No Fear

by Heather Allen

  I ignore him and continue into the dank room. A shower is running in the back. Along the front wall are probably fifteen pale yellow, old school-style metal lockers fitted into the wall. I grab the first one without a lock and open it. Chris comes around the corner, no doubt tracking me down. Why the fuck can’t they all leave me alone?

  He fidgets as his steps falter in front of me. He pushes the black framed glasses up his nose before stating, “I…I talked to Frank the other day. And he has a theory.” He waits for a response, which I don’t gratify, so he continues. I frown over at him, hoping he’ll get the hint to leave me alone.

  “Frank, uh, no…we think you are being forced against what you want…to lose the fights.”

  My hands stop stowing my bag. These two strike me as conspiracy theorists. I could easily blow all this off and tell them to leave me the hell alone. But why would they hound me about this? Curiosity grabs me so I turn toward him; my brows rise in surprise. He stutters for a moment. “I…I mean, if that isn’t the case. I guess we could be wrong. Frank just thought…”

  I shift from one foot to the other. I’m sure I’m a little intimidating. I have a full foot on this guy and probably fifty pounds.

  “The truth is, Grey, we have a thing going with fights. Frank and I thought you might be interested.” My eyes narrow as I wonder if these two idiots could be involved with Luciano, but that is highly doubtful. When I was looking for a gym, I went far away from the strip for a reason. This shit hole is in the midst of practically nothing—desert and some buildings, that’s it. It’s actually a wonder that they are still open.

  Chris asks, “So do you think you might be interested?”

  Before I can answer, he adds, “No restrictions, you can win when you want.”

  My stoic expression almost falters with those words. I want nothing more than to win a fight, or lose a fight; either way, let it run its course without being told what to do.

  He hands me a card, explaining, “Tonight, eight o’clock. Come and see what it’s about.”

  I palm the card and look down as he skitters away. The front shows the business card for the gym, decorated with palm trees and both owners’ names. The back has an address scribbled on it.

  I’m not sure what to think, but I suspect this might just be why the gym is still standing. Why not? What do I have to lose?

  ***

  I drive down the dirt road as the sun is departing for the day. Dry dust rises as the truck roams through the heated desert. I’ve been driving for twenty minutes, surrounded by nothing. I begin to have doubts that the address on the card is an actual place. But a few minutes later, I spot a dark shape in the distance. As it looms closer, my earlier theory about underground fights proves to be true. Surrounded by nothing, a wide building stands in serious disrepair, with the flat, dirt-covered land in front of it crowded with cars and trucks. I slide my truck in and get out. Shouts and screams coming from the building echo through the air. I walk to a narrow door in the side of the building. A man twice my size stands on guard. He eyes me up and down, nodding for me to enter. As I walk the short distance from the door to the back of the screaming crowd, the charged energy is contagious. I move around to get a better look. A makeshift ring is set into the center of the room. Two guys are going at it. One is bloodied at the nose and trying hard to keep from toppling over. The other is beating him to a pulp. Frank dances back and forth a short distance away, smiling at the scene. I wait for the guy getting his ass kicked to tap out or for time to be called, but neither happens. Finally, after about ten minutes, the man staggers a few steps before falling. Applause and screams flow through the room.

  The bodies shift, a few of them knocking into me. Frank announces the dude still standing as the winner and calls another fight. I watch as money is exchanged in the crowd and on the side of the ring. Those unmistakable black-framed glasses look down to a wad of cash in Chris’ hands. He smiles, looking back up to Frank with a wink. I’m not surprised. This answers my question about the gym and pretty much why these two are even together as business partners. Someone knocks into me from behind. I turn and a small, blonde chick is giggling. Her friend is leaning in, whispering to her. She calls loudly, a red cup in her hand, “Sorry, I was pushed.” She begins laughing again.

  I smile and turn back as two new fighters climb up onto the stage. Frank announces, “You saw the newbies, now take a look at the champ. Andy Rice, take a bow for your fans.” A guy probably a few years younger than me, with short dark hair, bows at the waist as the crowd goes wild. He smiles widely as he lifts his shirt and tosses it into the flailing arms. His build is similar to mine, and my first thought is that he would probably be well-matched against me. I shake my head at the thought. I’m pro now; why would I fight here?

  Frank continues. “Here for a rematch with Andy is Jenison Hayle. We all give you our well wishes.” The whole crowd raises their arms, yelling at once. “Wish you well.” Frank doubles over laughing as the crowd mimics him. A hand encircles my arm as I watch. It distracts me momentarily. I turn to face the girl who pushed into me. She lifts up onto her toes to ask over the yelling. “Are you new around here?”

  I look forward as the two men take opposite corners and nod to her question. She begins laughing and explains, “Well, this is a no-brainer fight. Andy up there is undefeated. He hasn’t lost one yet.” She gestures toward the ring.

  My eyes meet hers and she nods, assuring me of her words. The crowd starts cheering again, and I turn to see Andy repeatedly kicking the other guy in the side. He moves away every time Jenison even gets close. After a while he lunges forward, his fist connecting with Jenison’s jaw. The man staggers backward, but Andy doesn’t let up. He surges, pummeling the man in the abdomen. A voice in my ear says, “See, I told you.”

  I stare as Andy beats the guy until he falls to the floor, unmoving. A memory pops up of the man in the alley, his body collapsing, the breath leaving him. A squeeze of my arm brings me back. I look over at the girl again. She asks, “Hey, by the way, I’m Cassidy; do you want to meet him? My best friend is his girlfriend.” She gestures to the other girl I saw earlier. I shake my head, unsure about what I’m going to do. Why am I even here? Before I have a chance to move, though, the crowd disperses and Frank is in front of me, his arm lazily around Andy’s shoulder. He hands him a wad of cash before acknowledging me in surprise. “Greylan Pace, you showed up.”

  Andy looks back and forth between us and shakes Frank’s arm away. “Dude, you asked this loser to come out. Why the hell would you do that?”

  Frank’s hand moves to his arm as I move away. My blood is starting to boil as I stare this guy down. He doesn’t have a clue. My fists clench, itching to hit something.

  “Dude, Andy, just wait. I invited him for a reason.”

  Andy moves away, placing his arm around Cassidy’s friend. He leans in to kiss her on the cheek and glares my way again. Frank explains, “I think we can have a very lucrative business here if Greylan wants in. You said yourself that you’re getting bored because no one is challenging you.”

  “Dude, I didn’t think you’d pull a forever loser off the pro circuit. Rumors are spreading that he’ll be out soon. Who would want to touch him then?”

  I’ve about had it with this dick. I’m ready to throw down right here. I take a step toward him, but a strong hand pulls on my shoulder. I turn to see who it is. Chris shakes his head, muttering, “Not yet.” At first I’m shocked that the guy has any muscles at all, as scrawny as he is. But then the fact that these two are trying to match me up is too much. I had let Jax go so he wouldn’t be involved in any of my shit. I don’t need to involve these guys too. I pull away, looking straight at Andy. “I think you have it covered here. Frank, Chris, thanks for the invite.”

  I walk away to protests from Frank, but I ignore him. As the night air envelops me, footsteps trailing behind cause me to stop. I turn to find Cassidy looking wide-eyed up at me. Her eyes are bright and blue…and innocent. A
slow smile spreads as she asks, “So you’re a fighter too?”

  I turn away, not wanting anything to do with any of these people—least of all this chick, who looks way too pure for what I’d use her for. She keeps my pace but doesn’t say anything else. When I get to my truck, she skirts around to the other side. I lean on the hood asking, “What are you doing?”

  “I need a ride home. Jenna, my friend, is going straight to Andy’s. I guess you pissed him off, so he doesn’t want to take me home. It’s your responsibility now.”

  What the hell? I shake my head, getting in the truck as she slides in beside me. She directs, “Same way you came in. When we get closer to town, I’ll give you more directions.”

  I then notice shorts that ride up her legs, cowboy boots, and a cropped white tank top. My body leans closer to the door. I’m not touching this one, as tempting as she is at the moment.

  She attempts to make small talk on the way, but quickly gets the hint when I don’t answer any of her questions. Finally she admits, “I get it, you don’t want anything to do with any of this; but maybe you’re the guy—the one who can knock Andy down. He’s so stuck on himself. He needs an ass beating.” I smile at this but don’t let her know that I’m already thinking about it all. The fact that this dude needs to be knocked down reminds me of another fighter who needs to be knocked down.

  Chapter 7

  Cassidy lingers in my truck when I pull in front of a small house, lined with an open porch out front. It’s rustic, but homey. She gestures to the house and explains, “There are three of us who live here. It gets kind of crowded sometimes, but both of the other girls are with their boyfriends tonight. Do you want to come in?”

  I shake my head in response. Too many things about her remind me of another blonde that I’ve disappointed. She is independent, just like Christina. I can’t, not tonight, as easy as it would be to just let go again. When I don’t respond, she looks away and back again before placing her fingers against the door handle. “It’s okay. Think about Andy, though. He needs to know that things aren’t always forever.” She moves to get out but stops. “Not to mention it might help with the way he treats Jenna. I hate the way he acts like he owns her. She seems to just accept it and it makes me crazy.”

  I look away, hoping she’ll end her rant soon. The more she speaks, the more she sounds like Christina, and I feel worse about the way I treated her. Finally, she gets out and looks back one last time. I give a little wave as the door closes. I know I was a dick, but I’m tired of trying. I’m done being the nice guy.

  ***

  Meyer’s voice drones on as he practically beats down my door. “Grey, Grey; you in there?” I roll over on my side, pulling a pillow over my head to block him out. “Go the fuck away!”

  “Dude, just open the door. I have to talk to you.” I debate making him stand out there for a while longer, but the banging is grating on my nerves.

  “Come on Grey, open up.” The hammering continues.

  I climb out of bed and yank the door open. “What the hell?” I turn away and slide back under the blankets.

  He stands in the doorway, an incredulous look on his face. Part of me wonders if he knows I went to the underground fight last night, but then I don’t really give a shit. That’s my new motto; Who the fuck cares? If he knows, it won’t matter because I didn’t fight. I think I might be changing that scenario soon. This Andy dude might just give me the distraction I need right now, a good way to get away from my reality.

  “Grey, dude, you have a fight tomorrow.” He takes a deep breath like it could be his last.

  “So, that’s nothing new. They want me to throw it, right? You know, pretty soon they’ll push me off the circuit. Maybe you should inform your bosses it’s going to happen. Maybe that’s the plan, though. I wouldn’t be a threat to Parker if I couldn’t get any more fights.”

  His hand moves to the doorframe and his eyes widen as I drone on. I could care less. This is the shit he goes on about, constantly trying to reason things out. Now that I know about his mom, it all makes sense—all the things throughout the years that he made light of. Now I know he’s really just been messed up in the head all along.

  “You done?”

  I nod, looking away. I can barely face him anymore.

  “You get to win this one.” His mood changes just like that from concerned to cheerful, happy even. What the hell is so good about the fact that I’m allowed to win a fight? This one-sided conversation just decided it for me. I’m gonna beat Andy’s ass and enjoy every minute of it.

  “Great.” I roll away, done with Meyer. He’s an idiot, almost as bad as the tools at the gym that I need to make a deal with now.

  I try to fall back to sleep in an effort to push all the shit from my head, but too many things twist together. Somewhere I still have hope for Mollie and me. Yes, it’s a screwy thing, but most people can’t just turn feelings on and off. Meyer could be the exception to that rule. But I remember the words he spoke the other day, about how Luciano saw that she had fallen for me. If that was the case, why is she such a bitch every time I see her? As much as I’d like to, I can’t shut it all away. Everything is too raw. And the only way I know how to deal with anything is to fight. Now that my hands are tied, I have to do something else. Take control. This thought forces me out of bed. I head to the shower, ready to make a new move—one that doesn’t depend on anyone else’s decisions.

  As I walk into the gym, Frank pounces. He’s like a little cockroach, always scurrying around and trying to play himself up. He corners me at the only bag that’s not getting a beating.

  “Grey, my boy. Did you think about our proposition? I know Andy seemed a little rough around the edges, but I promise he’ll be on his best behavior if you agreed to a deal.” That word to me seems dirty, now that ‘deals’ have been made on my behalf over and over again. They never seem to turn out in my favor.

  I put my hand up to halt his voice. It’s becoming annoying. He stops mid-sentence, muttering something about forty-sixty.

  “Dude, do you ever listen to yourself? It’s constant with you. You’re constantly talking something up. Don’t you ever shut up?”

  He opens his mouth to respond, but I don’t give him a chance. “I’m good with the ‘deal,’ as you call it, but I want fifty-fifty. As far as Andy is concerned, he can be the usual asshole that he is. It’ll make it easier to beat his ass.”

  A slow smile, almost sneaky, spreads over his mouth. Obviously, he’s forgotten I insulted him.

  I add, “The only thing I ask is that it’s kept on the down-low. Although my reputation may not be the best, fighting underground won’t help things.”

  He nods his head furiously but keeps his mouth closed. Good, maybe he’s gotten the hint. I turn to punch the bag, but his voice halts my progress.

  “How about a different name? Some people might recognize you, but if your fight name here is something else, maybe not.”

  I smile, with my back still to him. I know exactly the right name. I turn and tell him. “Rookie. You can bill me as Rookie.”

  He nods, clasping his hands together, eager to get away, no doubt to tell Chris.

  I call out, “Oh, one more thing, I’m fighting tomorrow night, so don’t plan anything for then.”

  “You got it, buddy.” I wince at his reference. I’m definitely not his buddy—not really anyone’s. But at this point I’m glad about that. Falling into a different identity to do what I love finally brings a tiny bit of peace. A feeling I haven’t had in a while.

  Chapter 8

  As I pull into the lot of the casino, my phone beeps with a text message. I thumb it onto the screen, and Christina’s name floats back at me. Her message is short and sweet.

  I’m still not talking to you, but I didn’t want you to go into the cage without wishing you good luck. I hope you beat his ass.

  I smile at the words. I had hoped she’d give in eventually. This is a good sign that we’re still okay.

&n
bsp; I make my way into the holding room. Meyer and Jimmy T are already there. I ignore both of them while I get ready. This is usually how it goes every time. Jimmy took it hard that first fight, when I was forced to lose. I could tell he was sorry about any deals that were made. In a way he wasn’t responsible, because Meyer had screwed me over a long time ago. But I guess I was so pissed at the entire situation that I wanted him to do something to change it. He is the manager, after all. Isn’t that his job, to talk smack like a used car salesman? Make them believe anything he tells them? But he told me the damage was already done. He couldn’t talk us out of this one.

  Since that day when we hashed it out, I’ve barely spoken to him. He’s on the payroll like everyone else, so I guess that’s what makes him happy. He can drink and gamble in the city that never sleeps. The guy is probably in heaven. And he’s better off not having much to do with me.

  “Grey, the guy tonight is Jarod Palmer. He’s got a record of eight/fifteen.” Meyer rushes through the usual routine, telling me who I’m up against. This is when I miss Jackson the most. He would get the information early and study the guy’s moves ahead of time. Meyer doesn’t know shit.

  He continues, “He’s been on the circuit for a year and a half but doesn’t get a lot of action.”

  Great, it seems I’m going backwards in the rankings. Instead of fighting to the top, I’m going down. It reminds me of my bouts with Jackson last year when I rose to be among the top fighters at his gym. We had a running challenge. I’d ask him where each guy I fought fell in his little line-up. I take a deep breath, missing the time when things were easier than this…when I felt like I could breathe easier.