over me from head to toe before he added with a snarky smile. “No matter how sexy they might be.”
“Cute, but you misunderstood. I’m not a ring rat. Maybe I should restate my interest. I’m curious about the way he fought. He let that guy use him as a punching bag for the first two rounds only to knock him out minutes before the end of the third. It all seemed so intentional and calculated. The skill with which he dropped that guy proves it wasn’t luck. He knew exactly what he was doing. What I want to know is why he allowed the torture to drag out when he clearly didn’t have to.”
Something about the guy’s mood shifted again. He studied me for a long moment before he stated, “Easy. There’s a bonus to the fighters when they give the audience something worth watching. A knockout within the first few seconds of the match starting is nice to see, but the thrill is quickly gone.”
“You’re saying it’s possible.”
“What’s possible?”
“That Grand could have dropped that guy within the first few seconds.”
“Hell yeah it’s possible,” he rattled off and laughed.
“Then why didn’t he?”
“I just told you why. Owners don’t want quick and easy. They want a match, and since he’s new, he had to prove he could provide one.”
I arched a brow, staring at him. “But that’s not what they got. There was nothing entertaining about Grand letting that guy beat the crap out of him while not fighting back. He barely moved and didn’t dodge any of the punches. He wanted to get hit, why?”
The guy’s expression stoned over. “Not my story to tell and I suggest you get the fuck out of here. You might not be a reporter, but asking questions like that, personal questions about the fighters, isn’t going to grant you any favors. You should leave, now .”
I glanced around, realizing no one was paying us any attention but he leaned in close.
“Just because you don’t see them, doesn’t mean they're not watching. Trust me, they know everything that happens in here. Go back to the suburbs. This is not your scene, beautiful. Being here can get you into the kind of trouble you won’t be able to get yourself out of. This is underground shit for a reason. The precautions are set up to ensure the outside doesn’t get inside.”
I could tell he didn’t trust me. He still thought I was a reporter, so I reached into my pocket and removed a business card.
“Saniya. My name is Saniya and I didn’t lie. I’m not a reporter. My questions are strictly for personal use and to appease my own curiosity.”
He eyed the card before taking it. When I had his eyes again, he smiled handsomely. “Still doesn’t matter, photo girl. This isn’t your vibe. If we need to do a shoot, I’ll hit you up but this ain’t it. Don’t come back. I would hate to see a pretty little thing like you caught up by pissing off the wrong people.”
He pushed through the doors and as much as I wanted to follow, I knew better. I had done this long enough to understand the thin line between good and evil when it came to the threat of losing money. If the wrong people assumed I was here to disrupt their gambling events, then he was right, it could create problems. Problems I didn’t want or need. I got the shots Joe asked for and now it was time for me to go home.
I got home still feeling the buzz of energy from being at the fights. It was a first for me. The savagery and finesse of the entire evening was interesting and had me needing to unwind. After a shower so steamy and hot that my skin felt sensitive, I wrapped a towel around myself and stepped into my room where I dried off, moisturized with brown sugar and spice body butter, then slipped into panties and a sleep shirt.
As exhausted as I was, I was eager to get a look at the shots I’d captured tonight. Mostly the ones of Grand. Making my way through my tiny but cozy space, my first stop was the kitchen where I removed wine I’d started last night, pouring the contents into an oversized glass that emptied the bottle.
I smiled after the first sip and headed straight to my living room where I had a tiny antique desk which housed my iMac. I hated how much it set me back but it had been a lifeline when it came to my career.
My cameras were already there after dumping them the minute I walked through the door so I got to work on the photo transfer. I spent the first ten minutes pretending to be interested in the shots from the first two matches before I gave into the impending nagging to revisit the fine ass man that had my attention since I laid eyes on him.
He was a beautiful work of art. Powerful. Still with hard lines that created the perfect visual of this fine ass man. Even still, he didn’t have the physique of a boxer. As solid as he was, his body was tall and lean. His muscles weren’t bulky like most trained fighters. More natural, as if they came from hard labor and life, not training. The guy he fought had more of a boxer’s build—thick, solid, and wide. Seeing the two paired, one would naturally assume Grand was the underdog.
“What’s your story?” I whispered over the rim of my glass before taking another sip.
Unfortunately, I would never know because I just needed to finish the job, edit, transfer the photos to Joe, then focus on my next assignment. However, the longer I stared at the photos of Grand, the more I realized I didn’t want to share him with the world. Maybe it was the threat from his cousin or maybe I was just being selfish. These photos, like many others, would be transferred into my personal file. The one I kept to show I’d earned my position but didn’t need to prove that to anyone but myself.