My eyes scan my surroundings, clocking all the different fuckers who will probably want to try and get at me, but I’m looking for him. Did he get out? Across the room I see Ty limping along, holding his ribs and stumbling as he and the two guys at his sides try to help him climb the stairs that connects to the tunnel as quickly as possible.
There are grumblings, I can hear the complaints from here, and I hold my breath as I will them to move faster. There’re a few drunk fucks following them up the rickety staircase, but the guy at the back of Ty; a guy who barely older than Ty who is built like a fucking tank, turns and stops them, buying Ty and the younger guy who’s helping him move some time.
“The Destroyer?” I ask Mickey distractedly.
“The guy running. They’re all pissed off because they thought they made a sure bet and they think Destroyer cheated. They’re going to try to get their cash back.”
“That’s a thing?” I ask, rolling my shoulder back and forth to warm my muscles.
“Very much a thing. That’s why I’m starting you off with the newbies so that you can knock them out fast, gain a name for yourself and climb the freaking ranks. The money you’re bringing in right now isn’t enough to cover shit.” Mickey crosses his arms over his chest and rolls his eyes.
He never passes up a moment to remind me that I’m just a walking paycheck to him, that’s it.
“Got it, Mick,” I grumble.
“That bitch over there.” He steps closer to me, filling my nostrils with that stale-piss beer he drinks when we’re here, as he points to a girl about my age across the way. “She’s the one you’re fighting tonight. Calls herself The Valkyrie.”
Nowthat’san awesome fucking name.
“Interesting,” I say, jumping up on my toes a few times to get my muscles warm. I wish my fight name was better. Mickey decided on “The Annihilator” because my full name is Roxanne. He thought it was “punny”. And he’s an asshole because I’m stuck with it.
“You need to knock her out in less than a round and then we’ll get four hundred,” he says quietly.
“How do you know that she’s not going to be a challenge?”
“She’s brand fucking new to The Underground. Plus, I have it on good authority that she’s strong, but slow,” he mumbles, speaking low enough that only I can hear.
“How would you happen to have heard this?”
“I have eyes and ears everywhere, Rox. You should know that by now,” he says, raising one of his eyebrows and smirking sinisterly. I do my best not to react. Mickey thrives on reactions. He likes knowing that his words have had an impact, have caused me to be scared or shrink away. Helivesfor it.
“Remember Roxie, if you don’t do this, and you don’t win,you’re worth absolutely nothing.”His eyes narrow at me and I grimace. I try to do my best to keep how much his words affect me by rolling my eyes, but goddamn.
Being told you’re nothing over and over for years by everyone… it takes its toll. And Mickey discovered that it was a trigger word for me so he uses it every chance he can. Just a little jab here or there, but it’s like I’m dying by a thousand cuts every time he uses it.
I’ve heard and seen some things of my own that are enough to make me wish I was able to get out from under his thumb. He’s a fucking shitty human; a leach, a user, a manipulator. And my foster brother. If I had any money, I’d be out of there so fucking fast there would be a Roxie-shaped hole in the front door. But I never seem to be able to make enough.
Mickey’s over twenty-four and has risen in rank in this stupid gang so his parents let him run the place. And by letting him run the home, they let him control me.
His parents, my foster parents, shouldn’t have been allowed to foster. They’re 100% playing the system in order to get checks every month. Money that has never been used for its intended purpose.
I learned really quickly that if I needed something, I’d have to find a way to foot the bill.
And once I turned eighteen they said I was welcome to stay, if I paid rent. Four hundred dollars a month, with utilities included and that seemed like a steal.
Because it was a trap. I’m stuck now and clawing my way out any way I can.
Hence why I’m here.
Mickey stood on the edge of the small corner of the living room they’d “given” me with his pristine white t-shirt and his too-tight, ironed, bedazzled jeans asking if I knew how to fight and if I wanted to make a quick buck. How the Franks got away with not giving me an actual bedroom, I’ll never know. I highly suspect that Mickey’s paying them off… but why?
The only answer I could come up with is that he saw me as a way to make his own money and I wasn’t really a liability if he paid off everyone who might look too closely.
And besides, you shouldn’t ask someone starving and hurting if they want to make money quickly. The answer is always yes.
That’s how I was convinced to start bare-knuckle fighting in The Underground.
Fighting is a way to honor that short time where I felt like I actually had a family. It was a way for me to get stronger, feel better, but now… Mickey’s turned it into something sinister. I’m getting a cut of the winnings, but not my fair share. Out of the four hundred I might win, I’ll get maybe one. If I please him, maybe two. That’s it. Mickey takes a steep cut.
