Not my fault he couldn’t take a hit.
I’m not as big as most of the guys I’m put up against, but I’m ten times as crazy, and crazy wins out every time.
We blast music the entire way to keep Raf in the zone, and a half hour later we’re pulling up in front of the seedy warehouse in Dyersville, tipping our heads to the greasy looking bouncer at the door and heading inside.
The energy in the building is palpable as soon as we cross over the threshold, the air tinged with the scent of smoke and sweat, the crowd vibrating with anxious excitement for tonight’s lineup. There are three fights slated, with Raf’s being the main event.
It should be a good one. He’s fighting Hopkins again tonight, a surly local fucker who’s definitely a crowd favorite. Raf’s a legend around here in his own right, but the last time he went up against Hopkins, he caught Raf with a cheap shot and narrowly pulled out the win. Knowing Raf’s appetite for vengeance, that won’t be the case tonight. He’s out for blood, and I can’twaitfor the show.
While Raf heads to the locker room at the back of the building to get ready, Wes and I make our way over to the ramshackle booth in the corner to place our bets on the fight.
“Hey, Ford!” Angela greets from inside the booth as we step up to the counter, flashing me a bright smile. She’s a tall, curvy brunette, and though she’s pushing forty, the girl can still get it. I’ve got a thing for older women– they have all the experience and none of the bullshit. I don’t need to place a bet on whetherAngela will wind up underneath me later, she’s one of my regular cock warmers on fight nights.
What can I say? Blood and violence make me horny.
If the assholes who run this place won’t let me fight here for the foreseeable future, at least I can still chase a thrill by fucking their employees.
“What are the odds on my boy tonight?” I drawl, resting my elbows on the counter with a lazy grin.
A blush tinges her cheeks as she drops her gaze, shuffling a few pieces of paper on the counter in front of her and hissing a breath in through her teeth. “Oof, five to one,” she replies, meeting my eyes again. “Guess they remember their last match. You sure you don’t wanna hedge your bets on Hopkins?” She arches a dark brow, batting her lashes.
“Nah, two grand says Raf has this in the bag,” I state confidently, reaching into my back pocket for a roll of cash and tossing it onto the counter. I step back, glancing to my left. “Wes?”
“Eh, I didn’t bring any cash tonight,” he mumbles uncomfortably, patting the pockets of his jeans in demonstration.
Figured as much.
“I’ve got you,” I say coolly, reaching into my back pocket again.
“No, you don’t have to–”
“It’s only money,” I scoff, brandishing another roll of bills. “You can get me back out of your winnings.” I toss it toward Angela before he can protest further. “That’s four on our boy, babe. Mark it down.”
Wes chews on the inside of his cheek, his gaze downcast as Angela scoops up the money and drops it into a metal cash box. “Good luck, guys,” she sing-songs as she hands us our betting slips.
“Come find me later,” I reply with a wink, stepping away from the booth to head to the bar.
Wes sticks by my side, hassling me about fronting him the money for the bet as we make our way to through the crowd. The guy is too damn proud for his own good. It’s no secret that he’s been struggling for cash since his old man lost it all, yet he refuses to take handouts, even from me and Raf. He’s been getting by on our payouts from the jobs Gideon occasionally sends us on, but now that Raf’s old man has gone AWOL, that well has run dry. Betting on Raf tonight will at least give Wes something to get by– he should be fuckingthankingme.
I ignore his ungrateful tirade as I proceed to the nearest bar and order us drinks, downing more whiskey while the crowd in the warehouse continues to grow. The wild energy already pulsing through the place ratchets up even higher as it fills up, the air electrified with the promise of violence.
A few of the local girls approach and try to hang all over us, and while I scare them away with one pointed look, Wes eats up their attention like fucking candy. I swear, no amount of attention is too much for that guy. It’s like he’s making up for lost time. Back in the day, girls stomped all over his heart, but now, he does the stomping.
As he should.
After I get a few more drinks in me, Wes and I go to the locker room to check in on Raf and pump him up for the fight. He’s completely in the zone, listening to music through his earbuds while Wes wraps his knuckles and gives him a few last-minute tips about Hopkins’ weaknesses. Based upon how he’s performed in his last few fights, he’s been favoring his right knee lately, which gives Raf an opening to take him down quick if he can get a decent shot in.
I slip out a few times to grab drinks and watch the other fights, wishing I was in the ring participating. The mat makes theprettiest canvas for the blood splatter. My fingers twitch to break something, but I drown out the urge with more whiskey.
By the time they announce the main event, the crowd is riled up into a frenzy. It’s so loud that my ears feel like they’re bleeding as Wes and I take our positions at the corner of the ring, the announcer stepping to the center and introducing fan-favorite Hopkins to a chorus of cheers.
‘Kick in the Door’by Notorious B.I.G. starts playing over the speakers as the big lug strides out from the locker room with a grin on his face, pumping his fists in the air as he jogs to the ring.
Wes elbows me, leaning in. “See the limp?” he shouts into my ear in an effort to be heard above the roar of the crowd.
I nod back, though honestly, I don’t see shit. I’ve had enough liquor tonight to drown a sailor, so I’m practically seeing double as Hopkins climbs into the ring, puffing out his chest and raising his arms to the crowd, soaking in their adoration.
Showboating asshole.
