Now, more than anything, I’m pissed at myself.
For thinking I had a chance with her.
For thinking I wouldn’t fuck it up, like I fuck up everything else in my goddamn life.
I barely pull out of the spiral I’m in for long enough to show up at the fight Rudy booked for me.
I show up for my fight with Cruz Lopez, a.k.a. The Crucifier half in the bag from a mid-afternoon eye-opener and a liquid dinner. I’m still sober enough to fight, but not quite drunk enough not to care that I’m supposed to lose.
As much of an animal as Lopez is in the ring, it’s a mistake to show up anything but sober. He ain’t gonna pull any punches, even though he knows he’s already won the fight before he starts. Rudy gives me the side-eye as I pass by him on the way toward the ring. He grabs me by the arm, an angry challenge in his eye.
“Shit, man, you been drinkin’?” he hisses.
I yank away from him. “What do you care?” I snarl. “I’m a warm body. That’s all I am for these fights anyway.”
Faceless men clap me on the back and say encouraging words as I wait for the announcer to call Cruz and me into the ring. I know that half of them — the smart half — have money on Lopez, so their well-wishes are fake as shit. It’s never bugged me before to throw a fight — hell, the money’s green either way — but tonight, I’m starting to get a sick feeling in my stomach that doesn’t have anything to do with the drink.
I keep thinking back to what Ember said the night I told her about this fight. How she figured out I was letting myself get beat up in the ring for a reason that has nothing to do with money.
Her words come back to me again.
“Maybe, instead of letting yourself get beat up for cash, you should do what you can to solve whatever it is that’s making you fight in the first place.”
I can’t go back and rewrite the past. Cady and Wren are okay, thank God, but I can’t go back in time and undo putting them in danger.
I can’t do anything about losing my brother Richie. He doesn’t want to know me anymore.
Then I went and walked out on Ember, and I can’t undo that, either.
I probably lost her, too. If I ever had her in the first place.
Fuckin’ losing. Seems like it’s all I know how to do.
The bell rings. The announcer calls my name.
I step into the ring, still thinking about Ember. How she saw right through me.
I don’t want to lose her. I don’t want to lose anything else.
I can’t lose any more of myself.
And that starts now.
“Goddamnit!” Rudy is shouting over the din as people lose their goddamn minds. “What the fuck did you just do, Striker?”
“Careful,” I shout back from the other side of the ropes, and spit out a mouthful of blood. “You don’t look very happy. People are gonna think maybe you didn’t want me to win the fight.”
I step over Cruz’s unconscious form and out of the ring. Strangers jostle me, yelling my name and either insulting me or congratulating me in at least three different languages. I push past them all, Rudy still trailing after me, until finally we’re at the back of the crowd and the noise eases up enough for us to hear each other.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he howls. “You demolished that guy! Crucifier’s handlers are gonna come after both of us for this!”
I shrug. “I fought. I won. That’s the point of a fight.”
“You piece of shit,” he seethes. “You know how much money you lost me? You don’t deliver, you don’t get paid, you son of a bitch.”
I reach up a finger, jab it into his chest. “Our deal was half of the take.”
“Half of the take ain’t shit, thanks to you!”
“Give me my money, Rudy.”
Snarling to himself, he pulls out a wad of cash, peels off a bunch of bills, and thrusts them at me. Just eyeballing them, it’s less than half of what I was supposed to walk away with. Rudy narrows his eyes at me, like he’s daring me to argue.
“Thanks.”
“You fuckin’ screwed me, Rossi. You burned a bridge here, you know that?”
“Fuck it. I’m done anyway. No more fights. Delete my goddamn number, or next time I’ll burn down more than a bridge.”
I reach out and shove him hard in the chest. Rudy stumbles back and I brush past him, heading right to the makeshift bar in the back where a tall motherfucker with some serious acne scars is pouring drinks. I bark at him to hand me a bottle of whatever will get me drunk fastest, and a glass. I move off to the side and pour my first shot, reasoning that when I can’t stand any longer, that’s when I’ll be drunk enough to stop.
I’m well on my way when a hand clamps down hard on my shoulder. Spinning toward it, I pull back a fist and get ready to punch its owner in the face.
“Jesus, Strike, cool down!” Tank’s voice pierces through the fog in my brain right before I let loose. Tank steps to one side. I pull the punch just in time.
“Fuck, man, you gotta warn a motherfucker.” I turn back to my glass. “What’re you doing here?”
“I’ve been tryin’ to get hold of you,” he growls. “I assume you know that. Since you weren’t answering your goddamn phone, I went by your place, but you weren’t there. I took a shot you’d be here.”
Glancing over, I give him a slow golf clap. Tank rolls his eyes.
“Son of a bitch,” he mutters. “Look at you. You’re a fucking mess. How long you been here?”
I hold up the half-empty bottle. “This long.”
“Jesus. Let’s get you home.”
“Nah.” I shake the bottle at him. The liquid inside sloshes. “Come on, have a drink with me. Plenty to go around, brother!”
I blame the booze for dulling my reflexes when Tank’s hand darts out and grabs the bottle from me.
“Come on, you dumb shit. I gotta talk to you, and I ain’t about to do it here.”
“What about?”
“I’ll tell you on the way. Come on, you’re in no shape to drive.”
“What about my car?”
“I’ll get one of the Lords to bring it back to your place. Gimme the keys.”
I’d be fighting Tank harder on this, but he’s right, I can’t drive like this. I hand my keys to him. When we’re outside, he opens up the passenger door and sticks them under the mat, then pulls out his cell and punches out a text.
“Come on, dumbass,” he rumbles at me when he’s done.
“That sweet talkin’ will get you nowhere,” I crack.
He flips me the bird as I follow him to his truck.
On the way to my place, he tells me that a group of the Lords are doing a run out to North Carolina to confront Cady’s ex. “We’re gonna squeeze him, get him to admit he or his people trashed Ember’s place.” In the dim light, I see his jaw flex. “We’re not gonna leave until he’s convinced it’s in his best interest to let Cady walk away and stay away from her and everyone she knows, permanently.”
“Okay.” I nod, and it shoots a spear of pain through my head. I wince. “I’ll be there.”