Rematch

Chapter 6

Max

Fight night used to be my favorite day of the week.

Once upon a time, I used to come to the meeting place over an hour early so I could prepare for my fight.

My nerves used to buzz with anticipation as I wrapped my knuckles and stretched.

I couldn’t wait to lay out all the pent up anger from the week on some moron stupid enough to get in a ring with me.

Sometimes I was more excited for the pain.

Coping with an ache was easier when there was a wound to blame it on.

The only downside was it didn’t heal alongside the cuts and bruises.

I had to learn the hard way that no matter how much damage I caused, the ache would always linger.

My men and I were here early tonight because we were the ones running the show now.

After my uncle died almost a year ago, my father slowly began formally passing the baton to me.

He didn’t want to, considering the gap in years he needed to train me properly, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

The only other person he trusted in the world was dead.

And besides my cousins, who had their own shit to run, there was no one else he could count on to carry on his affairs after he died.

I didn’t want to hold that responsibility. Maybe when I was younger, I did. But now? Hell no.

But, like him: I didn’t have a choice.

Perched on the upper level of the old gym, I had a clear view of the rowdy crowd below. Silently, I made a mental note of the categories of attendees as they filed in.

There were the various crews from all over the city and some who’d traveled a bit to be here.

Never a huge amount, but enough to make their appearance known.

Even in a huge gathering, each one still managed to stick out.

They stuck together in clusters donning their colors or signature symbols, uninterested in mingling with anyone other than their own.

Then, there were the independent fighters. The ones without any affiliation besides with the money they were trying to earn. Most of them stayed in the corners, isolating themselves from the crews. A few mingled around in a silent search for a place they could potentially call home.

And finally, there were the casual viewers whose only purpose was to have a good time. Often, they were the ones filling everyone with booze and drugs.

Tonight must’ve been a popular choice for initiation. As I did another scan of the room, I noticed a lot of baby faces in the crowd. Recruit fights were sometimes more tense than the seasoned ones. They had something to prove and absolutely nothing to lose.

I glanced at the betting table in the back of the room, behind the octagon.

As the name states, it was the place where fighters paid their entry fees and patrons placed their bets.

The stand, and the money, was guarded by some of our muscle men.

The money was organized as it was handed in, making it easier to distribute at the end of the night.

Tysir and Wesley were manning the station, accepting the cash and organizing the matches.

I was reluctant to leave them alone down there, but my father told me I needed to learn how to delegate.

When I told him I’d be delegating the task to idiots, my father smirked and said, “Then let them know screwing up isn’t an option. ”

I won’t say I threatened them, but I definitely made it clear bones would be broken if they fucked up. Wesley’s still healing nose was more than enough to make them heed my warning.

Tearing my eyes away from the teeming crowds below, I pulled out my phone and checked my notifications. Still none from Audrey.

I was getting a little impatient at this point. Sure, neither of us have reached out in years, but circumstances were different. Before, she was all the way across the country, focusing on her degree. Distractions were the last thing she needed.

Now, she’s scored her dream career and is close enough to see on a daily basis. And, even though she tried to hide it, I could see the perpetual worry in her eyes. Something was wrong. I don’t know what yet, but I was definitely going to find out.

Swallowing my pride, I opened a new text message thread and typed.

Me: Hey, it’s Max. Is this still your number?

I locked the screen after sending it and prepared to put the phone back in my pocket. I didn’t expect for it to vibrate again so quickly.

Audrey: Max who?

Me: Don’t play with me.

Audrey: Or what?

Me: Don’t make me come over there and body slam you.

Audrey: Nah, you can stay wherever you’re at.

Audrey: But, yes, this is still my number.

Audrey: Even though I thought you were supposed to be waiting on me.

Me: Couldn’t.

Me: Missed you too much.

Audrey: Yeah, I hear you. [Rolling eyes emoji]

Me: Admit it: you missed me too.

Audrey: Get off my phone.

I chuckled at her last message. Reluctantly, I obeyed her command and locked the screen. The matches were about to start anyway.

Tysir and Wesley moseyed their way up the steps, followed by the muscle men, with the bags of cash. “We made out well tonight,” Tysir told me. “Entry fees alone are higher than I’ve seen in a minute.”

“Initiation night,” I explained, nodding to the crowd below. “Means a nice payday, but a shit ton to clean up.”

Tysir’s brows pinched together, but he didn’t have time to question it. He needed to hurry to secure the money. But, when he and Wesley came back to watch with me, he quickly learned what I meant.

The recruits were ruthless tonight. Busted lips and black eyes were common, but teeth were getting knocked out, bones were broken, and a few recruits needed the help of their crew to be dragged out of the octagon because they were knocked out clean by their opponent.

By the time the first half of the matches were over, the octagon was steeped in blood.

I wasn’t particularly impressed by most of the fighters. None of them used any special strategies or tactics to score their victory. Just throwing their fists and feet, hoping to hit their target hard enough to weaken them. Shit got boring after a while.

I was glad when the last match was called. It was time for me to head the hell out of here. Maybe I’d stop by Audrey’s house, just to check on her. At this hour, she was probably already asleep. I just wanted to steal another glance at her. Remind myself her return wasn’t a dream.

My thoughts were quickly broken as I caught sight of the last contender stepping into the ring. Like looking in the mirror of the past, I quickly recognized his dark eyes, unruly curls, and determined frown.

What the fuck was he doing here?

“Uh, Max,” Wesley said, tilting his head in confusion. “Why does he look like you?”

“Is he your cousin or something?” Tysir followed.

Ignoring their comments, I silently debated if I should go down there and drag him by his hair out of the octagon or let him get his ass beat by his opponent - notably older and bigger than him.

The latter would serve him a good lesson.

Maybe then he’d think twice before stepping into a place like this again.

The round bell rang, solidifying my decision. The kid had stayed away long enough. This would make sure he didn’t come back.

His opponent smirked at the difference in their size as they circled each other. Easy pickings, he was likely thinking.

He pulled his fist back and released it with the speed and strength of a bow flying through the air.

An audible gasp rushed through the audience when it didn’t strike through its target.

Quicker than anyone expected, the boy had weaved around the punch. As he made eye contact with his opponent, whose confusion was painted all over his face, he smirked.

The silent mockery lit a fire under the older man’s ass. He threw his weight behind his next few punches, throwing them quickly and relentlessly.

The younger boy danced around each one, moving so quickly his opponent couldn’t lay a single hit on him.

I caught on to his strategy as the older man’s strikes began to slow down. Tire them out, and then make your move. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book.

But, it worked to his advantage. With his opponent running out of steam, the boy was able to throw, and land, his own punches.

Each jab caused more and more smoke to come out of the other man’s ears. Frustrated, he charged towards the boy and wrapped his arms around his torso. He lifted him up off his feet and slammed him down onto the ground.

The boy’s head bounced off the mat and he grimaced from the pain.

Above him, his opponent started laying harsh, quick punches at his face.

In the new position, he had nowhere to run. He held his forearms up over his head, temporarily blocking some of the blows.

The crowd roared at the sudden turn.

A hint of nausea rolled through my stomach as I watched the man beat on him.

I looked at the referee and wished he’d call it already.

But, I knew he wouldn’t. This was exactly what the crowd wanted - what they’d come here for.

Assuming from the amount of cheers, most people already had their money set on the other guy.

All they needed was for him to follow through with the knockout.

The only problem was the kid refused to give up. Despite the odds, he still fought, timing his punches for the moments when the man’s arms were low. He caught him a few times in the chest and in the face. One was hard enough that it briefly stunned the man, and his punches momentarily paused.

A few seconds was all the boy needed to turn the tables.

He hit the guy in the jaw, sending him sideways, and rolled them over.

Now straddling him, the boy threw merciless blows at the man, punching him over and over and over again.

His face, his chest, his stomach - any open area he could find.

With each leg set firmly on both sides of his torso, the older man had no way of escaping.

A few clean punches to the face later, and he was knocked out cold.

The crowd, astonished by his win, quickly changed their tune and cheered for him.

As he got off his opponent, he glanced around the room and a small smile tugged at his lips.

“Damn,” Wesley murmured. “Mini-Max got heart.”

I grabbed a handful of his shirt. “Call him that again and I’ll rip your tongue out,” I threatened.

“Whoa, whoa. Sorry, I didn’t mean to-” He stopped himself short when I shoved him away.

“Grab his ass and bring him to me.”

Nodding, he and Tysir rushed from my side and headed towards the stairwell.

I headed in the opposite direction towards the small office in the corner of the hall.

While I waited for Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum to fetch him for me, I leaned against the desk and contemplated the words to say.

Come to think of it, I’ve never said much of anything to him before.

There was never a time I needed to. Hell, I didn’t have to say anything to him now, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I got when I saw him step into the ring.

For once it wasn’t anger or resentment. It was fear. For what, though, I had no idea.

Faint sounds of bickering echoed through the hall. “Just give me my fucking money,” an voice echoed through the hall. It was eerie how similar it was to mine.

“Gotta talk to the boss first,” Wesley said.

“I don’t want to talk to that asshole. Get the fuck off of me!”

All three of them appeared in my doorway.

He was standing between Tysir and Wesley, both of them holding an arm, with a scowl on his lips.

He struggled in the grasp, desperate to break free.

“Let me-” He started, but stopped when he locked eyes with me.

The scowl transformed into a glare. “The fuck do you want?”

“Leave us,” I commanded my men. “Distribute the money.”

They shoved him inside and closed the door, providing us unwanted but necessary privacy.

“What the hell are you doing here, Jayden?” I asked, crossing my arms against my chest.

He scoffed. “Like you give a damn. Do you have my money or not?”

“I’m not going to ask you again.”

“Or what? You gonna beat my ass? I’m not scared of you.”

“From the looks of it, you’re not scared of anyone. I saw how you did down there.”

“And? You brought me up here to give me a pat on the back? Cause you can keep that shit.” He held out his hand. “Give me my money. I won it fair and square.”

“If I do, I better not see your face around here again.”

“I’m not promising you won’t.”

“Then you’re not getting paid.”

He sucked his teeth. “Why the fuck do you care? Rafael doesn’t.”

“I’m not him.”

“Maybe not, but you pretend just as well as him that I don’t exist. So…” He waved his outstretched hand. “Just hand over the money, so we never have to speak again.”

I reached behind me, grabbed a few wads of clean bills and held it out to him.

“That’s more than what I’m owed,” he noted. “You can’t pay me off.”

“Clearly.”

His brows twitched as his tough facade cracked. Lowering his eyes, he took a few steps toward me.

Before he could take the money out of my hand, I whipped my hand backwards, out of his reach, and used my free hand to grip him up by his shirt.

“You take this money, and you don’t step foot in this place, or anywhere like it, again,” I said.

“If I catch wind you were even near one of these events, I’ll break your fucking face. You hear me?”

His glare intensified, and for a moment I thought he was going to say something slick. I wished he would. Just so I could punch him in his fucking mouth. He shoved my hand off of him. “Yeah,” he muttered.

I finally handed him the money.

He snatched it out of my hands, turned on his heel and stormed out the door. He bumped shoulders with Tysir, who was coming through the doorway.

Tysir opened his mouth to say something, but stopped at the sight of my shaking head.

“Leave him be,” I told him.

“Who the fuck is he?” Tysir asked.

I let out a deep sigh. “That’s my brother.”