I don’t knowwhat I was expecting when Eli dropped me the location ping to meet him where we are now. It’s like Gauntlet Sundays but more stripped. Like street fighting but also not. He refers to it as The Battleground where dudes go up against each other and the crowds bet on them.
I watch two men fight until their faces turn bloody, and the crowd cheers, albeit some of them boo. The losers, I assume. Three more matches occur, the last one being Eli, who goes up against a guy who never had a fucking chance.
Eli is a force to be reckoned with far behind what he showcased during Gauntlet Sundays. He’s meaner, strikes harder, and draws blood every instance he can. He’s a madman, light on his feet but heavy with his fists. His opponent wails until he’s a writhing mess on the ground.
We’re in a shut-down gym, mirrors lining the walls. Only there isn’t a ring here like there is at Gulliver’s. It’s just a solid slab of concrete. I catch all the drippings of blood on it as Eli stalks off, taking his place next to a group of guys who look like they’re banded together.
After the crowd winds down, Eli finds me. I follow him as winnings are doled out. All I’m interested in is figuring out howI can find my place in a fight. Even if it’s just one, it’ll help a hell of a lot more than anything else.
I need to get rid of this clawing sensation in my gut and the way it hangs around like a kid brother. The heat of alcohol didn’t drown it out as much as I wanted and left me feeling like literal crap the next day.
This has to be the next best form of physical pain.
It’s easy to see that most of the guys Eli stands near are stoked. They get cash slapped into their hands and their eyes go heart-shaped. Like they’re at the end of the rainbow and just got a brick of gold placed in their palm.
“Give me a sec,” Eli mouths to me when he makes eye contact and holds up a finger. I wait on the sidelines, taking it all in. After long, he comes over and motions us toward the back of the gym. It’s dark, illuminated with just enough light to see the fights. The front windows are barricaded with oversized curtains but it’s night, so even if the sun was out, it’d have no way to stream in.
We find a separate room that looks like it was used for extra stock. It houses a washer and dryer along with empty shelves.
“Tommy is going to meet us here in a minute. It’s not exactly a professional setting, but this is how it goes. Locations are only used for so long. Either until a better one is found or someone snitches.”
I nod. “Who’s Tommy?” I cross my arms and lean against the washing machine, my eyes facing the door, because I’m not about to turn my back on a situation I’m not one hundred percent comfortable with.
“He’s our boss. He brings guys in and sets up fights with the other leaders in The Battleground.”
I quirk a brow. “So, he’s your pimp?”
Eli chuckles like he didn’t just get done beating the shit out of someone. My gaze drops to his knuckles. They’re split to shitwith blood smeared down over his fingers. Fuck, he really has made fighting his entire life. It reminds me of how much I’ve been fighting, though most of my battles haven’t required my fists.
“That’s one way to put it, but don’t let him hear you say that.”
A moment later, the door creaks and in walks Tommy. He’s older than Eli and me with a dimpled chin and short black hair. His brows are permanently set in a scowl, the wrinkles there giving away his overall attitude. His nose comes down to a point, but the bone is slightly misshapen as if it’s been broken.
“Eli.” He says it like he’s giving Eli permission to speak. I ignore the red flag it raises.
“This is the good friend I was telling you about.”
Tommy sizes me up, sinking his hands into his coat pockets. “A good friend,” he murmurs, mostly to himself.
“Atrustworthyfriend,” Eli counters.
That seems to get Tommy’s attention more. He nods at me. “What do you want with The Battleground?”
I glance over at Eli then back. “I want to fight.”
“To fight,” he enunciates the words, ending with a harsh ‘t’ sound. “Not everyone has what it takes. Why should I take a chance on you? I don’t trust just anyone to mosey in and fight under my name.”
“You probably shouldn’t,” I answer honestly. I haven’t been myself and so perhaps it’d be a bad business move for Tommy to bring me in but… “If you don’t take the chance, I’ll make sure someone else does.”
I don’t know what I’m saying or even who that someone else would be. I don’t have connections in this scene, but it doesn’t matter because it sparks a glimmer in Tommy’s eyes.
“I run a tight ship, which means you always show up for your scheduled fights. Your job is to provide entertainment for the crowd and make me money. You decide to go against me anystep of the way, and you’ll wish you never stepped foot into The Battleground.”
I ignore the fact he saysmeand notus.
“If business suddenly starts to go south, I’m going to link it all back to you, pretty boy,” Tommy continues. “You’ll be the one who pays hell for it, and if it just so happens that it turns out that it isn’t you.” He shrugs. “I’ll still enjoy breaking the legs off you and the other guy.”
“Nothing is going to go south,” I assure. Why the fuck would I rat him out when I’m desperate to find myself in a similar position as Eli was only a bit ago?
