40 COREY
Tonight’s the night. The basement is alive with the hum of desperate energy, the kind that makes the air feel thick, like you’re walking through soup.
I adjust my watch, the weight of it grounding me, but my gut’s doing somersaults.
Tobias is pacing near the ring, his massive frame tense, like a caged animal ready to break free.
Julian’s lounging against the bar, twirling a lime wedge between his fingers like he hasn’t a care in the world.
But I see the way his jaw tightens every time someone whispers too loud. He’s not fooling me.
Rhea’s behind the bar, her hands moving fast, shaking a cocktail shaker like it’s the only thing holding her together. Her hair’s wild, untamed, like her nerves. She’s spiraling. I can see it in the way her eyes dart around the room, the way she chews on her lower lip like it’s her job.
“Rhea,” I say, my voice low, cutting through the noise. She jumps, nearly dropping the shaker.
“Jesus, Corey,” she hisses, setting it down with a loud clank. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”
“You’re already halfway there,” I shoot back, leaning over the bar. “Breathe. You’re not the one fighting tonight.”
“Maybe I should be,” she mutters, shoving a hand through her hair. “Feels like I’m about to crawl out of my skin.”
“That’s what the whiskey’s for,” Julian chirps, appearing out of nowhere. He swipes a glass from the bar and downs it in one go.
“Liquid courage, babe.”
“Not helpful,” Rhea snaps, slapping his arm. “And don’t call me babe.” He grins, all teeth, but there’s something dark in his eyes. “You wound me, Spry.”
“You’ll live,” I say, shooting him a look. He shrugs, sauntering off toward the ring, where Tobias is now glowering at anyone who gets too close.
I turn back to Rhea, who’s fumbling with a bottle of vodka. “You good?”
“Peachy,” she mutters, slamming the bottle down a little too hard. “Just peachy. Nothing like serving drinks to a bunch of rich assholes while Julian’s about to get pummeled in a cage.”
“He’s not getting pummeled,” I say, my voice firm. “He’s one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. He’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, because that’s so comforting,” she says, her voice rising.
“What if it’s not fine? What if?—?”
“Rhea,” I interrupt, my tone sharper than I mean it.
She stops, her green eyes locking onto mine.
“Breathe. You’re not helping anyone by freaking out. Julian’s got this. We’ve got this.”
She hesitates, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths.
Then she nods, though I can tell she’s still wound tighter than a spring. “Okay. Okay, I’m breathing.”
“Good,” I say, my voice softening. “Now pour me a drink. I need something to take the edge off.”
She snorts, a small laugh escaping despite herself.
“You? On edge? Never thought I’d see the day.”
I smirk, leaning closer. “Don’t let it get around. Might ruin my reputation.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile as she grabs a glass.
The noise around us swells, the crowd growing restless as the fight draws closer.
Tobias catches my eye from across the room, his nod brisk, telling me he’s got my back.
Julian’s stretching by the ring, his movements fluid, confident, but I know him well enough to see the tension in his shoulders.
And Rhea? She’s still spiraling, but she’s holding it together. For now.
I take the drink she hands me, the ice clinking against the glass.
“To a smooth night,” I say, raising it toward her.
She clinks hers against mine, her voice quiet but steady. “To staying alive.”
T he back room is dimly lit, the air thick with sweat and anticipation.
Julian’s pacing, his bare feet padding against the concrete floor.
Tobias is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Rhea’s perched on the edge of a folding chair, her leg bouncing like a jackhammer.
“So, let me get this straight,” Julian says, stopping mid-pace.
“The guy I’m fighting tonight is the some no name?”
“Seems that way,” I say, my voice calm despite the tension in the room. “Goes by ‘Slick.’ Real name’s Mike. That’s about all I know.” Julian snorts, rolling his shoulders. “Slick. Of course he is.Should be easy enough.”
“You’ve got this,” Tobias rumbles, his deep voice cutting through the silence.
“Dirty fighters rely on tricks. You’re better than that. Stay clean, stay sharp.”
Rhea stands abruptly, her chair screeching against the floor.
“This is insane. You’re just going to let him fight someone like that? What if he gets hurt? What if?—?”
“Rhea,” I interrupt, stepping closer to her.
Her green eyes are wide, panicked, and I can see the fear she’s trying to hide.
“Julian’s trained for this. He’s not going in blind. And we’ve got his back.”
He looks at me, then Rhea, his blue eyes serious.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve got this.” Rhea opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off with a shake of my head.
“He’s trained for this, Rhea. Trust him.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she nods, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Just... don’t get hurt, okay?” Julian grins, ruffling her hair like she’s a kid.
“Aw, you care.” She smacks his hand away, glaring.
“Don’t push it.” The door creaks open, and one of the staff pokes their head in.
“Five minutes, Julian.” He nods, cracking his neck. “Showtime.” The tension in the room spikes, the weight of the moment settling over us. Tobias claps Julian on the shoulder, his grip firm. “Stay clean. Stay sharp.” Julian nods, his expression hard. “Always.”