The Way We Are

by Shandi Boyes

  My eyes drift from a high caliber weapon strapped on the waist of a man whose shoulders are as wide as I am tall to Cormack when Isaac hands him the bundles of cash he dug out of his glove compartment.

  “Go in hard tonight. After last month, I don’t see us having much time before our ruse comes undone,” Isaac instructs Cormack under his breath.

  Nodding, Cormack slides the money into the breast pocket of his jacket. “Are you worried about repercussions of turning down Dimitri’s proposal or Ophelia finding out what you really get up to every Friday night?”

  Cormack hightails it a few feet in front of us when Isaac responds to his question with a growl. It's interesting watching the dynamic between them shift the closer we get to the lit-up warehouse. During the twenty-minute commute, Isaac was the head wolf of the pack. But as we creep toward an area that reeks of an odd combination of sweat and money, his confidence falters. His swagger isn’t as jagged, his smirk not as ruthless. In all honesty, he looks frightened.

  The reason behind Isaac’s shift in demeanor comes to light when we enter a door manned by two heavily armed men. The scene inside the warehouse mimics one I’ve seen many times on the premium sports channel my dad watches on the weekends; it just has a grittier association.

  Chrome chairs line the edge of a large boxing ring with men of all shapes and sizes warming up on it. There's a bar pushed in the far corner of the room, serving liquor ranging from girly-looking cocktails to scotch on the rocks served in the fancy crystal tumblers. There are even a dozen spectators sitting in the cheap seats, nestled away from the action on the far walls.

  On first assumptions, this property could be misconstrued as a secret fight club for the rich and famous. It's only after taking in the many exchanges of money during the short trek across the dirty concrete floor that my assumptions are proven wrong.

  This is a secret fight club, but it isn’t for the rich and famous. It's for the underworld.

  The cash-only transactions leave no doubts, especially paired with the salt and pepper haired-man standing next to the ring gawking our way. Col Petretti is well-known in my home town. His son Dimitri has been scouring the bottom-feeders in our community the past two years, seeking members to join their association.

  You know you’re scraping the bottom of the barrel when you can’t get drafted by a low-ranked mobster. Brax and I were happy to be passed over by the Petretti crew as soon as we were of age, but Chris wasn’t as content with our smooth transition from adolescent to adulthood. He wanted an adventure, and for some insane reason, he believes the Petretti crew could give him that.

  “Showtime,” Isaac mutters when he notices the direction of Col’s gaze.

  “How much?” Cormack questions under his breath when Col pushes off his feet to head our way. Although Cormack’s eyes remain locked on Col, his words are for Isaac.

  “Take him to the cleaners, but be smart or he’ll smell a rat,” Isaac answers. His tone is to the point, but his innocence act never falters.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I shift my eyes to the side of the room, praying Col won’t see my grin. I’ve seen many tricks in my short eighteen years, but this one tops the cake. It’s clever, but I hope I’m not around when the jig is up.

  My quick scan of the densely filled space stops halfway when a flurry of honey-colored locks captures my attention. The silky smooth hair reminds me why I am in this warehouse to begin with. It's for her. Savannah.

  Keeping my prying eyes on the down low, I watch Savannah from afar, relishing the deja vu of seeing her sit beneath a set of bleachers on my right. She has a book cradled in one hand while her other twists a lock of hair around her index finger. It's phenomenal how comfortable she looks in a dangerous environment. Her legs are curled under her bottom, and her lower lip is two shades darker than its counterpart from the obsessive raking of her teeth as she scans the pages of what is no doubt a romance novel.

  Savannah loves reading. From the moment she stumbled upon a box of old Harlequin novels during our street’s annual garage sale nine years ago, she has devoured three to four books a week. She rarely strays from romance, but the heat level varies wildly. She doesn’t care if it's a simple schoolyard peck or hot enough to fog reading glasses, if it is a story of unrequited love, she's there with bells on.

  Because Savannah is so immersed in the book she is reading, she fails to notice Axel sneaking up on her. After snatching the book out of her hand, he paces three feet away before thrusting it in the air. Since Savannah is a good seven or eight inches shorter than him, she's unable to reach his outstretched hand when she leaps into the air, wordlessly demanding her book back.

  The greasy burgers I was flipping the past eight hours have nothing on Axel’s slimy demeanor when he taps his index finger on his puckered lips, requesting Savannah pay restitution for the return of her book with a kiss. Although the similarities between Axel and Kenny piss me off, I am pleased when Savannah stalks away from Axel, denying his request. I even smile a little when her eye roll is so obvious I can spot it halfway across the room.

  My anger doesn’t smolder for long. It returns full force when Axel snatches Savannah’s wrist then drags her back to him. His yank on her arm is so rough, their torsos violently crash. My jaw ticks when Axel curls his arms around her back and draws her even closer. It's as evident as the moon hanging in the sky that Savannah wants to get away from him. If her fists banging on his chest aren’t enough of a sign, her repeated request to be let go is a sure-fire indication.

  My bone-crunching steps to reach Savannah are halted by a hand darting out to seize my wrist. Although I don’t remove my eyes from Savannah and Axel, I know who is clutching my arm. Even though Isaac’s eyes remain planted on the ground, his lightning fast reflexes gain Col’s interest even more than his choirboy routine did. Grinning a smirk that makes my hands clammy, Col’s beady eyes dart between Isaac and me, his stare murderous.

  “You’re him,” he accuses, his authentic Italian accent on full display. “You turn up to these events looking out of place before leaving with everyone’s money.” His words are delivered without hesitation, indicating they are facts.

  “You should have accepted Dimitri’s offer last month because fighting for me may be your only chance to leave this warehouse with your pulse not flatlining.”

  Realizing his cover has been blown, Isaac’s slit gaze floats up from the floor. I want to pretend his anger is solely focused on Col. Unfortunately, that isn’t the case. The brunt of his wrath is directed at me, the person responsible for exposing his ruse.

  When Col throws his head back and laughs, he gains the attention of everyone surrounding us—including Savannah and Axel.

  “Ryan?” Savannah murmurs at the same moment Axel releases her from his grasp.

  Axel sidesteps Savannah, his jaw ticking as fast as my heart is racing. When he heads my way, Savannah tries to impede his steps with a flirty touch of his chest. But since his target is locked and loaded, nothing will stop him.

  “Back for round two,” Axel sneers, his steps so long he reaches me in under two seconds.

  My nose crinkles when his whiskey-laced breath smacks my senses back to the 90s. I didn’t smell alcohol on him before, so it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he did after our war of words.

  I fire back, “To start round two, we’d first need to compete in round one.”

  I drag my eyes down Axel’s skin-tight Emporia Armani short-sleeve shirt, and five-hundred-dollar designer jeans before returning them to his face. “It’s lucky you walked away when you did. I would have hated to ruin your pretty little threads.”

  Isaac’s slit gaze widens as his lips tug, apparently more entertained by my cockiness than Col’s malicious threat.

  When Axel attempts to get up in my face, Col beats him to the task. “You challenged my nephew to a fight?”

  My eyes stray to Col standing two inches in front of me. “If that douchebag is your nephew, then yeah, I did.”


  I jerk my chin at Axel, ignoring the hairs on my arms standing to attention from Savannah’s closeness. Even though her approach was silent, I didn’t need to hear her steps to be aware of her impending arrival. My body sensed it.

  “And Axel refused your proposition?” Col questions.

  If the panic raging in Savannah’s eyes hadn’t infuriated me, my knees may have wobbled a little from Col’s devious growl. Unfortunately for all involved, I’ve never lacked confidence, especially when it comes to protecting girls like Savannah and my mom.

  “Yep,” rolls out of my mouth with a pop, my attitude uncontained.

  Col waits a beat, taking a moment to contemplate my answer before his eyes swing to Axel. The pompous gleam straightening his spine fades when he sees his uncle’s vicious glare.

  “Is that true? Did you back away like a coward?” Col’s tone is full of warning. He will only accept one reply and one reply only—blatant denial.

  Air hisses between my teeth when Axel sneers, “The only reason I refused his request was because we were coming here. You know my motto, Uncle... Money before anything.” He dusts his fingers over his shoulder, like he’s brushing off the massive chip he carries around.

  The men circling our spectacle snicker at Axel’s reply. The only one not amused by his arrogance is Savannah. Her eyes roll skywards at the same time her arms tighten under her breasts. She looks as unimpressed with his reply as I am.

  “It’s true. I taught him well,” Col speculates to anyone listening, his deep timbre husky with laughter.

  Once the men surrounding us stop laughing, Col curls his arm around my shoulders and guides me toward the boxing ring where numerous fighters are warming up. Although I could maneuver out of his clutch, when the man flanking him flashes a weapon, I stiffen. Furthermore, I’m interested in discovering why Isaac, Cormack, and Savannah all sighed in sync when Col’s attention was drawn to me. Clearly, they know more about this man than I do.

  “Business is business; everybody understands that. But I can make it up to you.” Col waves his hand across the assembly of men in the boxing ring, their sizes and ages vastly differing. “Pick any fighter you want, and I’ll pay the buy-in for you to fight them. Then you’ll not only get all this testosterone pumping through your veins out...” He squeezes me, emphasizing the furious pulse raging through my veins. “...You could also leave here ten, perhaps twenty thousand dollars richer.”

  My eyes bulge out of my head, certain I heard him wrong. He did just say twenty-thousand dollars, didn’t he?

  “He’s not here to fight. He is here as a spectator,” Isaac interrupts, moving to stand next to me. “Pick any man you want, and I’ll pay the buy-in amount you stipulate, but I’ll be the one fighting, not Ryan.”

  Col places his hand in front of Isaac’s face, already red and lined with anger. “Hush,” he sneers, his one word hissing from his mouth like venom. “If you want to leave this warehouse breathing, I suggest you remain quiet. Other men in my industry may excuse your games. I will not. You play with fire; you risk getting burned. You’re about to get burned.”

  Cormack and Isaac tussle when Cormack impedes Isaac’s attempt to respond to Col’s threat. I don’t know what Cormack whispers to Isaac, but the anger on his face doesn’t weaken in the slightest. If anything, it grows more rampant. That probably has more to do with Col’s goon holding a gun to Isaac’s temple than anything.

  Recognizing that Isaac wouldn’t be in this position if I hadn’t blown his cover, I pull away from Col’s grasp before pivoting on my heels to face him. The dangerous gleam in his murky blue eyes brightens when I ask, “Any man?”

  When Col nods, I extend my arm in Axel’s direction. Savannah’s nostrils flare when she notices my target, but her mouth remains shut. She doesn’t need to speak for me to hear the silent pleas streaming from her eyes, though. Five years passed, yet we still know each other well enough to interpret what the other is thinking. If that doesn’t strengthen my determination to show her she doesn’t deserve a man as heartless as Axel, nothing will.

  My eyes drift from Savannah’s pleading gaze to Col’s wide, amused eyes. “I choose him,” I advise, pointing to Axel.

  4

  Ryan

  Axel tries to shut it down, but I see the quickest flare of panic flash through his eyes. The pink color on his cheeks fades to white as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. He looks frightened, and he should be. Col’s proposition couldn’t be any more perfectly laid out for me. I not only have the chance to walk out of here with enough money to leave Ravenshoe, but I also get to teach Axel the lesson I planned on showing him earlier tonight. It truly is a win-win situation for me.

  Col chuckles, apparently amused by my suggestion. I don’t know what he thinks is funny. His nephew is moments away from being taught his greatest lesson to date. He shouldn’t be laughing.

  “When was the last time you walked into a Fortune 500 company and saw the CEO cleaning the toilets?” Col questions, his deep tone riddled with laughter. Even though he's asking a question, he continues speaking as if he didn’t. “You don’t. Everyone has their place. Some are born to lead. Others...” He scans his eyes down my faded shirt and plain black boardshorts, allowing his smug glare to finalize his sentence.

  I shrug, not the least bit deterred by his mocking glare. I only turned eighteen last month, so I’ve got plenty of time to iron out my kinks. I can’t say the same thing about Col. If the creases in the corners of his blue eyes didn’t already show his days are numbered, the wrathful way over half the men in this warehouse look at him is another sure-fire indication.

  “You said any man, and I choose him. Are you reneging on our agreement?” I stand taller, bolstering my statement with a couple of extra inches.

  “No. I don’t renege on anything,” Col replies, stepping closer to overshadow my cocky stance with an additional two inches.

  Even with a gun pinching his temple, Isaac somehow positions himself between me and Col. It's obvious Col isn’t a popular man around these parts, but Isaac’s dislike is more profound than loathing authority. Hate is a strong word, but it's perfect to describe the vicious glare Isaac is giving Col.

  “Then let him fight your nephew. It's about time Axel proved his worth. It may aid in his transition from boy to man.”

  Shifting my eyes to the heavily accented voice approaching from my right, I discover a man standing approximately six foot three inches tall. His dark hair is slicked back, and he is puffing on a half-consumed cigar. Although his accent isn’t one I regularly hear, I’m fairly certain it is Russian.

  Removing his cigar from his mouth, the middle-aged man leans in to place a kiss on each of Col’s cheeks. The fear on Axel’s face transfers to his uncle’s when the unnamed man whispers something in his ear. I can’t hear a word he's speaking, but it erases the arrogant gleam in Col’s eyes.

  After a few seconds of hushed conversation with the unnamed intruder, Col locks his eyes with mine. “Very well. You will have your fight.”

  The shocked hum of the crowd barely drowns out Savannah’s deep sigh, dramatic as the one she gave when I asked her to our school dance. There's just one difference: this sigh was one of disappointment.

  While Col and the cigar-smoking man continue with their negotiations, Isaac and Cormack usher me to the side of the ring.

  “I hope you weren’t joking when you said you could fight,” Isaac mutters under his breath, shoving me into the first row of bleachers. “Axel is an arrogant prick, but he's well-trained. I haven’t seen him fight the past six months, but I’ve heard stories. You need to watch his left hook.”

  After dragging my eyes away from Savannah’s disappointed face, I drop them to Isaac. Although his warning worries me, it doesn’t overtake the adrenaline surging through my veins. I just achieved the outcome I desired—I ain’t got time for fear.

  Kneeling between my holey sneakers, Isaac digs white electrical tape out of the gym bag and tapes my hands lik
e a real professional. The tape is firm, but loose enough it doesn’t impede the movements of my knuckles.

  While securing tape to my left hand, Isaac says, “When you win, Cormack gets a 15% cut of the takings. If you want to fight again, you’ll need to hold over some of your purse for future dates.”

  “And if I lose?”

  Isaac’s gaze floats from my hands to my face. He stares at me, allowing his eyes to speak on his behalf: losing isn’t an option.

  Satisfied I’ve heard his wordless warning, Isaac asks, “You know why Col made his offer, don’t you?”

  I nod my head without pause for consideration. “He never thought I’d accept it.”

  Isaac smirks, pleased by my response. “You called a member of his family a coward. If I were any other man, I would have called you stupid, then walked away. Alas, I’m anything but ordinary.”

  “A dimple in the chin reveals the devil within,” I mumble under my breath.

  Although my words were only for me, Isaac’s lips tug higher, revealing he heard my mumbled comment.

  After finalizing the tape on my hands, Isaac stands from his crouched position. “You’re good to go.”

  “Gloves?” I glance down at his bag of goodies, anticipating seeing a pair of boxing gloves stashed in the corner.

  “We don’t use gloves.” Isaac’s eyes fall to mine, his rolled shoulders and straightened spine more impressive than my slumped frame. “Or mouthguards, kneepads, or any other equipment you're accustomed to using. We fight old school. Fists versus fists. Man versus man.”

  I swallow harshly. “And the rules?”

  Isaac chuckles a breathless laugh. “There's only one rule.” He waits, building the suspense. “There are no rules.”

  I nod, pretending I can’t feel my heart racing before returning my eyes to Savannah. She's standing at Axel’s side, but away from the group of men buzzing around him like bees swarming a honey pot.