“Sledge, good to see you here,” Thiago says, embracing him and patting his back firmly. “Back to making money, I see.”
Sledge pulls away, bringing the cigar to his lips, and with a grin, he simply replies, “When the money calls, you gotta answer.” And that is something Thiago knows too well, so of course, he agrees, like I’m sure this other asshole approaching us will.
“Safra, man.” German Zatarain, one of Costa Mar’s elite, shakes Thiago’s hand and then turns his attention to Sledge. Repeating the same gesture, a shake of the hand, all three men look too polished to be in a weathered down industrial warehouse.
“Ready to lose some money tonight?” the pompous, combed-over prick taunts, pulling a brunette towards him. The girl is clinging to him like he’s the hottest shit around, causing me to roll my eyes and shift where I stand. I hate small talk and pointless interactions even more. I didn’t mind Sledge. He was all about money, and dare I say, I enjoy our little smoke sessions after a fight. Too bad there’s some shit going on with his friend that has pulled him out of the fights for a bit, so he never hangs around. Thiago’s voice pulls me away from inside my head.
“You know I don’t lose.” Thiago uses his thumb to motion behind him, before giving me a glance over his shoulder and winking. “He’s full of anger, so highly doubtful he will lose to a rich prick. He hates our kind.” He finishes off with a smirk, and my hand closes into a fist, picturing it slamming into his delicate features.
The guy slaps him on the shoulder. “Get ready to pay up, Safra,” is all he says before walking away.
“Good luck out there, Zayden,” Sledge says, offering me his hand, which I take with a short and quick nod. “Sure thing.”
He nods, releasing his grip and turning to Safra. “Thiago, my man. As always, it’s a pleasure to see you.”
The two hug it out once again, before Sledge gets pulled away by a blonde woman with beautiful blue eyes. She looks sad,almost annoyed, if I’m being frank. But it’s not my business, so I don’t let the thought fester. Instead, I focus my gaze back on the cage, where a fight is currently happening, watching one of the guys land each punch with a force that makes his opponent rock to the side. Thiago cocks his head to the back rooms, and I follow him towards the locker rooms. He opens the door, and the smell of mold and rust invades my nose, filling my lungs with the musty scent.
From behind me, I hear him close the door, locking it after him, and suddenly, I’m too aware of his presence. He stops inches away from me, close enough that I can smell his cologne wrap around me and feel his warm breath tickle the back of my neck.
“You bet on me?” I ask, trying to change the suffocating silence.
“Of course, I bet on you.”
I force myself to move away, and for a second, I feel him move as if to stop me from moving. But he doesn’t. Relief washes over me as I open one of the lockers and begin to slip out of my black sweats and sneakers. Grabbing my black bag, I pull out the Nike high tops I like to use for fighting and then slip out of my hoodie, leaving me in nothing but my mesh shorts and a white shirt.
From the corner of my eye, I see him reach into my bag, pulling out the bandages that I use to wrap my hands. I don’t acknowledge him, just continue with what I’m doing. The silence between us is comfortable, and I hate it. It’s like he knows me, knows that I need the quiet to focus, to gather my energy into my muscles and fists.
“Sit,” Thiago commands, his voice thick and husky, causing me to fight the shudder that courses through me. I grit my teeth, willing the thoughts away and turning around to plop onto the bench. My gaze follows as he crouches before me. Bandagesin his hands, his command coming in a raise of his perfectly groomed brows.
I place my hands in front of me, and the softness of his sends jolts of electricity through me when he touches mine. His fingers are warm and delicate, guiding the bandage around my knuckles with a patience that feels too intimate. I force myself to look away, to stare at the empty locker. I want to pull away, tell him that I don’t need or want his fucking help, but I don’t.
I let him wrap me tight, so tight. It hurts, the pressure bites into my skin, and I welcome it. I need the sting—something to anchor me to this body and not the mess inside my head.
“Focus, Ruas,” he murmurs.
“I am,” I lie.
His hazel orbs flick up, unreadable, and for a second, I think he might say something else. Something that will ruin me even more. Instead, he finishes the wrap, taps my hands twice, and stands. “Don’t hold back tonight.”
I know he’s talking about the fight, but it feels like more than that. It always does with him.
I follow him out the door and through the hallway, the air growing thicker the closer we get to the main floor. The smell of sweat, rust, and cheap perfume filled with adrenaline dances in the air. Music thumps through the concrete walls, bass shaking the floor like a heartbeat on speed.
The second we step out, a roar swells through the warehouse. Rows of bodies press against the rails, phones lifted, cash being exchanged. I focus on the ring that looks smaller tonight, caged in by metal fences and a flickering light. Someone’s blood already stains the mat, and I feel my body come to life at the sight. Thiago walks beside me now, his hand brushes mine by accident—or maybe not. Who knows with him?
“Remember what I told you,” he grumbles over the music.
I nod. “No holding back.”
“No holding back,” he echoes, adding with a smirk. “And win.”
Miguel Campos is already inside the ring, waiting in the center. Shirtless with tattoos coiling around his chest like vines. Costa Mar elite students circle him; his grin is pure arrogance—the same one I will wipe away with my fist. A smirk tugs at my lips watching the ego pour out of him. He probably thinks he’s invincible… I’ll gladly show him he’s not.
The bell rings.
And he moves.
He’s faster than I expected—he lands the first hit, slamming right into my ribs and knocking the air straight out of my lungs. I stumble back, blinking away the stars in my vision. The crowd erupts in cheers, and I stay my distance. He’s got reach and is quick on his feet, but has no discipline. I can tell by the way he breathes too quickly that he’s too eager and wasting stamina. He will burn out before he gets a chance to shine.
