Johnny smirks. “Smart choice, but I hear Wyatt is a force. There’s a hole in the wall near the exit. Hopefully you’ll be picking up your winnings by the end of the match.”
It’d be really fucking nice to walk out of here with a pocket of cash. He claps me on the back then turns back to his podium. Slipknot’sPsychosocialbooms from the overhead speakers dispersed throughout the oversized room, and thumps against my heartbeat. I push my way to the front of the crowd, keeping my hood up. I imagine some of the people in attendance tonight are from these parts. Maybe some travel to bet on the fighters. I don’t want anyone noticing me either way.
I don’t recognize the guy who enters the ring outlined with white tape, so I assume it’s Wyatt. Wearing wrestling shorts and no top, his muscles jump and move as he darts from side to side, making the crowd go wild. He beats a fist off his chest and slicksback his overgrown hair. He yells, nothing in particular, and pops in a mouthpiece. Fingers wrapped, he moves to his side of the ring where a guy behind him squeezes his shoulders and says something in his ear.
The beginning of Linkin Park’sCrawlingcomes next, and rather than the crowd cheering, it quiets. Just like that, the vibe changes, and Eli enters the makeshift arena, all attention on him. He seems beefier than the last time I saw him up close, his arms unreal and corded like he’s been in the gym every day for the past three years.
He doesn’t acknowledge the crowd like Wyatt. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing, but out of nowhere, everyone shouts their approval.
Suddenly, I’m looking forward to this match and seeing how much of a badass McPearson is when it counts. If there’s any light at the end of the tunnel, it’ll be that—and the moment he knocks Wyatt on his ass.
An announcer, who sounds a lot like Johnny, cuts the music and shares the rules. This is as raw and real as it gets. Part of why I’ve never participated. Guys come down here to battle it out. They throw their fists and catch hits that leave them bloody and bruised and broken. I’ve never been desperate enough to want to see that or be a part of it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like watching the discipline and technique behind two guys duking it out.
Or the cash that’ll hopefully come with it.
I can practically taste it with the way the crowd roars.
He did it.
I bring my hand up to the back of my head, balking at the scene that unfolds in front of me. Wyatt fell like a rock after that last hit Eli handed him. One second, he was on his feet, and now? He’s being dragged off to the side by the same guy that was in his ear earlier.
I almost can’t believe my own eyes.
I blink. Once, twice, thrice.
Nope. My reality isn’t morphed.
I bet my money on the right guy and fucking won.
Slack-jawed, I follow the crowd as they push toward the other side of the room where there’s an exit sign hanging high above our heads. It glows the same red as Wyatt’s blood, and my head spins.
I don’t go into things thinking I’ll come out on top. I’m not the kind of person who breaks the wish bone and has their wish come true. But tonight? I’mthatperson. I’m ready to get down on my hands and knees and kiss this disgusting floor.
Two lines form at the exit; one for those who bet on the wrong person and another that runs parallel to the window cut out in the wall. Johnny’s running the show inside the small room with another guy when I walk up.
The guy is high off life right now, asking for names and doling out handfuls of cash. No wonder Llewellyn doesn’t want anyone ruining this. It’s a goddamn gold mine, one that would piss a lot of people off if someone ruined it.
“Beginner’s luck, my friend,” Johnny says, a grin spread so wide on his face I don’t see how his cheeks don’t split. “There’s more where this came from. Come back again.”
“No doubt.”
He smacks my winnings in my hand. Nearly seven hundred dollars, a small dent in the lump sum mom owes Finn. “Grab yourself a drink and celebrate.”
I give him a chin nod. “Have a good night, Johnny.”
I roll up the wad of cash and tuck it in my hoodie pocket. Through the narrow hallway that leads up the steps and out to the back of the building, I revel in the feel of the worn bills in my palm.
I’ve had money like this before, but somehow, I’ve never quite felt the relief in the same way that’s moving through me now. I keep my head down once I’m outside and mind my own business.
I’ll definitely be back next week. If McPearson is fighting again, he’s the sure shot at putting more money in my pocket. I’ve never liked the guy as much as I do tonight. Who the hell knew he’d grow up to be one hell of a fighter? Does he understand the kind of money he puts in people’s pockets?
The guy Santa Claus reincarnated.
I make my way halfway down the block where I parked Sebastian’s car. I’ll be able to pay to get my car out of the garage with what I won and put a few hundred away for Finn.
I’m beaming with excitement, nearly ready to forget my limits and take Johnny’s advice to go get that drink he was talking about. I power on the ignition, strap my belt over my torso, and head for the Sycamore Memorial Bridge.
I drive along the road adjacent to the Harrison Battery Plant that’s been shut down since the late nineties. Since I’m alive, it’s never been up and running, but I’ve heard the stories of poor wages and people who worked there coming down with cancer years after. Those people sued HBP until they couldn’t afford to keep it running. The company’s profits went toward treatment when those workers won the lawsuit, pushing them toward bankruptcy and shutting down the plant.
