Champ

by Rhona Davis

  As he carries me back through the room, I lash out at him with my legs. “Put me down!”

  He drops me hard to the chair and holds me in place. “Do we have to tie you to this fucking thing? Stay still!”

  “You can’t keep me here like this,” I snarl. “This is false imprisonment.”

  The goons both look at each other and laugh.

  “You’ll be sorry,” I warn them.

  “Suuuure,” mocks the second heavy.

  The first guy’s phone rings. “Hey, boss, yeah she’s here.” He pauses and whispers to the second guy who foiled my escape. “Check her bag.”

  The intimidating shape of the second guy creeps toward me. I clutch tight to my bag. “No!”

  It’s no good. He effortlessly peels my arms away from the bag and then snatches it from me. I’m left crawling around on the floor, reaching out after him.

  “You bastards,” I shout.

  “Shuuush . . . be nice and quiet for Mr. Garcia. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

  The second guy joins in. “She’s kinda pretty.”

  “Nah, I like bigger tits,” the first guy says.

  Their revolting banter has my skin crawling. “In your fucking dreams, you fat pig!”

  He flexes his arm, his bicep almost popping out from his tight black suit. “Call this fat?”

  The second guy grabs at his own crotch. “Now this, little girly, this is fat!”

  “HELP!” I shout.

  I hear muffled sounds come from the first guy’s phone. He presses it to his ear. “Oh, sorry, yeah boss. No, it’s nothing. This Sophie chick is just playing difficult. The bag . . . ?” He pulls the phone to his chest and whispers over to his fellow meat head. “Look in the bag.”

  As the second idiot pulls out the wallet of documents, the first guy goes back to the phone. “Yes, boss, we got it.”

  My brain hurts. How the hell did they know I was bringing anything? Somehow they found out. I bet it was Adrian. He must have ratted us out. I guess everyone has their price.

  “Now, little lady,” the first guy says, “you’re gonna sit tight and wait for Mr Garcia to come and join us. He’s been looking forward to meet you in person. In the meantime . . .” He walks over to a small TV on the back wall. Turning it on, he stands back and folds his arms. “Why don’t you just sit nice and quiet and enjoy the fight. This Connor fella doesn’t look so hot now, does he?”

  An evil laugh escapes from them both, as my eyes freeze on the screen. Connor is staggering and bloodied.

  I can’t scream.

  I can’t do anything.

  Everything is over now. And there’s no way I can help him.

  A single tear rolls down my cheek. I can’t bear to look, but I can’t stop myself either.

  Fear paralyses me . . .

  I feel like passing out.

  29

  Connor

  “You’re gonna give me a heart attack over here,” Alex screams at me, his face within an inch of mine.

  I swat him away as the assistant tends to the weeping gash above my left eye. I grimace as he dabs at the open wound with a cotton swab and solution.

  As the assistant fixes me up, Alex continues ranting at me. “You need to show me something soon, kid. This fucker is supposed to be easy work. You should be winning by a landslide.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “What you mean . . . yeah, yeah? What are you doing, kid?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Don’t worry? He’s busting you up. You’re not even trying, damn it!”

  I admit it—feeling the raw power in the challenger’s punches has caught me off guard. Even though I’m blessed with one of the strongest chins in the business it’s as clear as day, with the way he’s hurting me, that he’s cheating. I can only imagine what must have gone through my brother’s mind when he fought him, not knowing about the dirty advantage inside the gloves of the fighter he was trading with. The confusion, the blind panic he must have felt—wondering if he was fighting some cyborg instead of a mortal man made of flesh and bone.

  Looking briefly over toward Mr. Shady, A.K.A Mikey Garcia, I catch him subtlety nod his approval. The warped smirk on his fat, slimy face makes me sick. This evil sonofabitch has blood on his hands. The blood of many a fighter; some never the same again, some dead like my big bro.

  Just before the sixty second rest is up, my eyes scan the third row for Sofia . . .

  She’s gone.

  And the official is still sat in his seat—unmoved by the spectacle playing out before him. He doesn’t look like a man who’s just discovered the biggest scandal in the sport. He has the same demeanour he had from round one.

  “Where’s Sophie at?” I shout to Alex.

  He scowls at me. “Christ, kid, you’re obsessed! This is the biggest fight of your career and all you can think about is pussy. You’re blowing it, son. Round three. Come on. Show me more than this!”

  The bell goes and I stagger to my feet.

  Concentration escapes me as my heart races and my mind scatters to the wind. It’s not the guy charging toward me with hands of stone that bothers me—it’s the disappearance of Sophie that fucks with my head.

  Where the hell is she?

  The challenger throws a wild left hook, which I just about manage to evade. As I come up from a ducked stance, I throw a crushing rear uppercut to his jaw. As soon as my fist connects, he wobbles back on his heels like some messed up wino on Skid Row.

  The crowd roars their appreciation.

  I swiftly follow up with a straight one-two combo, opening him up like a cheap Christmas gift.

  I glance over to Garcia and snarl. He looks as white as a ghost.

  Most of the first minute continues much the same way. I want to inflict as much punishment on my opponent as I can without completely ending him. He needs to feel the wrath of my fury, of my demons. He needs to feel the pain I carried for years grieving for my only brother, the pain of losing my way in life before I caught my big break. The dark void inside of me when all I ever knew of a family was taken away. I won’t let him walk free from this without something to remember me by. It’s the very least I owe my brother.

  Forgive me, Adam. Any other time—a time when Sophie wasn’t a part of this mess—and I’d give everything for you, my very life if I had to.

  Dancing around the ring, as I scan the arena for a sign of my girl, I’m suddenly tagged with a crunching punch to the temple. I fly back to the ropes, my body spinning a sharp ninety degrees. My knees buckle and I have to use the top rope to stop from crashing down.

  The cut above my eye opens up again, blood streaming down the left side of my face. Out of my peripheral vision I see my trainer jump around and wave his arms about like a lunatic. His mouth is making the shape of screams that are drowned out by the empathic thunder of the crowd’s reaction. At least they’re getting their money’s worth. I bet they never imagined seeing their once flawless champ being battered from one side of the ring to the other.

  I almost slip on my own blood as I spin back around and throw my hands up in defence. He zips straight in, throwing a pretty impressive four punch combination. He seems faster than before—inspired by the beat down he’s putting on me which seems to have his confidence growing by the second.

  As I try to cover up and dodge the worse of his stinging assault, I keep thinking how easy it would be to just drive all of my body weight into my right hand and connect on his brittle chin—which would easily send him plummeting down to the canvas. I don’t know what’s worse—feeling his loaded gloves dent my bruised and weathered body, or holding onto the power I so desperately want to unleash on this bastard.

  I cover up and cower, playing up to what I know I must do in the next round. Without knowing exactly where Sophie is I can’t risk knocking this motherfucker out. I’ll just have to take the medicine that this puppet has been ordered to dish out by his master. Pride hurts, but losing Sophie would eclipse that one mil
lion times over.

  The bell signals the end of the third.

  I charge back to the corner. “Alex, where the fuck is Sophie?” Blood and spit flies from my mouth, my gum shield balancing from my bottom lip.

  “Never mind that—”

  I grab him around the neck and scream at him. “Where is she!?!”

  The assistant saves Alex from getting a beating of his own. “She was taken away, Con.”

  “What do you mean, taken away? By who? When?”

  “Some guy. He looked like a security guard. Maybe she’s helping set up the post-fight press confer—”

  The bell goes for the forth—the penultimate round.

  I freeze.

  Looking over at the promoter, I see him laugh. His plastic blonde bimbos are hanging off him and counting stacks of cash.

  Alex, looking shocked, gestures for me to continue fighting. “Go.”

  “You bastard,” I roar at him.

  “Kid, please, what’s wrong—?”

  “Connor,” the ref says. I turn. He motions for me to continue. Slowly, and with a heart of lead, I square up to my bleak destiny. And despite the enormity of what’s to come, and the failure to expose this evil and beat it, there’s not a single thing I can do to stop it.

  30

  Sofia

  One of the thugs grabs me by the face and twists my head in the direction of the TV. “Watch it.”

  “No!” I cry, fighting to pull in the opposite direction. “Let me go! You’re hurting me.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’ll hurt you more if you don’t look at that fucking screen.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and finally manage to jerk my head away. I can’t bear to watch Connor suffering. The awful noise that the blood thirsty crowd makes is enough in itself. I don’t need the pictures to go along with it.

  “I said look!” His voice is now thick with impatience.

  “Donnie,” his accomplice cuts in. “Go easy on her, man. Remember what the boss said . . . no marks, no bruises.”

  Donnie straightens up and turns his attention to his right-hand man. “I’m sick of this bitch.”

  “I know, but you gotta go easy on her. It’s not that kind of job.”

  Donnie scoffs. “Look, just because you wanna get your dick wet doesn’t mean we’re here to play nice. If this whore did as she was told then we’d have no problems.” Donnie looks back at me, narrowing his eyes and half grinning. “Anyway, don’t you wanna see her tits?”

  My blood runs cold—panic and revulsion taking over every fibre of my being. “Please,” I beg them both. “Don’t do this.”

  The second unnamed thug pauses for a moment before his mouth twists in a sinister smile. “Well, all right, Don. I guess there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun while we wait.”

  “Thatta boy!”

  “But no rough stuff. I want to get paid for this gig.”

  Donnie nods his approval.

  My breath catches as he reaches for the silver buckle of his belt. Connor’s changing room seems so much smaller now. A tiny concrete shell, yards away from the main arena. Even if I tried to scream out for help no one would hear me.

  I ball my trembling hands into fists, praying that Connor’s boxing lessons will give me some kind of fighting chance.

  As the monstrous shape of Donnie draws closer, ripping away the belt from his fat waist, I start to lash out at thin air.

  They both burst into laughter as Donnie inches close. “Ooh, looks like we got ourselves a fighter here. Did lover boy teach you a few dance moves, little mouse?”

  “Don’t you dare come closer you sick fuck. I mean it, I’ll—”

  He lunges for me, violently pushing me to the back wall and pinning me against it by my throat. “You’ll what?”

  I gasp for air, my hands wrapping around his large wrists to stop him from strangling me.

  “You’ll do shit,” he mocks, his pungent cigarette breath blowing into my face.

  Just as he glides his disgusting mouth across the length of my neck, his phone blares out. He hesitates for a second before cursing aloud and stepping back. I fall to the floor and drink in blessed air—my hands cradling at my crushed throat.

  “The boss?” the other guy asks Donnie.

  “Yeah. Shit. Hey, little mouse . . . I ain’t finished with your sweet ass yet. Me and you got a date.” He places the phone to his ear. “Hello. Hey, boss . . .”

  Crawling around on the floor, I shift over to the shelter of the table on my hands and knees. As I hear them talk, I try to think as fast as I can for a way out.

  “Please, boss, don’t shout. The girl’s going nowhere. That’s right, we got the folder too. Want me to open it?”

  I look up briefly and see Donnie pull the phone from his ear. His face breaks into a grimace. Tentatively, after a beat, he places the phone to his ear again. “Okay, okay, sorry I asked. We’ll wait for you then.” He pauses as the crooked promoter talks to him on the other end of the line. After a few seconds, he looks over to the other heavy and whispers, “He’s on his way now.”

  With no choice left I scramble for my bag, which rests just ahead by the door. Before I can get too far, though, the second guy catches me and drags me up to my feet. “Going for a stroll, baby?”

  I repeatedly strike at his chest with the side of my clenched fist. He doesn’t flinch. He just smirks with contempt and flings me back across the length of the room. Knocking straight into a chair, I crash to the floor. My back spasms in pain.

  Donnie, now finished with the call, continues to taunt me. “Now, where were we little mouse? Ah, yes . . .”

  “Don, are you friggin’ crazy? You said the boss was on his way.”

  “Fucking hell, why are you so uptight? Just relax.” He lumbers toward me, leering and going red and sweaty. “I’m sure we’ll be done by the time he gets here.” He grabs his crotch and crudely gestures. “I’ll be quick anyway. I ain’t had me a piece of prime pussy in months.” He glances over his shoulder at the other goon. “Wanna double team her?”

  Just before I scream, a loud knock on the door saves me from his advance.

  Donnie’s shoulders sag. “Fuck! He was quick.” He jerks his chin over to the door. “Let him in.”

  As the other brute shuffles to the door, Donnie throws me a wink. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll see you after the show.”

  I scuttle off to the back of the room on all fours and press into a corner—clutching my knees, I draw them toward me like a scared child. Tears trickle down my face. I’ve never felt so helpless and degraded in all my life.

  I push my head down to my knees and screw my eyes shut, wishing that this is all was just some terrible nightmare I’ll wake from at any second.

  I hear the second guy open the door. “Hey, boss, we—”

  BOOM!

  The sound of him flying back and bouncing off the ground jolts me. My head snaps up. “Vinnie!”

  He nods briefly before wrestling with Donnie. Vinnie is a big man but Donnie is a comparable size to him. Although relief has lifted my heart slightly, I’m gripped by worry as Vinnie fights with the guy who almost tried to rape me.

  Just when I think Vinnie’s getting the upper hand, I see the bright flash of a switchblade by the thug’s pocket.

  “Vinnie, watch out, he’s got a knife,” I shout.

  “Arghhh!” Vinnie falls to the floor, holding onto his bleeding arm.

  I run up to the hulking monster and jump on his back, trying to force my arms around his tree trunk neck. He soon shakes me off like I’m nothing but a small irritation.

  As Vinnie staggers back to his feet, Donnie crowds over me holding the knife out. “Now bitch, we’re gonna play.”

  “Hey you,” a voice calls from behind him. As soon as this monster turns, he falls to the floor like a bag of rocks. He’s out before he even hits the deck.

  Standing over me now is Monty. He’s pawing at his right hand. “I still got it.”

  I beam into a smil
e. “Thank god you came.” I look over to the door. “Where’s Adrian?”

  “I found him slumped against a vending machine near the entrance lobby. He’s been busted up.”

  “Oh my god! Is he all right?”

  “Don’t you worry, Miss. He wasn’t hurt too bad. He’s gone to let Connor know that we’ve found you.”

  I feel bad for having presumed Adrian could have fessed up. Before I ask any more questions, Vinnie cries out. I scoot over to him. “Vin, you okay?” My gaze snaps back to Monty. “He’s been slashed with a blade.”

  “He’ll be okay. It’s just a superficial wound. Hey, Vinnie, I see you’re still a big softie.”

  Vinnie smiles through gritted teeth. “Long time no see, Mr. Weathers.”

  Monty huffs. “Yeah, long time no see. Suck it up, boy. Six-foot six and you’re moaning like a baby.”

  My brows meet. “He’s been cut though.”

  Monty pauses and then tears a strip from the bottom of his t-shirt. He shuffles over to me. “Here, this should keep the bleeding at bay. It’s really not as bad as it looks.”

  I take the rag from Monty and fashion a rough tourniquet around the bulging muscle of Vinnie’s arm.

  Vinnie smiles up at me. “Thanks, Sophie. Did they hurt you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Good.”

  I smile. “You just rest here, big guy.”

  Monty shouts. “People, we don’t have much time.”

  I look over to him. “Is Connor all right?”

  Glued to the TV, Monty slowly shakes his head. His attention is fixed on every second of the fight. “What round is he supposed to drop, Miss?”

  “Five.”

  “Well, we’re at the end of four.”

  I start freaking out.

  Turning on his heel, Monty takes a deep breath. “Okay, you go and find Adrian. He said you got some kind of document, is that right?”

  I nod, gesturing to my bag.

  “Good. Go and find Adrian and do what you have to. I’ll watch Vinnie and keep the promoter tied up when he gets here. Hopefully I can buy you guys some time.”