Chapter 16
The ride to the Carter family's home was the same as last time. The only difference was that Aubrielle was left safely at home. The brothers who accompanied me were Reaper, Mayhem, Lash, and Spawn. The latter claimed he wanted to see what he could tap into. I wasn’t sure what that would be, but I was fine with him coming.
As before, a contingent of brothers was hidden not far from the Carter home. They’d be able to use the tracking software that Spawn set up back at the compound to pinpoint our location. Maniac was monitoring it.
When we stopped our bikes and killed the engines, the Carters came out of the house. Immediately, I saw Oliver’s smile dim as he noticed his daughter’s absence. His gaze shifted to his oldest son, then to Truce, before coming back to us.
“Where’s Aubrielle?” he asked as they came off the porch toward us.
“She’s at home. There was no reason to bring her. She facilitated last time. You know us now. I want her at the house,” I stated.
“Sure, there’s no need for her to facilitate, but it’s the only way we seem to get to see her. She’s never been to one of these fights,” Oliver replied.
“And I highly doubt she feels as if she’s missing out. I prefer not to expose my old lady to things that I know upset her. Plus, I don’t like the way others stare at her, as if she’s theirs. Aubrielle isn’t, nor will she ever be, anyone else’s but mine,” I added with a bite to my tone.
As I said it, I made sure Truce saw I was staring at him.
I felt the tension among the four Carters increase.
Truce merely glared at me. I smirked. I knew I was instigating him.
But this week, as my brothers and I met, the issue of his focus on her during the dogfights came up.
We decided to see if we could use that to get a rise out of him.
He said next to nothing last time. The mystery of him remained.
Spawn had begun looking into anyone who met his description, age, and first name, and who resided in Virginia. So far, nothing has been found. There were a few reasons why that might be the case. Maybe tonight, we’d be able to get vital information that would clear up the mystery.
Oliver cleared his throat. “Well, that’s your prerogative. We should get going.”
Waiting nearby were the same panel truck and SUV as last time.
The thing that was different was that we were allowed inside without being patted down or having a check for a wire done.
We’d gambled they’d drop the pat down, so we hadn’t divested ourselves of our guns prior to arrival.
Each of us carried one with backup magazines.
Once inside, they took off. The rumble of the engine and the bumps jarring us became the backdrop.
We had our cell phones out, texting. We had no worries that they’d be able to read anything, even if they intercepted our messages.
The encryption that Spawn and the other clubs’ IT wizards used, which we were friends with, was military-grade, provided by Smoke, the Warriors in Dublin Falls’ computer guru.
Smoke and his old lady, Everly, worked for the US government at times. They developed this stuff for them.
Reaper: Sure didn’t like that Elle isn’t here.
Me: No, they didn’t. See how Oliver gave Truce that glance?
Mayhem: Sure did. He’s more than muscle.
Spawn: I got the same feeling.
Lash: Let’s keep mentioning her and see what the reactions are.
Reaper: Agreed.
All of us: (Thumbs up emoji).
This time, the ride was an hour and a half. There had been mostly right-hand turns this time. From last week’s drive, Spawn had been able to map out that they had done a lot of circling back, and the location ended up no more than fifteen miles from Big Stone Gap.
Tonight, Spawn held up his phone when we stopped. It had been another backtracking ride. This time, the location was half an hour from their house, on the opposite end from last week’s trek. We were in the middle of nowhere, heading toward Norton.
We were waiting at the door when it opened. Without a word, we hopped out. We were outside a large barn in an open field, surrounded by trees and a gravel road. There were vehicles parked all around it. The sound of raised voices inside was the loudest, though small groups stood outside chatting.
“We’ll go in around the back. Fewer people bother us that way,” Oliver stated.
The same as last time, there were nods and murmured hellos as we passed some people.
Outside the main double doors, tables were set up, with people collecting admission fees and taking bets.
Clearly, those manning the tables were trusted people the Carters paid to do the job. We were given curious looks.
We hated the idea of parading around in our cuts and associating the Iron Punishers with anything like this and the dogfights, but it would’ve been suspicious if we left them off.
Arriving on the back side, we found a smaller door that led into an enclosed area at the rear of the barn, like an office.
An opening, its wooden shutter flung wide, allowed us to see into the interior.
There were a lot of people milling about.
And there were chairs scattered around, clearly brought by those who wanted a seat.
What stood out to me was that in the center, a single roped-off square was erected, outlining where the ring was.
The second thing was that the number of women in the audience was much higher.
And they were dressed as if they were going out to a fancy dinner in town.
They wore heels and dresses, dripping with jewels.
Some of the men were in suits costing thousands of dollars.
That was the upper end of bettors. The lower end was dressed in jeans, boots, and T-shirts.
Clearly, betting wasn’t only a rich man’s game.
At the dogfights, the gamblers hadn’t been this high-end.
“You see it, don’t you?” Oliver asked.
“You mean the caliber of some of those betting on the outcome?” Reaper asked.
“Exactly. We found that with this kind of fighting, we attracted a much richer clientele who spends way more money. That doesn’t mean we don’t appreciate the poor bettors as well, but they aren’t what has made this so successful,” Rome added.
“Clearly,” Reaper said.
“What are the rules for these fights?” Mayhem asked. Leave it to our enforcer to ask that question. We gave him amused looks. He shrugged.
“What? I’m interested. Call it professional curiosity,” he said, smirking at us.
“Professional curiosity? Just because you’re a biker and put enforcer on your vest doesn’t mean you’re a fighter,” Truce said, sounding disparaging.
Mayhem slid his cold gaze up and down Truce before he replied.
“If I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you.
You have no fucking idea who I am or what I can do.
I’m the enforcer for a reason, one you’d better hope you never find out.
I’ve put plenty of wannabe fighters on their asses and worse. And it’s called a cut, not a vest.”
Fury swept over Truce’s face. He flushed red. But before he could say or do anything, Oliver jumped in.
“Hey, hey, there’s no need for animosity. We’re here to forge a deal. We all need to remember what’s at stake here.” Oliver said.
The way he emphasized the word all caught my attention, but I masked my reaction. Again, the certainty that there was more going on than a desire to expand hit me. Spawn’s nearly imperceptible jerk of his chin told me he heard it, too.
After that, we watched for a bit until it was time to join the masses.
When we did, we went to a group of chairs separate from the crowd.
Oliver got up in front of everyone and welcomed those attending, giving an introduction that proved he was a showman.
He hadn’t bothered with this at the dogfights. Oliver introduced the challenger first.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight for this epic fight. I swear you won’t be disappointed.
Let’s get started. Tonight’s challenger comes to us with a ten-and-one record.
Weighing in at one hundred ninety pounds, standing six feet tall, with a reach of seventy-four inches, is Shaka. ”
The man who walked into the makeshift ring was a muscular Black man with no fat on him.
He appeared to be strong, nothing to sneeze at.
Several people were cheering for him, clearly his followers.
Shaka nodded and waved to the audience before going to one corner and standing, waiting.
Two men joined him on the outside of the rope, his coach, or maybe just his friends.
Oliver waited until the cheering died down before he dove into Truce’s introduction.
“Shaka is challenging a champion who has an undefeated record of twenty-to-zero. He stands six feet two and weighs two hundred twenty-five pounds. And having a seventy-six-inch reach is the one, the only, Truce!”
The roar was much louder for Truce. Whereas Shaka had nodded, waved, and even smiled at the crowd, Truce’s scowl didn’t flicker.
And it seemed to make the crowd cheer more.
They loved his snarling face. It took longer for the noise to die down.
Truce went to the opposite corner from Shaka.
The ones standing with him in his corner were Rome and Jace.
Oliver rejoined us and sat in one of the chairs. We followed suit along with Jock. Aubrielle’s dad dove into a hurried explanation.
“The fight is broken into five rounds lasting five minutes each, with a one-minute rest between, like the UFC title fights are. The only way they don’t is if someone taps out or is knocked out.
There’s no referee to call these fights.
The men fight until they can’t do it anymore or tap out,” Oliver rapidly said.
“Are there ever times when the victor doesn’t accept the tap out?” Mayhem asked.
Jock and Oliver both met Mayhem’s gaze, shrugged, and then Jock mumbled, “It’s happened.”
We read the unspoken. This was no-holds-barred, and fighting dirty was expected. There was no penalty for it. If one fighter wanted to beat the other to death, they could. It made me think these were modern-day gladiator games.
Then a bell rang once, and the first round started.
Both men danced around each other, trying to get a feel for each other.
Feinting moves to draw out a response were exchanged.
It led opponents to watch for tells, estimate strength, spot weaknesses, and more.
It was Shaka who broke first and gave up the testing.
He charged Truce, firing off a right jab to the face, followed by a left upper cut. Truce evaded both.
When Truce followed with his combination, they landed, and there was power behind them. The smack of flesh on flesh was audible. The first round passed with punches and kicks that landed on both sides, with Truce landing a few more than Shaka.
During the one-minute rest and into the first thirty seconds of the second round, more bets were placed. The table with the men recording bets and money had been moved inside the barn to make the process easier.
Rounds two and three ramped things up, with Truce in the lead, though not by much.
Mayhem leaned over to whisper in my ear, “Truce is suckering him in. He’s holding back to run up the betting.
These idiots think Shaka can beat him. They’re betting more heavily than they were at first. It’s a ploy.
Truce will either take Shaka in the fourth round or wait until the start of the fifth, then decimate him. ”
And it was exactly as Mayhem said. It was ten seconds into the fifth round when Truce unleashed his true strength, knocking out Shaka.
The guy’s eyes rolled into the back of his skull, and he dropped like a stone and lay there unmoving.
The men who had been in his corner rushed inside the ring to check on him.
Truce turned his back and left the ring.
He came over to Oliver and stood there, sweaty and breathing slightly harder.
The fighter lasered in on me, only shifting to Mayhem and back until Oliver slapped him on the back, as Aubrielle’s dad grinned ear-to-ear.
“See, I told you. He’s a beast. He can’t be beat,” Oliver bragged. Jace and Rome had returned to join us.
“Everyone can be beaten,” Mayhem drawled.
Truce took a step toward Mayhem. The only reason he stopped was that Oliver stepped between them and whispered something in Truce’s ear that made him ease back. However, his scowl remained.
“I need to see some people before we leave. And there’s money to be collected. Why don’t you mingle?” Oliver suggested.
“We’re here to see everything. I want to hear what the crowd says and how much you made tonight,” Reaper interjected.
It was obvious that wasn’t what Oliver wanted, but he didn’t say no.
We were there for an hour after the match ended.
Oliver laughed and shook hands with numerous people.
He turned on the charm for the women and projected the confident businessman to the men.
Truce was congratulated, but he barely acknowledged it.
People were dispersing, though not everyone, by the time we were told we were leaving. It was back to the truck and SUV, and then off we went. We remained quiet in the back, but Maniac was talking in our earpieces.
“You gonna make them show you the books tonight?” Maniac asked.
“Man, I’m tired. Let’s call it a night when we get back. I think we should return to go over the books,” Reaper said to us, effectively answering the question.
“Got it. We’ll remain on standby and monitoring. Watch your six,” our VP said.
We indicated we heard by making affirmative sounds, as if we agreed with Pres.
I was impatient to get to the Carter house and then home.
They must’ve left out some backtracking because the ride back lasted an hour and fifteen minutes.
It was a goddamn relief to be let out of the truck.
As we jumped down, Reaper launched into his exit speech.
“Tonight has been interesting. We see how much you can make with this business. And your overhead isn’t much.
We still need to go over the books to get an accurate picture of the two’s profitability.
However, I think we should do that another time, but soon.
I still have that deadline to make a decision,” Reaper reminded them.
The four Carters huddled together, whispering. We stood back and waited. In the end, Oliver agreed to postpone, but only for two days. We agreed to be here on Sunday at two in the afternoon. With that decided, we wasted no time firing up our bikes and riding off.