Always For You (Books 1-3) (34 page)

I revved the engine on my bike and shot
off up the road. It was closing in on Saturday evening again and I
had yet another fight lined up for an hour or so's time. A couple of
weeks ago I had faced the biggest guy of my 'career' so far, a
fucking monster of a man. Did size matter though? Not when you're as
slow as that. I had him to the floor in minutes and snapped his ankle
soon after. Fucking lump made me do it - he wouldn't tap out quick
enough. I never got much satisfaction out of breaking a bone, knowing
that it could ruin their chances of fighting again, possibly ever.
But if they made me do it, then that's what I'd do.

According to Brad the guy tonight had a
lot more cred that the last few guys I'd fought. He had been fighting
upstate somewhere, cleaning up just like I was. I knew it would
shorten the odds, but I was strangely happy to hear it. I would never
get better unless I faced some proper fucking challenges. Sure, if
meant it was more likely I'd lose, or that I'd get injured, but at
least I knew my bodies limits; I knew when to tap.

As I stood in the
ring watching my opponent advance through the crowd I knew he was
different. He wasn't just wearing sweatpants and a stained white vest
like the last couple of guys. This guy wore proper kit, and was
flanked by a proper entourage - a trainer, manager, coach,
cheerleaders, the fucking lot. He had this crew cut haircut, shaved
back and sides and slightly longer on top, his hair pointing straight
up like a porcupine. He looked like Drago out of Rocky IV, tanned and
clean shaven, his jaw square and clenched tight.

I
looked around at the crowd as he entered, seeing the usual biker and
redneck types swigging on their beer. But one group caught my eye - a
man stood front and center, wearing a sharp black suit, a couple of
mean looking bodyguard types either side of him.
Another
rich guy slumming it and seeing what the fuss is about.

When the fight began I knew the guy
would be a challenge. But for my intense training over the last 6
months I'd have been laid out flat within minutes, But now, now I was
different, now I was a proper fighter. We felt each other out for a
while, the both of us trying to dash in and get some grabs and holds
in place, failing each time. We were like the mirror image of each
other, our fighting styles similar, dancing gracefully around the
ring.

I could hear his trainers shouting
words of advice at him through the cage. It sounded like Russian to
me. He seemed more wet around the ears though, less grizzled than I
was, newer to the game. Eventually, as the fight went on, it showed,
my toughness coming to the fore and wearing him down.

The fight ended with a knockout,
something that hadn't happened in a couple of months for me. Usually
these days I'd go straight in and try to get my opponent to the
floor, sniffing out a weak spot and forcing them to tap. This guy
though, he was more capable on the ground than the others, so I
reverted to my old methods, eventually breaking through and catching
him with a vicious right hook. I could tell as soon as I connected
that he had a glass jaw. He wasn't getting up.

A
little later I was sitting in the back room,
unraveling
the bandages around my fists, when Brad walked in, as he always did,
with our winnings. This time though, he had several men in his wake.

“Very impressive fight Cain,” the
man directly behind Brad said, “very impressive indeed.” It was
the man in the suit from the front row. Perhaps he wasn't just a rich
onlooker after all.

I represent some very powerful people
who are looking to procure some fighting talent for their shows. My
task is to find that talent, and you certainly caught my eye
tonight.”

I looked up at him as I sat there. “I'm
listening.”

“We're looking to put on a fight for
our clients this coming weekend. It's strictly by invite only, not
like this place here. It's, how shall I put this, more exclusive.
That means both the crowd, and the fighting talent on show.”

“And,” he continued, “the money
reflects that exclusivity.”

My interest was suddenly piqued at the
sound of money. “How much are we talking?”

“Well, as you'll know, that will
depend upon whether you win or lose. If you lose, however, you'll
still be taking home five times what you make winning here. If you
win, expect it to be ten times that amount.”

Well fuck me. We'd be talking ten
thousand dollars or more if I won.

“How does that sound?” he went on.
“Shall I sign you up?”

I looked over at Brad who was nodding
subtly to his side, his eyes widening slightly. “Sure, sounds
great,” I told him. “When and where is it?”

“I'll be in touch with the details. I
have your number,” he said, looking over to Brad. “No more
fighting this week though Cain. If you have any other bouts lined up,
cancel them now. Trust me, you're going to want to be in tip top
shape come Saturday.”

He walked out the door, his two guards
trailing behind him, leaving me alone with Brad.

“Sounds fucking serious,” I said as
he left. “Do you reckon I'm ready for this?”

Once again Brad's tendency to always
tell me what I wanted to know came to the fore. “Sure mate, they
won't be pro fighters. It's not like you'll be stepping in with a UFC
champ. Anyway bro, you've been fucking rocking it, you'll win I'm
sure of it.”

That sort of boundless optimism, great
as it was, could also get you in trouble or, at least, me in trouble.
Anyway, what's the worst that could happen? If I lost, I'd still be
getting five grand. Totally worth the risk.

August
16
^th
2014

Grace

“So it's all a big mystery then?” I
said to Chase as he donned one of his many suits and splashed some
aftershave onto his cheeks.

“Yep, he just told me that we should
dress smart, and prepare for something completely different. He did
say that you might not enjoy it, but that it would be right up my
street, that any red blooded male would love it.”

“Sounds awfully cryptic,” I said,
“guess it's gonna be something to do with sport or naked women
right? A strip bar or sex show or something?”

Chase shook his head and he slipped on
his jacket. “Who knows babe, kinda fun not knowing though isn't
it?”

He was right. I'd been itching for some
sort of excitement for a while now. I'd seen Cain fight, been set
upon by that fucking yeti, but that was a one off. Things were still
pretty boring at home with Chase constantly working. I saw a lot of
my friends, but their trivial issues were so uninteresting to me now.
Unfortunately, everything I'd been through had to be very hush hush,
so all I could do was nod along at how so-and-so had been cheated on
and bla-bla had been in a fight. Yawn. Big fucking yawn.

This thing tonight, it was all very
secretive. Chase had been invited by an old work associate, who told
him that it was an extremely exclusive event, only intended for those
“with A LOT of money.” Chase now fit that profile nicely. He'd
also said that if you weren't prepared to spend, you'd be thrown out
before the start. That's all he gave us, nothing more. The intrigue
was certainly enough to get my pulse racing a bit more than usual.

Things started to become clear as soon
as we arrived. The event was being held in a pretty gritty area of
town, so the idea of a fancy ball or something like that quickly
disappeared from my head. There were two large men standing either
side of a narrow ally between two buildings, with Chase's friend,
Don, waiting outside.

Don was a bit like Chase, or how Chase
used to be at least - a finance major who worked as a trader. He'd
made millions himself, but was also blessed with one of the
wealthiest fathers in the state. He was one of the few people Chase
knew who could turn up to an event like this and not batter an eyelid
at the prices on show. The tickets alone had cost him five grand
each, so I guess it would have been rude for me not to turn up. In
the past that sort of money would have made by head go fuzzy but now
I'd been desensitized to all of it. The fact that Chase had recently
invested over two million dollars in a new venture kinda put it all
in perspective.

Don had his own
girlfriend with him, the subservient type who was little more than a
trophy to him. At least, that's how it appeared to me. As far as I
understood it she didn't go to college or do anything of note. She
simply lived off Don's good graces, probably repaying the compliment
in the bedroom. I wasn't usually so cynical about such things, but
this girl smacked of a gold-digger, a glorified hooker who'd have a
rude awakening if ever Don decided to ditch her. He was young, only
25, so that was all too likely at some point.

We
walked past the bouncers and down the ally, stopping at another set
of goons who blocked a large metal door set within a blank,
featureless, wall down the side of the building. They stepped aside
and we walked in, down a set of steep metal steps towards a final
checkpoint. It seemed ridiculously over the top all of this, three
separate sets of bouncers to get past within the space of about fifty
meters.
What the hell was this place?

As the final door opened, however, I
realized what it was all about, and a strange sense of satisfaction
and excitement crossed my body. We walked into this cavernous room, a
large underground bunker with a dug out concrete pit in the center
that looked like a deep, empty, swimming pool.

Surrounding the pit were long benches,
stretching along each side, several layers deep. They got higher as
they got deeper, a tiered structure allowing for those at the back to
see over the heads of the people ahead of them. Along the front
benches there was a metal barrier, there to prevent anyone from
falling down towards the concrete.

I looked around at the people there - a
good mixture of men and women, all of them dressed up in fine suits
and smart dresses and coats. They were all dripping money, in stark
contrast to the dungeon we were all standing in. I knew what they
were all here to see, and it became clear to me why only those with
money were allowed here. It was a high end gambling den where people
bet on fights, just like the club Cain fought at. Here though, it
seemed as though betting was mandatory, and the minimum stakes were a
hefty ten grand. Thankfully, that number was per couple, not per
person, although I could sense Chase was a little uncomfortable
putting that sort of money down when he had no control over the
outcome.

It was
strange to look around at the setting: so many wealthy people all
gathered within such a cold and unwelcoming place. Everything was
grey and lifeless, the only
color
in the room coming from the dresses hidden beneath long fur coats.
People were standing around sipping on expensive champagne and
chatting excitedly about what was to come. It appeared that the rich
and wealthy were just as easily enticed by the prospect of two men
beating each other to a pulp as the denizens of the club Cain fought
at. If anything, the look of this place was a step up in barbarity
and cruelty, with an empty pit the setting for the bloodbath to come.

A waiter led us towards our seats, or
at least the metal bench we were to share with a line of other
patrons. There was a sense of excitement in the air as a man appeared
at the edge of the pit, raising his hands up to quieten the chatter.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he
announced loudly, his accent so precise, “I would like to thank you
all for coming here tonight. I see many faces I recognize in the
crowd, and many that are new to me. To those who have not been here
before, I say welcome.”

“Now,” he continued, “you all
know why we are here. We are here to witness man at his most primal;
to watch our modern day gladiators enter the Coliseum and battle for
pride, for honor, and, in some cases, for their very lives. Now, I
hope that no one here is squeamish, because what you are about to see
is brutal. Without further ado, I hand you over to our first pair for
the evening.”

He raised his hands up and shouted the
names of the two combatants, two ridiculous, over the top stage
names, and out they came, a couple of heavyweight fighters wearing
nothing but a small pair of shorts. My heart was pacing fast as I
looked on, the two men standing staring at each other from each side
of the pit.

“Knocks outs and submissions,” the
announcer called, and the fight began.

Cain

I don't think I had ever been this
nervous before. I hadn't got like this before any of my other fights,
not even my first one. But this, this was totally different.

“Focus mate, focus,” Brad was
telling me as he paced from one side of the room to the other, a
nervous energy in him. It was probably making me more nervous, his
incessant pacing; it certainly wasn't doing anything to help calm me
down.

I could hear roaring through the
ceiling, the sounds of oohs and aahs as the crowd voiced every move
of the two combatants. I had been shown the setting, the pit, and I
didn't like the look of it. In my previous fights in the cage the
floor was sprung and the cage had some give if you fell against it.
Here it was solid. If you cracked your head against the side or you
hit concrete floor, it was lights out, maybe for good.

I had
to do it though, the money was too damn good. Ten grand if I win,
five grand if I lose. So, I couldn't really lose either way.
Fuck
it Cain, this is what you were born to do. Don't be a fucking pussy.

The
clock ticked by slowly as I sat there, listening to the baying crowd,
hearing fighters come and go. I'd be in the 4
^th
fight they'd told me, so they expected after about an hour. They
couldn't tell me for sure though, with some fights only lasting
seconds, and others a lot longer. So I sat, I sat and waited as the
roars of the crowd continued to vibrate through the walls, rushing up
through the bench and into my body.