I swear to god, if I could reach through the phone and strangle him, I would.
“Not really an option right now, Mario,” I say through clenched teeth. “What do you need? Is everyone okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re okay. I was calling because I think I can get you a fight—probably a few. It’s open fight night. Big fights, big money.”
And there it fucking is.
“Ah,” I say sharply. “Why?”
“Well, we’re running a little low over here…” He let’s the sentence fall between us like a fucking lead balloon and my fingers crunch the paper in them, ruining it. Fuck.
“How the hell is that, Mario, huh? I sent you all the mortgage paymentandmoney for utilities three days ago. Mom makes enough that you all should be set then for the month. Where the hell did that money go?”
“I don’t know, big bro. I don’t, but I know that we are going to have to spend the grocery money on utilities this month and Nico is in a growth spurt, you know, and Antonio is starting football so he’s hungry all the time, and—” Mario’s rambling.
“Goddamnit,” I grumble, pushed into a fucking corner because I literally sent them everything I had. I kept like forty bucks for my own food, and that forty isn’t going to help themwith utilities. I look over at Asher, holding the phone with one hand, and he’s nodding to the client, working happily, and putting his whole big, dumb heart into it.
“Set it up,” I growl into the phone, ending the call and dropping the phone on the counter. Holding my head in my hands, I try my very best not to scream.
My fingers just healed, my shin too. I’ve just barely stopped having headaches from the concussion. Fuck, I haven’t been able to train at all, but I don’t really have a choice.
And I know that if Asher finds out… Let’s just say I’m not ready for that disappointment on his face just yet.
“Fuck,” I mutter, and get back to work, letting the anxiety and nerves eat at me for the rest of the day.
Pulling into the venue was harder than it ever has been. We were able to park about half a mile away but then getting in was a fucking nightmare.
It’s late, later than we probably should’ve been there seeing as it was the goddamn open fight night. I don’t know how I didn’t realize that open fight was tonight. I try to keep up-to-date on the drama and standings at The Underground, but I haven’t checked in a while.
Moving through the tunnel, I repeatedly kick myself for letting myself get put in this position. I shouldn’t be here.
The lengths I go for my family.
Standing at the top of the stairs, looking over I see everything. There’re two fights going on, one at each end ofthe bunker with a stand in the middle where the Ringmaster perches.
The place is fucking packed tonight.
As I knew it would be the moment Mario said it was open fight night.
Tonight anyone can challenge anyone. Money doubles as safety goes out the window. Mario smiles like the dick he is, seeing only the money I can make for him instead of the shitstorm I’m in for.
“Listen here,little brother,” I growl, pulling him in by the shirt collar. Mario bows, trying to get away from my anger, but I won’t let him. “You might not care about my wellbeing and just how much money I can make you, but I’m not going to die for you to get your next fix.”
“What?” he stutters. “I don’t… It’s not…” he mumbles and I let go of his shirt just as he yanks back and he falls to the ground.
“You don’t fucking get it,” I snarl, pointing at him with all the fire I’m feeling. “Tonight’s fights are bad, dangerous. People go up against others because all they see is money. Name. Reputation. They forget looking at the smart play and start going to the fast one. People fucking die on nights like tonight. Especially in an underground fighting ring.” I snap, repositioning my bag over my shoulder.
“People can decline,” Mario says nervously like he’s trying to save himself, standing up slowly.
“Yeah, fucking right,” I say roughly, so fucking pissed off at him. You need people you trust by you on open fight night, otherwise the person challenging for you will start challenging the opponents that are out of your class. Being a good fighter is beingsmart. Going into fights you know you can win. “No one is going to decline money, a chance to better their reputation or a fucking boost to their pride.”
“You can decline,” he mumbles.
“I will if I need to.” I narrow my eyes, saying what I want to say without actually saying it. “Don’t think I’m going to be stupid about this. I haven’t before, and I’m not planning on starting now. No matter what stupid plan you think you have cooked up.”
Looking out over the edge, I focus in on the fight closest to me. There’s a big crowd formed around the two men brawling in the middle. Both look to be about the same size, but blood covers their faces. I can tell from here that they’re slowing down, and losing the crowd because of it.
I turn to the other fight, the one that has more than the other did by double, and hear the chanting.
