I drop my backpack off at my apartment on the way, but I don’t even stay long enough to eat. Grabbing a jacket, I walk right back out and in the direction of the warehouse.
It ends up taking me an hour and twenty minutes to get there. I wasn’t sure if I would even find the place, but when I saw a shit ton of cars pulling onto the road and turning a few blocks down, I knew I was in the right place.
It takes me a little while to get to the door, but when I do, there is a line. The line moves impossibly slow, and by the time I reach the front, I find a big scary man blocking the entrance.
“Ten dollars.” He extends his hand out, and I blink rapidly before reaching into my wallet and pulling out two fives. As soon as the money kisses the palm of his hand, he ushers me inside. Entering the warehouse is like being dipped in ice-cold water and tossed into a hot frying pan.
It’s a complete shock to your body. The noise is astounding, and I nearly turn around and walk back outside. The only reason I don’t is this incessant need to protect Jackson, which outweighs the discomfort I’m feeling. Discomfort is a momentary thing, but losing Jackson if I don’t warn him, could be life-altering.
Moving through the crowds, I follow the sound of skin slapping skin. I reach the front, shoving past some girl in a barely-there shirt, and find that Jackson is already in the ring. My stomach falls to my knees, and my heart collapses in my chest.
Jackson is wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and sneakers. His muscular upper body is on full display, and if he wasn’t in so much danger right now, I might gawk at his physic. But as it is, he’s facing a monster of a man, who’s raining his fists down on him.
Then his gaze collides with mine, and as if there is an invisible rope between us, I feel myself being drawn to him. I can see the anger filling his features. He doesn’t want me here, but I don’t care. Cringing, I watch as he barely misses taking another punch to the head.
Come on, Jackson. Fight. I can’t lose you too.
9
Jackson
My muscles are already burning, adrenaline courses through my veins. I need to do this to keep myself sane, to keep myself from losing my goddamn mind. It’s so loud in the warehouse tonight, I can’t even hear myself think.
Franco delivered on getting the biggest, baddest, scariest, motherfucker he could find. Boris is, well, a tank. He looks like he eats people for breakfast, and though he seems big and bad, my fists are faster, and my stamina is top of the food chain.
“Are you sure about this?” Talon yells over the roar of the crowd.
“Dude, stop being a pussy,” I growl, tired of him always fucking with my good mood. He worries too much.
“Whatever. It’s your death.” He rolls his eyes and tosses a water bottle at me. I catch it mid-air, twist the cap off, and chug the contents before crumpling the bottle. The cool liquid does little to ease the heat rolling off of my body. I’m ready to get this done and over with.
“You asked, and we delivered. Welcome to the pits, everyone. Tonight we have the baddest, cockiest, motherfuckers I know going head to head. B-O-R-I-S! And J-A-C-K-S-O-N!” Franco drags out our names, and the crowd lets out a roar that’s deafening. I bounce on the heels of my feet, sizing up Boris, who looks as if he’s a brick shithouse.
It’s going to take more than a couple punches to knock him on his ass. Especially when his fists are as big as my biceps.
A tingle runs up my spine. I’m not sure why, but it swirls in the pit of my stomach. Shaking the feeling off, I focus on Boris, he’s big and bulky, which probably makes him also slow. He might be a giant, but that doesn’t mean he has speed or a good fighting instinct.
My hands are wrapped in tape, but we don’t wear gloves. I check the wrap one more time before I put in my mouth guard and walk out of my corner. As soon as I step into the ring, I step out of the warehouse. Mentally, there is nothing here besides him and me inside this pit.
It’s easy for me to drown out the people, the cheers, and the voices. I push everything away, fears, guilt, and worry… it’s all gone at this moment.
This is how it is when I fight. It’s my one escape, the only time everything is quiet around me. My demons can’t reach me when I’m inside the pit.
I don’t even hear Franco ring the bell, but I know the fight has started when Boris rushes toward me, fist raised. He takes a giant swing at me, air swooshes across my face, but as I suspected, he is slow. I can easily move out of the way in time for the right hook.
What I didn’t expect him to do is follow it up with a left jab.
His fist hits me above my left eye, and it hurts like a bitch. My head snaps back with the force, and I see stars. Jesus, fuck, he might be slow, but his fists pack a punch.
Shaking off the pain, letting it fuel me, I take a step to the side, avoiding his next punch. I need to be smarter and faster than this guy if I’m going to win.
Moving around him, I get in some good jabs here and there, but nothing seems to faze him. His pupils are blown out, completely black, which makes me think he’s on something. He swings again, and I duck down, coming up with a right hook, my fist slamming into his chin. It’s a hit that would have knocked most guys out on their ass.
This guy just smiles. What the fuck?
I’m so shocked that I’m momentarily distracted and don’t see the next punch coming. His fist clobbers me in the side of the head, and I swear it feels like I got hit with a fucking brick. Before I can recover, he hits me again, this punch landing in my gut, knocking the air from my lungs. Pain lances across my body like a lightning bolt.
Trying to get away from him, I stumble back, but he continues his assault. Raining punches down on any part of my body he can get to. My head spins, and my stomach churns. I’ve never tapped out before, never had a reason to, or was afraid enough to, but I’m fucking close now. My pride can handle the hit. I’m stupid, but I don’t want to die.
Boris swings and gets me again on the head. Pain erupts inside my skull as my head is forced to the side. My teeth rattle in my head, and my vision blurs, and for a moment, I think I’m knocked out. Darkness blankets my mind, but then I blink them open, and suddenly, I see her.
Kennedy.
Her eyes meet mine, and everything around me snaps back into place. The people, the warehouse, fucking Boris… and right there in the center of the crowd is Kennedy. Her eyes are wide with fear, her lips trembling, and all I can think is that she doesn’t belong here. I need to get her out of here.
Another punch to the gut that sends whatever air is left in my lungs out on a gasp. It reminds me that I’m still fighting this monster. Deep-rooted anger rises up inside of me, filling my veins with newfound strength. I’m a volcano seconds from exploding.
I don’t know why she is here and why it bothers me so much that she is, but I know I need to finish this fight, get to her and drag her the hell out of here.
Boris swings, but this time I sense it and dodge it, moving my head, and making him miss by an inch. Rolling, I move away from under him just enough to barrel a right hook on the corner of his jaw. His fucking face is apparently made of steel, but at least I caught him off guard. He stumbles back, and I use that small window of opportunity to give him all I’ve got.