by Rose Hudson
“I’m not. Celia and Jerry Sorrels have been paying two-thousand dollars a month to an associate of yours for the last twenty years. I don’t have a name, but I’m sure if you do some digging you are more than capable of making that problem go away. If the first of March rolls around and they’re hounded for one red cent, I will immediately make your life a living hell.”
“You’ve got quite the set of balls to come here and threaten me.”
“Joseph, this is far from a threat.” I stand, Dad following suit and preceding me out of the booth. “Threats are expelled out of fear and I assure you, I am not afraid of so-called men like you. If that statement doesn’t ring true, just test me.” Without looking at him or my father or anyone, I walk to the hallway leading to the bathrooms, opening the door to the staircase I remember leading downstairs to the parking garage.
But this time it isn’t the dank smell of the stairwell or the muffled sounds of the congregation of bodies I’ll find around the corner that hold my attention. This time I take each step with purpose and determination, unafraid of what I’ll find, because I know I’ll find the man I love amidst a sea of monsters.
THERE’S NOTHING NOSTALGIC ABOUT TONIGHT. No thinking this is my last fight after thirteen years of fighting. No shaking hands and saying goodbyes to a syndicate that in many ways was an unwelcome cornerstone in my past. Tonight is a last resort and nothing more.
I’ve sat in my truck, parked behind Timmy’s for the last thirty minutes with Drowning Pool blaring through the speakers and ridding my mind of everything but the task before me.
I keep thinking about Cameron’s demands, specifically his demand that I take a fall against this Russian guy. It seems so simple to just do what is asked of me, to be a good little soldier and follow orders. But that’s just it, I’m nobody’s fucking soldier. Then again, why am I even doing this if I’m not going to do shit his way? That’s the purpose of this. Right?
People like him always get what they want. With money comes power, and people like me, that come from nothing, always submit to power because we’ve never been given another option. I can do one of two things, either take the fall or don’t. Take the fall and lose respect for myself and teach my brothers nothing, or fuck this guy up and show Cameron that I don’t bow to anyone and if he doesn’t keep his initial agreement then he will face the same fate this Russian will. Sounds simple enough. It always does until it’s not.
I run my fingers through my hair, wishing I could rip it from my head. Anything would have to be less painful than this fucking decision.
Boom, boom, boom.
Three hard knocks on my window force me to jump and open my eyes, looking over to see Thorn’s face through the glass. I roll down the window.
“Ever heard of texting, motherfucker?” I ask him.
“I saw your truck, so I just walked over. You ready? ‘Cause you seem jumpy as fuck to me.”
“I’m fine.”
“When’s start time?”
“Five minutes.”
“Well fuck, dude, come on. I need to at least put some Vaseline on your face.”
I release a sigh, knowing he’s right. I grab my bag and keys, locking the door behind me and stepping out.
There’s nothing fancy about fighting in the underground. You walk in with your street clothes on and walk out in one piece with a wad of cash in your pocket, or you don’t. Given the main goal here is always the purse, there is an unstated respect that most of us have jobs and sometimes families to go home to, making it less about destroying your opponent and more about getting a few calculated hits in and putting a stop to things quickly.
Unless it’s a rough and tumble, then all bets are off. You win by any means necessary and more times than not, that means major injuries. This fight isn’t that kind of fight.
Just before we walk through the back entrance of the underground parking deck below Timmy’s, Thorn pulls a small tube of Vaseline from his pocket and smooths some over the high points on my face.
“Here, put my keys in your pocket and don’t you dare fucking leave without getting them back to me.” He takes the keys and puts them in his pocket, taking my bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
The muffled beat of music morphs into a blare as we open the door and step in, a cloud of smoke floating above the sea of bodies already present and waiting for the fight to start. Knowing exactly where to go, I make my way to the concrete column with the red ‘x’ spray painted on the side, ignoring those that call out my name as I walk through the crowd.
“You need anything? Water? A shot?” Thorn asks as we reach the spot. I shake my head. Turning my brain off and my instinct on, the one thing I’ve always had a hold on when it comes to fighting. Casper always told me that if you can master drowning out everything around you and focus on the guy in front of you, you’ve won the fight before it even begins. Now I just have to decide if winning is my goal for this fight, or if I’m merely here as a pawn that hopes to walk away with little damage.
“Glad to see you showed, Mr. Keeling. Or would you prefer Hammer?” a heavy laden Russian accent says from behind me and I turn to see a man dressed in a suit far too expensive for the likes of this place. Makes me wonder if he’s ever even attended a fight.
“I don’t give a fuck what you call me. Can I help you with something?” He extends his hand to me, but I just look down at it and back up at him, expectant look in place.
“Yuri Kiniaev. You’re fighting my son, Fadei. Thought I should come meet the notorious Hammer before he ends your winning streak.” I take a step closer to him, leaning in slightly to be sure he hears every word.
“Then let me give you some advice. I don’t know how they do shit in potato country, but here, we skip the niceties and get down to business.” I ease back, eye to eye with him now. “So, if I were you, I’d make sure your son’s ready and get the fuck out of my face.”
An amused look spreads across his features as he straightens his thousand-dollar suit.
“Good luck. You’ll need it.” He chuckles, turning to leave. I trail his movements with my eyes, eyeing the guy he stops to stand beside and assuming it must be the guy I’m fighting. Comparably, he’s a couple inches taller than me, about Rush’s height, but with a narrower build, close to my own.
Being evenly matched doesn’t always mean a fair fight, though. But he looks younger than me and I’d bet money he doesn’t have near the experience under his belt as I do.
I look straight ahead over the crowd, spotting bookies finalizing bets and fewer hands in the air than when we arrived, meaning bets are almost closed and the fights about to begin. I lean against the column, stretching my arms to ready myself. Pulling off the top two layers of sweatshirts, I’m met with Casper and Jerry standing before me when I pull my head from the material, sweat causing my white t-shirt to cling to me.
“You better not embarrass me tonight, boy. None of that pansy shit. You hear?”
“Yeah, Casper. I got it.” I slide off two of the three pairs of pants I’m wearing, leaving me in a pair of joggers.
He slaps me on the shoulder and makes his way over to the circle to where Thorn is standing.
“What? No heartfelt pep talk?” I say to Jerry, standing with his hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but at me.
“Hell, it’s kind of hard to follow up Casper’s.” He chuckles, and if I wasn’t ready to get this going, I probably would too. “Never doubted you any other time you stepped into the circle, sure as fuck won’t start now.” He looks up briefly, turning to join the others. I shake off any meaning of what he just said as the bookies yell, “Shops closed” and the crowd starts to part, forming a circle.
Walking to the center, I stop by Thorn to hand him my clothes. When I turn to walk away, he grabs my elbow. “Don’t take the fall.”
I look back at him, confused.
“Do what you always taught us to do and make this motherfucker remember who you are. Fuck what Cameron said.”
I don’t respond, don’t nod. I turn and walk to the center, the Kiniaev kid meeting me half way, the organizer between us.
“All right, boys. This will be a rough and tumble bout. No restrictions. First man down loses.”
My eyes widen and I start to open my mouth and disagree, but Thorn gets my attention and I look over at him as he shakes his head. Cameron. The low-down dirty motherfucker.
“Hammer, you ready?”
I look back to the organizer and nod.
“King, you ready?”
I suppress a laugh at the kid’s fight name, but he nods in answer and the organizer drops his arms.
“Let’s do it,” he says, backing out of the center, leaving the two of us alone.
We back apart sizing each other up and preparing to make our move. He’s definitely younger now that I can see him under the hanging lights, but he’s got a couple inches reach on me, so I make a mental note to watch my distance.
I’m about to take a step forward and land my first punch when a feeling of awareness washes over me. A feeling that only ever comes over me when she’s around. I can’t help it. I scan the crowd, looking from face to face as quick as I can. I must be losing my fucking mind. Not only would she never come here, she wouldn’t even know where to come.
As I’m turning my head to focus on the dude in front of me, he lands a hard jab to the side of my head, ringing my bell good and causing me to step back.
Oh, fuck no.
I shake off the momentary blur in my vision, gathering the rage and putting it behind the force of my fist as it makes contact with his nose, blood instantly pouring from his nostrils and over his mouth. He wipes it with the back of his hand and comes in again, but this time less calculated and more impulsive, missing his intended target and opening himself up for another hard blow from me, this time to his left flank. When he bends instinctively like I anticipated, I bring up a knee, splitting the skin at his brow.
He paces back, creating space between the two of us, seemingly taking inventory of the damage he’s received just minutes into the fight. When he looks up at me, I see confusion and it brings a whole new meaning to his dad’s words before the fight. Cameron must’ve told them that I agreed to lose and now I have a feeling this kid is wondering what the fuck he’s gotten himself into.
Gut check, motherfucker. Better step it up, because I don’t lose. Not to Joseph Cameron. Not to anyone.
Wiping the blood from his eye and his nose, he bounces back to the center, using his reach and landing a sharp jab to my cheek. It fucking stings, but like my little goddess, I like the pain. I take advantage of his focus on my face and use my right leg to sweep his out from under him, moving quickly to overpower him from his new position, back against the floor. With one, two, three hard blows to his head, I do exactly what I came here to do and I put an end to this.
“A little piece of advice, don’t ever think a fight’s going to get handed to you. Earn that shit little boy,” I say in his ear, pushing myself up off the concrete floor and standing.
“And the winner is Hammer!” the organizer says at my side, raising my arm in the air. I wipe my face with the bottom of my shirt, blood coloring the front of it. He takes an envelope from his pocket and hands it to me.
I don’t waste time getting to Thorn.
“Keys.” He looks like he just won the fucking lottery, reaching into his pockets and handing my truck keys.
“Fuck, man. I think a year did your ass some good. You fucking killed it!” Thorn bounces on the balls of his feet. I reach down and grab my bag, stuffing the envelope inside. “Where we going to celebrate? I’ve got—”
“The only place I’m going is home. I’ll catch you tomorrow or something.”
“You gotta be kidding?” he says from behind me as I turn to head toward the door.
Jerry and Casper both pat me on the back as I walk past, pushing my way through the crowd and trying to get to the back door without getting stopped by anyone, needing to get the fuck out of here and away from this place for good.
But when I’m just steps away from the door, I stop, frozen in my tracks at the sight of Lydia, leaned against the wall with a look of a hundred emotions on her face. It takes a moment to register that she isn’t alone, her father standing to her left.
I swallow thickly, closing the distance between us.
“That was a hell of a fight, son.” Stellan extends his hand, me struggling to look away from Lydia to take it. I finally do, looking up at him.
“Thank you, sir. Just glad it’s over.” My eyes go immediately back to Lydia.
“Want to step outside?” she asks.
I nod slowly. Stellan opens the door and we make our way into the dark street. We walk around the building and up the alley.
“I hate to ask, as I’m sure you’re just ready to leave, but would you mind giving Lydia a ride home for me? I just got a call and have some business to attend to.” We stop on the sidewalk and I’m caught completely off guard by his question, but would love nothing more than to have even five minutes with her. I nod.
“No problem, Mr. Norberg.”
“Stellan will be fine,” he says, grinning. “Congrats on your last fight.” He extends his hand again and I shake it. He kisses Lydia’s cheek, her trying to hide the shock in her eyes as she glares at him before he turns and heads across the street, leaving the two of us alone.
After a moment, she looks over at me, all kinds of unasked questions between us. Her eyes scan my face, trailing down to my shirt and then my hands. I can see her flinch, throat unable to hide the heavy weight of her swallow.
“What are you doing here, Lydia?”
“I think maybe you should let me drive. Where’s your truck?”
“Answer my question.”
“Where’s your truck, Stone? Right now, we need to get you somewhere and get you cleaned up before someone sees you and calls the damn cops.”
I glare at her, pushing the button on my key fob, causing the lights to blink across the street. She tries to take them from me but I hold on tight, eyes drilling into hers.
“You can ask me anything you want when we get somewhere, but right now we’re leaving.” She says.
I let go of the keys and she doesn’t even wait, taking off across the street and leaving me to follow.
I climb into the passenger seat, tossing my bag into the back and looking over at her, her eyes focused on the windshield as she pulls away from the curb and away from South Side. I lean my head back on the headrest, going over question after question in my mind, forming my own assumptions and attempting to decipher my own feelings.
I’ve spent the last week so angry at her while fighting feelings that I knew would remain no matter what. Somewhere along the way this lover, turned enemy, turned friend, stole my heart, and I wouldn’t take it back if she handed it to me on a silver fucking platter.
Even with my eyes closed, I’ve driven these roads so many times that I know we are getting closer to the East Side. But when the truck comes to a stop, I open my eyes and lean forward, noticing that we are in front of Lydia’s apartment building.
I guess she really did just want a ride home. I grind my jaw, pushing up the console and sliding into the driver’s seat. I reach for the door handle to close it, but she smacks her palm against the inside.
“What are you doing? Get out.”
I look at her like she’s lost her mind.
“Stone, grab your fucking bag and come up to my apartment.” She takes off walking, leaving no room for anything further. I stare up toward the sky for a beat, cussing under my breath as I reach back to grab my bag, barely catching up to her as she gets on the elevator.
She looks over at me under the overhead lights, closing her eyes as she appraises my cuts and bruises. I want to laugh, not because it’s funny, but because this is nothing compared to some of the other fights I’ve had. Tonight, I got a busted brow and a cut on my cheek. I’ll probably have a decent sized lump on t
he side of my head, too, but at least she can’t see that under my hair.
The doors open on the fourth floor and I follow her to her door, unable to resist leaning forward to breathe her in as she unlocks it. Get it together. You’ve got answers to get.
She pushes the front door open with such force that it bounces off the doorstop behind it. Throwing her keys down, she walks through the apartment, shedding her blazer and shoes when she gets to the doorway of her bedroom.
I’m confused as fuck about what’s happening and I’m done playing games.
I follow her into the bathroom and grab her shoulders, turning her to face me.
“We’re here. Now tell me what the fuck is going on? Why were you there?”
She jerks away from me. “Because I fucking wanted to be. That’s why!” she shouts, turning around to run water into the bathtub.
“Okay. So why the hell are you acting so insane?”
She stands from her bent position, keeping her back to me for a long beat.
“Because it’s a lot harder to see you like this than I thought it would be.” She turns to look at me. “And maybe the only way I know how to deal with it is by taking it out on you.” She squeezes her eyes shut before opening them again. “And maybe I’m pissed at myself, too.”
She steps toward me, grabbing the hem of my shirt, looking up at me for permission. I lift my arms and she pulls it over my head, heat falling over my skin where her eyes roam. She reaches up to touch a red spot at my side. “Does this hurt?”
I shake my head, the real pain caused by her touch because I want her hands everywhere. And the bad part is, I’d take it even if that’s all she would give me, and I’d force myself to live without the rest if that’s all she’d let me have of her. She steps back.
“You need to get in the tub. I’ll grab the first aid kit and I’ll be right back.”
“Can you bring my bag with you when you come back?”
She looks over her shoulder, nodding.
I watch as she leaves the bathroom, my brain spinning out of control. I push my sweats down my hips and climb over the side, the hot water burning my skin, but soothing the ache of my muscles.