I grabbed my jacket. Headed downstairs. Got on my bike and followed him.
Following someone through Chicago at night was easier than it should have been. Declan drove like he had a destination in mind but no urgency to get there. I stayed three cars back, kept my headlights off when I could, and used the late-night traffic as cover.
We ended up in a part of the city I didn't recognize. The industrial area had been half-converted into lofts andbusinesses. Warehouses with new paint and expensive signage lined the streets. The neighborhood straddled the line between gritty and gentrified.
Declan parked in front of a building with no obvious markings. There was just a number above the door and a handful of motorcycles lined up outside.
I parked a block away and watched him get out of his truck carrying a duffel bag I'd never seen before.
He walked to the door and someone opened it from inside. Light spilled out, along with noise and music and voices talking over each other. The crowd inside sounded thick and engaged.
I sat there for a long moment trying to figure out what the fuck I'd just witnessed.
Then I got off my bike and followed.
The door was unlocked. I slipped inside, immediately hit by heat and noise and the smell of sweat. The hallway was narrow and dimly lit, leading toward brighter light and louder sound ahead.
I followed it and stayed close to the wall.
The hallway opened into a large space that had been converted into a fighting venue. An octagonal cage sat in the center with rows of chairs around it, maybe two hundred people packed into the space. The ring lights overhead made everything look harsh and bright.
A fight was already in progress. Two men were circling each other, trading shots while the crowd stayed loud and engaged.
But I wasn't looking at them.
I was scanning for Declan and I found him near the back, talking to a woman I didn't recognize. She was handing him tape for his hands. He was nodding, saying words that made her laugh.
Then he started wrapping his hands the way fighters did before a bout.
Declan was fighting tonight.
My stepfather was a professional fighter who apparently had a whole second life I knew nothing about.
The anger that flared up was immediate and irrational. He'd lied to me. Not directly. Just by omission. Just by letting me believe he was one person when he was another entirely.
Just like I'd been lying to him for years.
The hypocrisy of my anger wasn't lost on me. It didn't make the feeling any less valid, but I could taste the bitter irony of it.
I found a spot in the back corner where the crowd was thinner and leaned against the wall. I watched Declan finish wrapping his hands and disappear through a door marked “Fighters Only.”
Twenty minutes later, they called his name.
The crowd erupted. Apparently Declan was known here, was the popular fighter people came to see.
He walked to the cage wearing black shorts and nothing else. His tattoos were on full display and every muscle was defined under the harsh lights. He moved with the calm focus that came from doing this too many times to count.
Dangerous was the word that came to mind. Violence wrapped in control. Someone I had never seen before even though I had known him my entire life.
My mouth went dry and my pulse kicked up in a way that had nothing to do with the crowd noise.
His opponent was younger and moved faster than Declan. The kid came out aggressive and hungry, throwing combinations that looked good but left him open in ways Declan would exploit.
Declan waited, stayed patient and controlled while he read the movement like he had all the time in the world.
The kid threw a jab-cross-hook. Declan slipped the first two, blocked the third, and countered with a low kick that made the kid's leg buckle slightly.
They circled each other. The cage felt smaller with both of them in it. Declan moved like he owned the space, every step deliberate, every shift in weight calculated. His chest was already gleaming with sweat under the lights, muscles flexing with each breath, and I couldn't stop watching the way his body moved.
