I’ll take anything that’ll work in my favor and make it seem less likely that I purposely screwed Tommy over. I don’t include Eli in my plan. It wouldn’t be wise to share it outside of the two people who need to know.
Besides, I have to do this. I can't let anyone talk me out of it.
Somewhere in the crowd is Clyde or his goons. They’ve already bet on me losing. If I switch up at the last minute, I’ll lose Mom’s house and have Clyde on my ass. The way it is now, I’ll only have to deal with Tommy and that’s if he finds out. This could all go down without him being none the wiser. That’s what I’m betting on.
“You can try getting in my head, but it isn’t going to work,” I tell him, playing it off like I’ll still go out there and kick ass. On a normal night, I would.
Violet’s face crystallizes in my head again. I blink, and she’s gone.
Eli chuckles, giving me the more easygoing version of himself before he goes out there and brings his opponent seconds from passing out.
He smirks. “Ah, who said I was trying to rile you?”
I crack one right back. “Your name is Elijah fucking McPearson and you sat next to me in high school history. Pretty sure I’ve watched you get on the teacher’s ass countless times in between your stints in the principal's office.”
He sits next to me. “That was just fun and games.”
“This isn’t?”
“A more grown up version, sure.” He knocks his shoe off mine. “You’re shaping into a top fighter. You’ll be fine out there, just watch your footing. Make sure you’re solid before you swing and your balance is even.”
“And now he’s giving me advice,” I quip.
“Must be something in the air. Tommy’s even off. The dude is putting a percentage of his winnings back in the pot for the crowd tonight. Something to do with bulking up the crowd by the time the spring fights roll around.”
A tornado of alarm swirls in my gut. If Tommy is putting in his own money, it makes my choice to throw my match a whole lot worse if he ever does find out. I say the only thing that comes to mind. “But he loves money.”
“Which is why I don’t fucking get why he’s giving it up tonight. The nice weather is months off, and we’ve never had an issue with the crowd dying down before.”
“Guess there’s a first for everything?”
He shakes his head, watching the current fight from afar with me. “He’s always been heavily invested in keeping the crown on his head. Being the top guy in The Battleground world. Making sure everyone looks to him instead of one of the other head honchos.”
“Would one of them actually move in on him, try to take his place?”
I’ve never really put a lot of thought into the politics of The Battleground, but I guess in every structure where there’s a top player, there’s a chance for someone else to take him down.
Eli shrugs a shoulder. “They wouldn’t survive it if they did, but that doesn’t always scare people off.”
“Hmm.” Again, that pit in my stomach opens up like the size of the Red Sea. I ignore the nagging thought that what I’m going to do tonight is a bad idea, and instead focus on the guy next to me.
“So, go out there and kick some ass?” I reason.
He nods to the crowd. “Give ‘em something to walk away with. They take something big home with them, they’ll come back again and keep pouring their money in the pot, keep us fighting. And most importantly, keep Tommy happy.”
Eli wasn’t kiddingwhen he said the grass was the equivalent of a slip ‘n slide. My feet glide every time I make a move. Every time I bob and weave, I worry about overextending my weight just to end up splayed out. My opponent, a guy around my age with a shaved head and scar tracing its way from his temple to mid-cheek, snarls at me. Literally. He’s a jaguar in the rainforest, ready to annihilate and eat his prey, regardless if I’m his top choice. But, alas, I’m the sucker in front of him, and that’s good enough to pull the deep growl from his throat and swing at me with powerful abandon.
I get him with a check hook, timing his movements out in my head during our second round. There’s only one more after this,which means I need to figure out how I’m going to go out in a way that seems real. One wrong move, one discernable flick of my eyes in the wrong direction, and Tommy will recognize what I’m doing. I just fucking know it.
I have no doubt there haven’t been guys like this before. Men who’ve tried to take advantage of the money that gets passed around. Guys who are okay risking their lives to put an extra thousand bucks in their pocket at the end of the night.
And then there’s the fact that I questioned Tommy not long ago. If he had his fighters split up, I’d no doubt be on the shitlist. Even as I move back and forth with my fists protecting my face, I notice his steely gaze on my back, beckoning me to end this before I give this guy a bigger advantage.
The issue: I need to deliver an opening to him regardless.
The crowd wails around us, cheering and hollering. They don’t care where we are. It doesn’t matter if someone can hear them. They want blood, and they want their bet to be the winning one by the end of the night. I know a lot of them bet on me simply because I’m one of Tommy’s guys. I’ve been around long enough to deduce that Tommy is nowhere near a bottom-feeder. Clyde further proved that when I saw him, and we concocted this stupid ass idea I’m about to follow through on.
My enemy swings at me. I duck down. It’s the perfect storm of movement, granting me the opportunity to make it seem as though my foot flies out from underneath me, and my leg buckles from the movement. It twists back, and a grunt thunders from my mouth, though I doubt anyone hears it. It’s too loud around us, but there are varying gasps that pull at my ears the second my back thuds against the muddy, wet ground.
