One
Allie
I had to walk three blocks in the scorching heat at night to get to the derelict, graffiti ridden warehouse. It was as bad as I thought it would be; the place was in absolute shambles, which was expected in this abandoned industrial part of Hedley.
The entrance was covered by a muscular tall man taking entry fees in front of the line-up of anxious people. No one glanced my way as I stepped into the line, absorbing the animated conversations around me about what was to come.
I pulled out some cash from my pocket to pay for the entrance fee, cringing because it was going to hurt if I didn’t end up getting help by the end of this night. Meanwhile the men picked up the cost for their own girls, doing their best to appear like gentlemen. It just made me want to laugh, knowing damn well that a man desperate enough to get laid will fork out any kind of money.
“You ladies going to bet?” a guy asked several girls in a group in front of me as we all moved a few steps forward in the line-up of hell.
“No,” a girl answered, “we just want to check out what all the fuss is about. You dragged us out in the middle of bum-fuck Hedley, Carl, so you better make this worthwhile.”
The guy laughed in return. “You said you wanted to see a fight, darling. A real one. Well, now you’ll get to.”
Distraught by the heat, I fanned my face with my hand, holding tight the strap of my backpack with the other, and rolled my eyes at these people. Men took girls who weren’t from the projects here to impress them, and these clueless girls lapped up the dangerous aspect of the night, feeling like they were living some thug life. Bunch of wanna-bes everywhere, and I couldn’t understand every girl’s fascination with watching men bleed, but I’d been around so long to know they went absolutely nuts for it.
For them, there seemed to be some sort of allure being on this side of town where the poverty was depressive and the streets ran rampant with criminal activity. Having a thing for the rough, they all grew up in privilege with everything handed to them, never getting to see the dark side of the world unless they were in front of a television screen. It came to no surprise they romanticised about hooligans all their lives, and these fights offered them a piece of that existence without stepping out of the comforts of their privileged world.
It was pathetic if you asked me.
One century later, I was finally standing in front of the muscled man at the entrance. I recognized him as Leech, a mutual acquaintance I’d seen in passing. He blinked at me for a moment, those brows coming together in thought as he asked, “You’re Ryker’s girl, aren’t you?”
My heart tightened in my chest as I gave him a stiff nod.
“You here to see his brother fight?”
“Yeah.”
He glanced down at the money in my hand and bristled. “Man, do you want my ass beaten by Lawson? You’re not paying shit. Get inside.”
“Are you sure? I won’t tell Heath –”
“Girl, get your ass inside right this damn second before he finds out you’ve been waiting at the door so long.”
Without wanting to cause a scene, or continue to keep the line stalled, I nodded again and thanked him. He just shook his head at me like I’d lost my mind and jerked me into the warehouse. I’d never been to this spot before. The fights usually alternated in a few destinations around Hedley, but never in a room of this size.
The abandoned warehouse was filled with spotlights and overhead bulbs hanging off the ceiling beams, yet it wasn’t enough to light every area of the large room. There were still pockets of darkness in some corners. The place was in shambles with big chunks of the tin roof missing, depicting the night sky overhead. The ground was grubby and the air stunk of sweaty musk and mould. What a hellhole…
Voices of dozens of people invaded my hearing. Bets were screamed out, and in the chaos I could barely make out a word of any of it. I mentally detached myself from the scene and focused instead on not getting shoved around while making it to the centre of the room. I had a little bit of a freak out. The air felt denser, and the heat was really getting to me. If I thought it was beyond hot outside, I was sorely mistaken. This was heat.
Minutes later a whistle was blown, hushing the majority of people inside. A circle began to form and I was forced back while bodies stood in my way. They were forming a ring where the fight was going to take place, and now I could feel the tension in the air, the anticipation growing thicker by the second. People bet a lot of money here. Some won big, others lost it all.
Standing at five foot four inches, I certainly wasn’t the tallest girl here, especially when the girls around me – wearing their skimpy halter tops and short skirts – were donning four inch heels. I had to stand on my tippy toes to see what was going on and managed to find a gap big enough to see what was happening. The girls were losing their minds, pointing at a man, giggling and fanning themselves.
Shirtless, the tall man was well over six feet. His body was lean but thoroughly ripped. Standing directly under a light bulb with his back to me, he was covered in tattoos, and they ran colourfully up most of his back, twisting around his front and ending just below his neckline. When he turned slightly, the girls in front of me gasped, drooling over his muscled torso where his abs were so pronounced they looked like they were carved into him with a razor blade. He ran a hand that was covered in red boxing tape over his dark hair that was cut into a buzz and took some practice swings in the air. The girls squealed and screamed, “I love you, Lawson” and he barely blinked in their direction, too absorbed in what was to come.
My lips curved up, and the numbness I’d been wearing around all day faded little by little. The feeling of familiarity was nice after a hard day. After all, this was Heath Lawson, my boyfriend’s older brother.
Having not seen Ryker in a month, my heart fluttered. There were parts of Heath that resembled him so much, like the heart shape of his face, dark eyes and tanned skin. It always surprised me that although they looked alike in some ways, they also looked completely different.
Another whistle sounded out and another man stepped into the centre, getting his own hands taped as he stared menacingly at Heath. This bald man was a tank, rolling in muscle, easily holding twice more mass than Heath.
Shit. I didn’t like his odds, and I had a feeling most in the room didn’t either. I worried Heath might get really hurt, and the selfish part of me wondered who the hell I would go to if he ended up in the hospital by the end of the night. It wasn’t uncommon for other street fighters. Hell, I’d seen some awful injuries that made you cringe for days afterwards. The violence was abhorrent.