“Didn’t know I was still famous here,” I say, surprised, but not letting it show.
I know the guys have kept their faces neutral, but I feel Tank shift beside me. He used to fight here too, but he’s built like a fucking tank so, he rarely lost. I’ve definitely lost more than I’ve won, but Carter loves me because I put on a good show, and I know how to take a beating… I guess I’ve got Frank to thank for that particular skill.
“You know a Diablos Rojos called Alejandro?” Carter asks.
“For fuck’s sake,” Pretty Boy mutters.
“I do,” I say with a smile, this night is looking up.
“You up for it?” Carter asks, holding out the pen for me to sign the contract.
“Fuck yeah I am. You’d better make it a headliner too, bastard put his hand on my girl.”
The smile on Carter’s face doubles, he’s going to make a fortune tonight.
The Pit is a huge warehouse in the middle of nowhere; so there’s no interruptions, no police nearby, and no other businesses to make noise complaints. We’re left to our own devices out here. Carter’s purposefully kept it looking shitty too; the amount of money he makes, he could have turned it into a state-of-the-art fight venue if he wanted, but no.
It’s completely empty except for a rusty octagon cage in the center, with one locked gate in and out. The only way out of the cage, is if you win, tap out, or leave on a stretcher or in a body bag.
Carter’s right-hand man, Tiny, is the ref; he’s the same size as Tank but way more brutal, so no one fucks with him, in the cage, his word is law. Mine is the last fight of the night and Tiny is checking in with us about the usual stuff—shoes or no shoes, shirts or no shirts. I leave it up to Alejandro, it makes no difference to me. The same rules apply though—no jewelry, no belts. Other than that, there are no rules. Shit, I’ve seen people get bitten, eyes gouged out, limbs broken, fucking everything.
My blood is pumping and adrenaline courses through my body; it has been since my first glimpse of Alejandro. I know I lose more fights than I win, but this is one I really want to win.
Carter’s huge voice takes me out of my zone. “Cunts, fuckers, and shitbrains!”
I chuckle to myself; there are certainly no ladies or gentleman here.
“I’ve got a special treat for you tonight. You’ve seen him here over the last couple of months, and so far, the bastard is undefeated. From Diablos Rojos, I give you… Alejandro!”
A mix of cheers and foot stomps erupt from the crowd. Undefeated… well I didn’t know that…
“But maybe tonight, isn’t his lucky night.” The crowd hushes… “You see, Alejandro made a big mistake.” Whispers from the crowd bubble up around us, they’re loving the drama. “He put his hands on the devil’s girl, and the devil has come to make him pay… From Lobos Aulladores, I give you… Diablo!”
Wolf howls fill the warehouse as I’m engulfed in noise from the crowd, it’s nice to know I’m still remembered. I step into the cage and the gate is locked behind me. It’s just me, Alejandro, and Tiny now.
Let’s fucking do this.
My body is fucked up after my fight with Alejandro, but it’s not the worst beating I’ve ever taken, and at least this time I won. The fucker tapped out on me and Tiny had to literally pull me off of him; I’m glad he did, there’s a good chance I could have killed him. I’d been losing, he’d won every round; he was bigger than me, taller than me, stronger than me, shit, he would have fucking killed me. Luckily, he fucked it for himself.
We were going into the fifth round, Pit fights only usually go three because they’re so brutal, but like I said, I can take a beating. As we met at the center with Tiny, Alejandro leaned in and said, “I heard Elizabeth isn’t living at the clubhouse anymore, I’m going to assume that means she’s fair game. Haven’t been able to get that sweet ass out of my mind.”
And then the fucker laughed.
I saw red, the bastard couldn’t even get a punch in. The only thing I really remember is Tiny’s arms around my torso, pulling me off him. I just knew I wanted to erase every memory he had of Elizabeth out of his tiny fucking mind.
The door to the clubhouse opens and I wince as sunlight pours in; it’s still early and I haven’t even finished my fucking coffee.
“What the fuck happened to you?” El Jefe shouts.
“I look that bad, huh?”
“Bad?” Tipo says, “You look like you’ve been hit by a semi-truck.”
He walks over and yanks my face up to look at him; my nose is broken and it’s been taped up by Slim, I can barely see out of my left eye, and my right is a shade of purple that won’t be disappearing any time soon. Other than that, my limbs are all intact, just some bruised ribs and my body feeling like it’s made of cement.
“What the fuck happened?” El Jefe asks, “I left this place on Friday to spend the weekend with my family and come back on Monday to this.”
He’s spreading his arms out in my general direction, highlighting me as the ‘this’.
