“I think we underestimated him,” my uncle says to the bookie in a low, shallow tone. “He should have gone down after that hit.”
After watching the bookie hand over a chunk of money to my uncle he’s yet to earn, I shift my focus back to the ring. Igor is marching Maddox’s way. He’s pissed Maddox got his fists on him once, let alone injured him, and if the murderous gleam in his eyes is anything to go by, he’s about to take all his annoyance out on Maddox.
“Aim for his legs!”
Maddox strays his eyes from the door to me, then to Igor before he bobs down low to swipe Igor’s legs out from beneath him. Igor’s thunderous crack with the canvas sends a collective hiss racing across the room. The shouts grow more rampant when Maddox’s fist ramming into Igor’s nose is even more brutal than his collision with the springless mat.
“Get up!” my uncle roars at Igor when Maddox’s punishment of his face makes him slow to his feet. Unlike the demands of the men seated around the ring cheering for bloodshed, Maddox climbed off Igor after only half a dozen hits. He didn’t pummel his face in until his mother wouldn’t recognize him.
“Focus!” I demand when Maddox’s eyes once again drift to the entryway door.
I don’t care if my coaching gets me shot, raped, or any of the other horrible things my uncle is planning for me. If it gets Maddox out of this alive, I’ll face the injustice because he won’t be anything if he doesn’t start paying attention to what he’s doing. He isn’t merely facing a killer in the ring. All the men surrounding him are also murderers.
“No, no, no, no, no!” I scream on repeat when Igor wraps Maddox up in a bear hug.
Igor is so tall, Maddox’s feet immediately lift from the canvas. His arms are disabled, so only his head and legs are at his disposal to maneuver out of his attacker’s hold.
“Throw your head back. Headbutt him in the nose!” I do the same to Mario when the crowd’s shouts become too loud for Maddox to hear me.
When Mario stumbles back with a groan, his hands shooting up to protect his gushing nose, I race for the ropes. “Scramble! Use his woozy head to your advantage,” I command when the vibrant shade of red on Maddox’s face weakens by a smidge. “You need to bring him down. Make him drop. He is slower when he’s closer to the canvas.” For professional fighters, the opposite is usually true, but Igor is so large, he can’t get any power behind his swings when he’s on the floor.
I fight my uncle with as much gusto as Maddox does Igor when I’m pulled away from the ring by my hair. It’s wrenched from my scalp, but the pain is barely noticeable. My heart is in too much agony to give a little bit of discomfort any attention. I can’t see Maddox, but the horrendous crunches coming from the ring are enough for me to understand what’s happening. Someone is being beaten to death, and it’s all my fault.
“Let him tap out,” I beg my uncle when he throws me onto a chair at the back of the bleachers. “Please. I’ll do anything you want. A-a-anything at all.”
His smirk would have you convinced I’m a comedian. “Even all these men?”
I drag my eyes over the men surging toward the ringside seats they can’t afford. They’re enjoying the bloodbath so much they’re willing to risk being banned from next month’s match for a better view. The number of men who pay top dollar to watch a man be killed is sickening. As far as I’m concerned, that makes them as corrupt and immoral as my uncle, but the knowledge they’ll hurt me purely because I’m mafia royalty won’t stop me from nodding.
The instant I slipped my uncle’s business card out of Maddox’s wallet, I signed my death certificate. Maddox’s unexpected arrival hasn’t changed that. I’m dead no matter what. My agreement to my uncle’s terms just means I have to take the long way to hell.
“Please,” I try again when I appear to be getting through to him.
My tears aren’t convincing him, and neither are the uncontrollable shakes hampering my body. It’s the mental calculation he did in his head when it dawned on him how many men were eyeballing me before Maddox arrived. They were hoping he’d be a no-show, so they could have their way with me, and my uncle is planning to cash in their wishes like he’s a genie with an unlimited number of wishes.
When a gurgle I’ve never heard before rumbles in my uncle’s chest, I stray my eyes in the direction he’s peering. I prepare my stomach for the horrifying image of Maddox lying lifeless in the ring, so you can imagine my absolute shock when the only motionless thing hanging over the edge of the bloodstained canvas is Igor. His head is contorted at a weird angle, and although his eyes are open, they show no signs of life.
I suck in a shaky breath when my eyes finally land on Maddox. He isn’t dead. He’s barging his way through the crowd flocking him to issue their congratulations. The disdain on his face hardens with every step he takes. He killed a man for me, and now he looks set to murder another.
I should let him. I would if I weren’t aware of the repercussions he’d face. There are rules this industry not even I can break. If Maddox kills my uncle, he won’t make it out of this warehouse alive. Considering that’s been my only objective the past twenty-four hours, I have to step between him and my uncle like protecting my family is more important to me than breathing, even when it isn’t.
“Well done,” my uncle gabbles out, humored by the rage in Maddox’s eyes when I stop his charge by splaying my hand across his sweaty, blood-dotted chest. “You beat the beast and made me a bucketload of money.”
When he attempts to hand some of that so-called money to Maddox, Maddox shoves it back into his chest, seizes my wrist in a firm hold, then tugs me behind him like my uncle did when he arrived. It’s a clear sign to the men circling us that he only fought tonight for one reason. Me.
For the next several long seconds, my uncle gauges the reaction of the men eyeballing his exchange with Maddox like this is the real reason they fork over thousands of dollars every month. Some are enemies, some are allies, but without a doubt, all of them are sick fucks he wants to impress so badly, he goes off-script.
“Very well. You’ve earned it.”
By it, he means me.
After clicking his fingers two times, he digs a gold pen out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket. It’s the same pocket he put the boxcutter in that would have claimed his life if it weren’t blunt.
“With the holiday season approaching, we have a delay between contests.” When the crowd boos, he waves his hand through the air like he’s a king. “I know, I know. Cry me a river.”
While the crowd laughs as if he is hilarious, my uncle jots down the time and date for Maddox’s next deathmatch onto the business card Mario handed him. “You will be forwarded the location the day before the next fight.”
This kills me to admit, but my uncle isn’t as stupid as he looks. There’s no way the death matches could take place in the same location more than once. It’s hard enough keeping the authorities away from his standard Friday night feature. I’m sure their interest in this type of circuit would be enough to have it immediately shut down.
My relieved sigh hits Maddox’s sweat-drenched neck when he screws up the card within a nanosecond of my uncle handing it to him, tosses it to the ground, then spits on it.