The Fighter (The High Rise, Book 1) (10 page)

Tonight I’m in
the basement of the apartment building where a couple badass
motherfuckers are in the ring getting after it. I’ve been informed
there are no weight classes and looking around the room, I see
every size of man you can imagine getting warmed up for their
fights. I can easily pick out most of the “loanees” who are the
more out-of-shape men, only here trying to reduce their loans, and
I see several of them looking around nervously hoping they don’t
get paired up with any of the bigger guys who I’ve figured have
been hired by Kyle to make things more interesting for those who’ve
made wagers. He’s probably even instructed a few to throw their
fights so he can make more off unsuspecting bettors.

In spite of
all the bullshit I’m not intimidated. I might not be formally
trained in this shit anymore but I know I can put the hurt on
someone and that’s the plan.

I’m also
somewhat impressed at how efficiently everything is being run.
There’s a ref who seems to know what he’s doing and things appear
to be running smoothly.

There are
maybe a hundred, hundred-fifty, bettors standing around the ring
watching the current fight. I check out a group of ten who make
their way in the back door stopping at a desk to talk to an older
man I’ve seen around the gym picking up towels. He hands them a
sheet which I assume is tonight’s lineup then the group passes the
paper around before wallets come out and money is relinquished to
the old guy who writes out tickets.

I start
loosening up, rolling my shoulders then going into arm circles. I
go through a full dynamic warmup to prepare my body for what’s to
come. Sparring with Matt yesterday helped, and Crowley’s sparred
with me a few times over the past week and a half since it’d been
five years since I fought in college which helped too. Sadly, I
found I was in pretty rough shape. Although it was like riding a
bike and everything came back to me the minute I stepped into the
ring, and even though I’ve worked out five days a week since, this
fighting shit is a totally different animal. I’d forgotten how much
aerobic endurance it takes to go three rounds. After my first
sparring bout with Crowley, I was huffing and puffing like
crazy.

But I’ve
improved and tonight’s the night to find out whether I’m ready or
not.

All I know is
I’d better be fucking ready.

Well, I wasn’t
as ready as I wanted to be, but I still won.

I fought one
of Kyle’s biggest, most experienced fighters, and while his
technique might’ve been better, my strength and acumen were what
got me the victory. And, fuck, it felt good. The only thing that
would’ve made it better is if Laney had been here watching.

Well, shit.
Did I just think that? Huh.

Anyway, I
didn’t walk away unscathed, though. In the first round I failed to
protect myself and got an elbow to my lip which busted it wide
open. There’s actually an experienced cutman here who applied a
coagulant to stop the bleeding and then I was good to go. I’ve also
got some swelling under my left eye where the guy landed a lucky
late jab and I know I’ll have a shiner in the morning if I don’t
already.

But when
people say, “You should see the other guy,” well, you should
definitely see the other guy. I think I broke his nose and he has
two
black eyes he’ll have to deal with. I ended it when he
went in for a side kick but missed then made the mistake of turning
his back to me giving me the opportunity to take him to the floor
with a rear-naked chokehold where he ended up tapping out.

So I’m on
frickin’ Cloud Nine right now, feeling like I could conquer the
world.

I’m still
reveling in my victory as I pull a t-shirt out of my bag at one of
the benches I’m sitting on in the back of the room when Matt
approaches. After putting it on I can’t help but grin up at
him.

“You looked
good, man,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder, setting his gym
bag on the bench.

“Thanks,” I
reply. “You up next?”

“Yeah, after
this match.” He nods at the cage where two loanees are going at
it.

“Who do you
have?”

“Guy standing
next to Crowley.”

I look over
and see a guy almost the same size as the one I just took. “Damn,”
I mutter because Matt’s probably five-eleven and about a buck
eighty.

“Yeah,” he
says with a snort. “Couldn’t talk you into taking my place, could
I?”

I chuckle.
“Not tonight, buddy.”

“Got any
advice?” he asks.

I shrug then
stand to pull on wind pants. “I’d get him in as many clinches as I
could, of course making sure to hold his arms so you don’t get an
elbow to the head. Don’t grapple with him because he’s got the size
advantage.” I pull socks and shoes out putting them on. “But be the
better striker. I saw him in warmups and he’s slow. If you play it
smart, you’ve got a chance. If you can take him down and get him in
a heel hook, try to break the fucker’s leg. Guarantee he’ll tap out
before that happens.”

I’m not sure
if this advice helps but Matt’s nodding as if it might so that’s
something.

“I’ll try. You
gonna stay and watch?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Maybe
we can get a beer afterward.”

“Sounds good.
I’ve gotta make a phone call but I’ll be back. Remember, just be
smart.”

“I’ll try.
Gonna go warm up now. Keep an eye on that?” he asks nodding toward
his bag on the bench. I nod back then he says, “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck.
And, hey, there’s no shame in tapping out yourself. Hell, if not
for my pride, I’d just start tapping out after the first round in
every fight. Kyle’s gonna make money either way, right?” I say.
It’s technically true. But knowing him, he’d penalize anyone who
did that, probably quadrupling their monthly amount, the
fucker.

“Good point.
Thanks.”

I nod and pull
my phone out of my bag then walk to the stairwell where I can get
some quiet.

“Did you win?”
Aaron answers after the first ring.

I chuckle.
“Yeah.”

“Good. How’d
it go?”

I tell him the
details of the fight letting him know I’ll have a black eye when I
come see him tomorrow but it’s cool. After hanging up, I go back in
to see that Matt’s in the ring waiting on his opponent. I’m nervous
for him but soon realize I shouldn’t be. Dude’s been holding out on
me. The minute the fight begins, he’s much faster than his opponent
and he’s all over him, executing uppercuts, jabs, kicks, the whole
nine yards as if he’s been fighting for years. I’m in awe as I
watch thinking I’ll have a few questions for him once this is
over.

And it’s over
by the second round when Matt implements a Superman, taking the guy
down then he just wails on him until the ref stops him,
subsequently calling the fight because the guy gets a cut so deep
on his cheekbone that I swore I saw bone. Jesus.

When Matt
walks over I’m giving him the eye.

He snorts and
sits on the bench opening his bag to pull out a t-shirt.

I’m still
staring at him until he chuckles and asks, “What?” as he pulls on
his shirt.

“You know
what. You’ve either done this before or you’re the luckiest son of
a bitch I’ve ever met.”

He laughs.
“Yeah, I have. Why?”

“Because you
held back on me yesterday. Don’t do it again,” I warn jokingly.

“I was afraid
I’d hurt you,” he jokes back.

This makes me
huff out a laugh. “Sure, old man. Whatever you say.”

He snorts then
stands and pulls on running pants sitting back down to put on his
shoes. “We still on for a beer?”

“Yep.”

“Good. I need
one. There’s a sports bar couple blocks away. I’ll drive,” he
says.

We stand
picking up our bags and leave the basement out the back door.

“Really?” I
ask when we approach his car.

“What?”

“A Crown Vic?
I figured you more for a late 60s Barracuda kinda guy. At least a
’76 Trans Am,” I explain.

“Who do you
think I am, Burt Reynolds?”

I look over
the car roof at him. “Who’s that?” He throws me a look then gets in
the car which makes me laugh as I get inside.

He starts the
engine shaking his head the whole time. “Making me feel old,
kid.”

“You are old,”
I say still laughing.

“That’s it,” he
says, pulling out of the garage. “You’re buying
.”

Nine

I hate admitting it
but seeing Heath with that other woman really hurt
.

After I got my
dig in on him—which was pretty weak, I know—I went back inside the
apartment and drank my coffee as I read the newspaper as if nothing
happened.

Next I took a
shower and after dressing called Stella at The Arches who said she
had the perfect apartment for Mrs. Lanning so we set a viewing
time.

I called Mrs.
Lanning who was thrilled then proceeded to chat me up for thirty
minutes about her cats then another thirty about her grandson who
just turned thirteen, got expelled from school for calling in a
bomb threat and is coming to stay with her for the summer because
his parents can’t handle him anymore. Yikes.

We hung up and
since Dani was gone to a tryout Chastity had for a popular vampire
TV show and possibly some parties afterward, and since there was
nothing better to do, I flopped down on the couch to see what
Saturday mid-morning TV shows were on, landing on some
house-flipping show on which I wasted three hours, watching several
episodes.

Now I finally
get up and start a load of laundry before coming back to lie on the
couch again. Whoopee. I don’t think I can watch more DIY TV so I
decide to call my mom.

“Hey,
sweetie,” she answers.

“Hey,
Mom.”

“What’s wrong,
Laney?”

How does she
do that, always know when something’s going on with me? It must
just be some inherent mom thing that comes with birthing a child, I
guess.

“Nothing,” I
mumble.

“Tell me,” she
coaxes.

I let out a
dramatic breath. “Well, you know how I always seem to date
players?”

She chuckles.
“I’m still not sure what that means but you’ve told me before about
a few of these ‘players.’”

“Well, what
would you do if you knew a guy for three days, he’s really handsome
and flirty, but then again he’s standoffish at times like he hates
you, and then he keeps accusing you of doing something and you have
no idea what he’s talking about. Then you almost kiss and the next
day you see him with another woman?” I ramble.

“Oh my. That’s
an awful lot happening in a short amount of time,” Mom
comments.

“Yeah.”

“Well,” she
says with a sigh, “I don’t know, honey. What do you know about him?
Do you know his hobbies? Where he works?”

I frown. “I
guess his hobby would be working out. He’s been in the weight room
every morning. Well, at least Monday through Friday. Dani and I
don’t go on weekends so he could be there those days too. As for
work… I’m not sure but he could be a male escort,” I say
jokingly.

“What?” Mom
questions with a gasp.

This makes me
chuckle because it’s a ridiculous notion. But then the more I think
about it, the more I think maybe he
is
an escort. I mean,
case in point: he works out every morning; he’s got a fantastic
body not to mention a handsome face; the full-sleeve tattoos and
other tattoos, well, everywhere else, just top off the sexiness.
And the fact that he didn’t deny being an escort when Dani teased
him about it makes it all the more credible along with his walking
a woman from his apartment this morning.

I suddenly
spring up from the couch and scream, “Oh, my God! He is! He’s an
escort! Holy fuck!”

“Laney Adele
Kyle!” Mom scolds.