10 RHEA
The heavy door creaks open to reveal a sight that stops me dead in my tracks.
My brain struggles to process what I'm seeing - an honest-to-god fighting ring, complete with ropes and turnbuckles, sits in the center of a cavernous space.
The concrete floor gleams under industrial lighting, and the air carries the distinct smell of sweat and leather.
"Holy shit." The words escape before I can stop them. "This is...
this is a fight club?"
"I thought we agreed on no questions." Corey's voice holds a hint of amusement.
The space around the ring is filled with training equipment - heavy bags, speed bags, weight racks. Everything's professional grade, nothing like the dingy basement setup I'd expected. A few guys are warming up in the corner, wrapping their hands with practiced efficiency.
The clash of fists against flesh echoes through the underground space as two men dance around each other in the ring.
Their expensive suits are long discarded, sweat glistening on their torsos under the harsh lights.
A crowd of what looks like Wall Street's finest circles the ring, their designer shoes scuffing the concrete as they jostle and shout numbers that make my eyes go wide.
"Five grand on Matthews!"
"Ten on Rodriguez!"
The shorter fighter lands a brutal hook that sprays blood across the canvas. My stomach lurches, but I can't look away. The kinesiologist in me analyzes their form, noting the telltale signs of actual training beneath their white-collar exteriors.
"Come on." Corey's hand on my lower back guides me toward a sleek bar setup in the corner. "Your station's back here."
"So this is why everyone's so cagey upstairs?" I slide behind the bar, running my fingers along the polished wood. "Secret fight club in the basement?"
"What did I say about questions?" But there's a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he adjusts his cuffs. "Tobias will be down in a minute to keep an eye on things. I've got some business to handle."
"You mean besides the illegal boxing ring twenty feet away?"
"Just pour drinks and keep your head down." He leans in close, his cologne mixing with the leather and sweat hanging in the air.
"And Rhea? Whatever you see down here stays down here."
"Yeah, got it. Fight Club rules. First rule and all that."
He arches an eyebrow. "You're taking this surprisingly well."
"Let's just say I've got a high threshold for weird shit." A roar goes up from the crowd as one of the fighters hits the canvas.
"Though this is definitely pushing it."
"We'll talk more later. For now..." He straightens, all business again. "I've got loose ends to tie up."
And he leaves. Leaving me behind the bar looking out onto something straight out of a fucking Hitchcock novel.
After passing out a few Amarettos, movement in my peripheral vision draws my attention to the corner of the ring.
Julian's there, gesturing emphatically at one of the fighters between rounds.
His hands demonstrate what looks like an uppercut combination, his own fighter's stance evident in the way he positions his feet.
Well, that explains the scars - and probably why he always moves like he's ready to dodge a punch.
"Whiskey neat," a suit demands, slapping bills on my bar. I pour his drink, but my eyes keep drifting to Julian. The way he carries himself now is completely different from the smooth-talking bartender I know upstairs. This version of him is all coiled energy and sharp focus.
"Keep your guard up!" Julian barks at his fighter. "He's telegraphing that right hook - you see it coming a mile away!"
Corey materializes beside me, straightening his watch. "One more fight after this one, then we wrap it up."
“How’s Carla?” He side eyes me. “Don’t give me the fucking no questions shit. I’m asking how she is.” He shrugs as if unaffected. “She’s alive.” "Splendid.” I respond with an eyeroll. “So Julian's what - a fight coach?" I slide another drink across the bar, trying to sound casual.
"Need to know basis information." Corey's tone carries a warning, but there's that hint of amusement again.
"Right, right. No questions." I mime zipping my lips. "Just your friendly neighborhood bartender, serving drinks at your totally normal underground fight club. Nothing to see here."
"You're enjoying this way too much."
"Hey, at least now I know why Julian always corrects my form when I'm reaching for the top shelf liquor." I mimic his voice: "'Lead with your hip, protect your core.'"
A sharp crack from the ring punctuates my words as Julian's fighter lands a perfect combination. The crowd erupts, money changing hands faster than I can track. Julian's fighter raises his arms in victory while the other guy slumps against the ropes, blood trickling from his nose.
I wipe down the sweat laden bar. “Brianne is never going to fucking believe this. I should have took the cuddling job.”
T he last fight is pure fucking chaos. These guys aren't playing around - they're throwing haymakers like their trust funds depend on it. Blood splatters across the canvas as a tall guy in thousand- dollar slacks catches an elbow to the face.
"Bourbon, straight!" A sweaty suit slams his glass down. "Make it quick!"
My hands shake slightly as I pour. The crowd's energy is electric, primal. Money flies through the air as bets change hands. These guys might wear Rolexes, but down here they're animals.
"Ten grand on Bowen!"
"Twenty says he doesn't last three rounds!"
“Bowen” goes down hard. His head bounces off the canvas with a sickening thud that makes my stomach turn. Julian rushes in, checking his vitals while Tobias keeps the crowd back.
"Back the fuck up!" Tobias's voice booms over the chaos. "Give him space!"
I grab ice from behind the bar, but Corey appears and stops me.
"Stay put. We handle this."
These guys are clearly pros - their technique is beautiful in a terrifying way. Every punch lands with surgical precision. The crowd's gone absolutely feral, shoving and shouting as thousands of dollars change hands.
"Holy shit," I mutter, ducking as a glass shatters against the wall behind me.
Julian catches my eye from across the room. He's got blood on his shirt - not his own - but he gives me a reassuring nod.
"Last call!" I shout over the mayhem, my voice barely carrying over the thunderous cheering as one fighter lands a devastating liver shot.
"You good?" Tobias materializes beside me, his massive frame blocking some particularly rowdy suits from the bar.
"Yeah, just..." I gesture at the absolute bedlam around us. "This is fucking insane."
"Welcome to fight night." He cracks a rare smile. "You haven't seen anything yet."
The winner's hand raises amid a shower of bills and roaring approval. I watch Julian and Corey exchange looks across the room, something unspoken passing between them.