5. Zela
Saturday
The movers handled getting all of our stuff into our rooms, but being ‘shown around’ all day meant I didn’t have time to unpack any of it.
So, I spent all day yesterday hiding in my room under the guise of getting it in order.
I mean, I got all my stuff put away, but considering how little I own, it only took me about an hour, tops.
Last night, I’d set my alarm for the ass crack of dawn to make sure I was long gone before my dear brothers woke up.
I fucking hate mornings, but after just three days in the house with them, I already knew Kolson was the kind of sick fuck that enjoyed them.
Psychopath.
Thankfully for me, I knew where The Pit was now, even if I’d never made it down to the old building for the information like I was supposed to. Even better still, I was familiar with the bus schedule and had taken it before.
I have enough money saved up from the fights for a car; I’ve had it for a while now. But there was no easy way to explain to Dad that I could afford one without it seeming strange.
He still thought I was working at the library on campus, picking up odd shifts.
It was a lie I’d told him to excuse my disappearance over the last two years while I was at the gym.
I hadn’t had to lie to him before; he hadn’t been home enough between work and school.
Once he got his degree and a regular job, he was home more and quickly started asking questions about my random comings and goings.
I’d been so close to telling him I was going to the gym.
It didn’t seem like that strange of a thing, but I knew Dad would worry, might start looking too hard and see things I didn’t want him to.
Like the fact that I wore a lot of hoodies, even in the dead of summer when it's hotter than Satan's balls. I’d grown up with secondhand clothes that never quite fit right, but now I favor hoodies and baggy clothes because they hide me.
I never wanted to stand out or be noticed, not as Zela.
Dad knew I ran to stay in shape, but he didn’t know about the sea of bruises, scrapes, and cuts from the fights that I often kept hidden.
I was good at fighting, but not a fucking god.
Taking a few hits was a part of the experience.
So long as I didn’t go down, it was a win, and I wore those bruises with pride because they showed my strength.
But it’s a strength I didn't want my father to know I had. I’m not stupid enough to think he would like what I do in my free time.
What good parent would want that for their child, especially their little girl?
The bus's brakes squeal so loudly that it makes my ears ring as we pull up to my stop.
It’s about a thirty-minute walk from this stop to The Pit, most of which is on back roads. I could have taken the bus one more stop and saved about 10 minutes, but I needed this one; more specifically, the gas station just up the road from it.
The gas station I used to stop at was a lot closer to the old location, but this will have to do.
I can’t exactly get ready at the house, and showing up as is would be a good way for someone to find out who I am.
In the beginning, it wasn’t something I cared about too much, but Ozy insisted that I keep myself hidden.
He always told me it was safer that way, keeping any grudges I might earn in the ring instead of having them bleed into my everyday life.
Back then, I thought he was crazy. Who would come after me when I got my ass handed to me week after week?
I wasn’t someone anyone would hold a grudge with, but I am now.
I haven’t taken a loss in just over a year, and I can’t help but be thankful for his advice.
All the fighters heard what happened to Barricade after he took down Titan.
We all knew Titan had him killed, but nobody could prove it.
Nothing tied him back to it. He made sure of it.
Barricade was one of the few fighters who didn’t care about keeping his identity a secret; he loved the high he got from winning and wanted to keep it even after he left the ring each week.
Too bad for him; it got him killed.
A shiver runs through me at the thought, but I push it aside as I pull open the gas station door, shoving my duffel bag behind me so that I can fit.
The clerk watches me as I make my way back toward the coolers, and I can’t say I blame him.
This part of town isn’t bad, but it’s not like Diane’s neighborhood.
Everything is a little less shiny, and being just off the main highway, I can bet they see all kinds of people as they make their way through.
Two waters, two Red Bulls, and a bag of chips.
It’s the same thing Ozy bought me the night before my first fight and the same thing I’ve bought every time since.
It became a part of my routine, and now that I’m no longer getting my ass kicked, I like to stick to it.
Whether it's superstitious or just comforting, I’m not sure, but I have no intention of changing it now; enough has already changed in the last week.
“Do you have a bathroom?” I ask the clerk as he rings up my stuff.
He reaches under the counter and pulls out a key attached to one of those coil bracelets, dropping it on the counter.
“Behind the building,” he grumbles, jerking his head in what I assume is the direction of the restroom.
I pay and make my way out, rummaging through my bag for the cold can of energy I desperately need right now.
Waking up so early is going to be a fucking pain in my ass, and I can’t afford to drag for a fight. I’ll have to find a coffee shop en route for next time, since I can’t risk making it at the house.
The back of the building is a lot more worn than the front. Graffiti covers a lot of the back wall, and the garbage is damn near overflowing. Flies buzz, and the smell is enough to make my already nervous stomach turn.
I don’t have high hopes for the bathroom, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find it mostly clean, at least for public bathroom standards.
I’ve been in a lot worse. I make quick work of downing half my drink before putting it up on the counter and hauling my duffel bag up after it. Getting ready is almost second nature at this point, something I could do with my eyes closed.
Contacts, uniform, hairbrush, extensions, mask, hoodie, and sweats with the Pit’s logo that signify I’m a fighter.
Everything else, like my hand wraps and mouth guard, I put on right before the fight. And I’ll put my mask on right before I get there. I tried to put it on once at the other gas station, and I’m pretty sure they called the cops. No, something about a bone mask just draws too much attention.
Getting ready used to take me forever. Ozy had to look up so many videos for us to find a way for me to do my hair to keep it out of my face. In the end, we settled on Double Dutch braids. Later Reed bought me some orange extensions to throw in to match my fighting name, after Ozy was gone.
And don’t even get me started on the damn contacts. Reed pretty much had to hold me down to get them in and out of my eyes in the beginning.
But that feels like a lifetime ago now.
Five minutes later, I’m ready. I pull my sweatpants and hoodie on, flipping up my hood to hide my now bright orange hair before walking back to the front of the store to return the key. The clerk gives me a strange look but doesn’t say anything, and I don’t wait around to give him the chance.
Walking down the street, I pull out my phone to check the time. I have hours before I’m supposed to be there for tonight’s fight, but I wasn’t lying when I told Kolson I use Saturdays to study, just not about where I do it. Thankfully, Reed is always there early to let me in.
The walk feels like it takes no time at all, even with the slight chill in the air.
I make quick work of tying on my mask when the building finally comes into view.
The trees that surround the building looked a lot more menacing when I visited the other night, but they don’t look so bad now.
The clouds roll overhead, and the wind blows, making the branches shake and leaves fall to the ground.
It looks like it’s going to rain soon. Thankfully, I’ll be here for a while now.
Reed meets me at the back door the same way he always does, with a huge smile on his face. I was worried he might not be here after the move and everything, but I should have known better. Reed is nothing if not reliable.
“There’s the foxy lady,” he says with a laugh as I pass him. I level him with a glare, but that only makes him smile wider. “I was worried you’d quit on me.”
Guy is crazy, but I won’t lie. He’s grown on me these last few years.
“Oh, lighten up. Tonight’s the first fight in the new building, and they picked you to fight!
That’s a big deal. You busted your ass to get here.
You really should learn to enjoy it.” He bumps his shoulder to mine playfully as he passes me, heading down the hall, and I have no choice but to follow, unsure of where I’m going.
A smile tugs at my lips, and with his back to me and my mask in place, I let it as I feel the weight of his words.
I did work my ass off to get here. I’ve also gotten my ass beat while doing it.
It lasts all of two seconds before I remember who it is that picked me, and just like that, all the pride I feel drains away.
What a fucking nightmare this is going to be.
Reed shows me to the new changing rooms before he disappears, leaving me to study. He’ll be back, though, in a few hours to talk and hit on me, just like always. Until then, I pull out my books and lose myself to the lessons, numbers, and assignments.
At six, Reed is back to show me to the gym, where I can warm up.
He talks damn near a mile a minute about anything and everything, pointing out rooms and things as we go.
I don’t really pay it any attention, too lost in my thoughts, but the sound of his rambling is comforting, normal in a place that’s foreign.
Reed might be a little more talkative than I like, but he’s nice enough for a huge, hulking bouncer.
He’s not at all what I would have guessed when I first met him.
Much more flirtatious, too, though I’ve seen him throw grown men out without breaking a sweat.
“I can’t wait to see you wow the bosses,” Reed says, turning to face me as he pushes the door to the gym open with his ass. “Word has it they have a new little pet that will be here with them,” he whispers, wiggling his brows at me like he’s letting me know a great secret.
If only he knew just how aware I already was of that.
I bite my tongue to stop myself from telling him just how much I don’t plan to be their ‘plaything.’
“Aww, don’t be like that, Foxy. I’m sure she don’t got shit on you,” he says, misreading my annoyance.
The irony of his comment has me barking a laugh before I can stop it, and his deep chuckle booms around the room, too.
“That’s better. Don’t take it all so serious. You're a fucking badass. You got this.”
I shake my head at him but don’t argue. I know better.
Reed has the utmost faith in me in the ring.
He has since the day I started, even when I was still getting my ass kicked.
He and Ozy used to joke that I would be the undefeated champ someday.
It had sounded impossible back then, but here we are.
I drop my bag next to the treadmill before peeling off my sweater, carefully avoiding pulling off my mask or messing up my hair.
The second it hits the ground, Reed whistles. I turn to look at him over my shoulder as his eyes roam my body from head to toe, even though I’ve only taken off my sweater. I feel the heat of his eyes as they trace the fox skull tattoo on my side, as if trying to commit it to memory.
“Warn a guy before you do that kind of shit, Foxy. I need a second to prepare for the blood loss to my brain.”
His tone is light and teasing, but I can see the truth in his eyes as they meet mine once again, his pupils blown wide with desire.
Thank fuck I went with the mask that covers most of my upper face, hiding the heat on my cheeks.
My alter ego gives me the courage I lack in my day-to-day life, but it also puts much more of me on display.
Nobody sees this much of Zela. But it’s unavoidable with Vixen, all part of the show, part of the high that comes with being in the ring.
“Keep making heart eyes at me like that, and you'll have to deal with a lot more blood loss, of the dangerous kind.” I wink at him before climbing onto the treadmill and setting it for a ten-minute run to help loosen up my muscles and get my blood pumping.
“You wound me, Foxy. I thought you felt what we have.” Reed clutches at his chest in mock pain, and I roll my eyes as I begin to pick up the pace from a light jog to a full run.
Reed moves from the door over to the treadmill to stand in front of it and stare me dead in the eyes.
Fucker is huge, at least six-five if he can meet my eyes, even with the steep incline I have set.
The smirk on his face almost makes me think he can read my thoughts as he stands watching me for a moment.
“Where’s my good-luck kiss?” He taps his cheek, leaning over the front of the treadmill into my space.
Rolling my eyes, I lean into him, pressing the mouth of my mask against his waiting cheek.
A smile pulls at his lips, and I can’t stop my own at the sight. The way he reacts, you would think I actually laid one on him. But despite us doing this dozens of times, he always seems so damn happy about it.
If he weren’t such a beast of a man, I’d say he was adorable, but as it stands, that feels like a contradiction.
“One day, I’ll have to see about one without the mask, Foxy Girl,” he says, backing up toward the door. It takes a second for what he said to sink in, and I almost lose my footing and eat the treadmill. Thankfully, Reed doesn’t catch it, and I manage to right myself.
Reed pauses just shy of the door before turning back to look at me, all traces of his earlier joking gone.
“Beat her ass, Foxy. Take her down and show those rich fucks what you're made of. With the new location, you're going to have new competition, and they're going to test you with everything they can.” His voice is low and harsh, but I get the feeling his anger isn’t for me. “You worked hard for this spot. Don’t let anyone take it away from you.” Reed pushes the door open and disappears before I can respond, which is just as well, considering I have no idea what I would have said.
It’s not often Reed is so serious, at least not with me. I let his words sink in, feeling the weight of them as I push myself to run faster, needing to feel the burn in my muscles.
This spot is mine. The one thing in this whole damn world that’s mine, and I won’t lose it, not tonight or any other, for that matter.