There’s a pause where he could kick us to the curb. Something flickers in his eyes. Interest. Lust. A taste for danger. A man doesn’t get his nose bent like that because he likes to play it safe. No, this guy wants a piece of Candy in the back of a warehouse when he should be doing his job. It’s a rush, and he takes it.
“Don’t make trouble,” he tells me.
I don’t bother explaining that the girl voted most likely to cause trouble has her hands on his chest and her mouth on his neck. He wouldn’t have heard me anyway. He’s already dragging her into the shadows. Her giggle floats back to me, and I sigh, knowing I’ll owe her one.
And Candy doesn’t collect easy favors.
No one even looks my way as I open the door. They’re packed in like the club on a Saturday night, but it isn’t girls dancing onstage. No, those are men—big, brutish men with muscles bulging and skin glistening while they beat the shit out of each other.
Underground fighting.
No wonder the guy didn’t want to let us in. The fight itself is probably illegal, not to mention the betting and drug use that is no doubt rampant. I’m not judging. I have no right considering what goes on in the VIP rooms. And I wouldn’t want to judge anyway. I learned long ago that people needed to fight to survive. Sometimes they needed to fuck to survive too.
I’m just wondering why Blue would be here. And why Candy thinks he would be.
Is this some kind of hobby for him, watching fights the way he watches me dance? There’s a sea of people, of shouting faces, of angry faces, of drunk and grinning faces. They blend together in a macabre oil painting, my own vision gone skewed and sideways. I can’t possibly hope to find Blue in this mess.
Someone bumps into me, and just like that I’m falling into the crowd. I land on another person—he shoves me off, and I bounce around like a pinball until I manage to stand upright.
I’m pretty sure I got groped on the way, so it’s a typical night. Damn, I can’t see anyone. The smoke is thick, and there are barely any lights. Only spotlights focused on the fight, where a giant of a man is pummeling the other one…
I go very still and squint my eyes to focus. Is that…? No.
Another hit sends the fighter spinning toward the metal cage, and I gasp. It’s Blue in that goddamn death trap. What’s he doing in there? I can’t even believe that the guy is bigger than him. Blue towers over me and the other bouncers. And he has the muscles to match his height. He’s one scary son of a bitch, but the man he’s up against is like a mountain. A very angry mountain, and he’s raining down blows on Blue’s face.
Next thing I know I’m shoving my way through the crowd.
“Watch it!”
“Stupid bitch.”
All I know is I have to get to the front. There are still three rows of people blocking me, and now that I’m close, I can’t see the stage. Where are my stilettos when I need them? But I can hear the stage, the smack of flesh against flesh, bone against bone.
I shove people aside and end up at the makeshift railing. I’m not even sure this metal is supported by anything but the crowd itself—it sways with the movement, with the tides of the fight, leaning in as they smell blood.
Blue is wearing long shorts and scuffed-up tennis shoes. His gloves are worn and fraying at the edges. He looks like he rolled into his neighborhood gym to go a few rounds on the weekend. It’s amazing he’s held his own this long, but still, he’s going to get himself killed.
The other guy’s got glossy red-and-black shorts, almost like silk, and shoes so high and thick-toed they look like boots. It seems like that should be against the rules, but then a place like this probably isn’t huge on rules. From here I can see the guy’s face as he growls at Blue. I can see the smugness in his eyes, the deadness. He wants to make Blue hurt.
I reach for the metal fence. Hands grab me and yank me back. “What the fuck are you doing?” a voice shouts in my ear.
I tear myself free but stand behind the barrier. I don’t know what I’d planned to do anyway. It’s not like I can climb the cage and crawl inside. It’s not like I can stop the fight.
My stomach is a knot of worry, of dread. I may not be close to Blue anymore, I may even fear him, but I don’t want him killed. This kind of shit can escalate fast.
Blue ducks his head, almost resting his hand on one knee. He looks tired, worn down. He said he wasn’t going to let anyone kick him around ever again. Except that’s exactly what’s happening.
Oh God.
The opponent sees his chance. He charges like an actual bull, Blue’s weakness a red flag. Then even the man behind me can’t hold me back. I’m reaching for the cage, holding metal wire in my hands, shouting words even I can’t make out. No! Blue!
In the moments when Blue would be crushed, when he’d be killed, he suddenly spins and turns. A blow to the side sends red-and-black silk into the cage just a few feet away from where I’m clutching the side. The impact shoves me back. Hands catch me before I hit the concrete.
The crowd goes wild, their sound like a physical assault. It bears me down, and I can barely see, barely move. There’s just a glimpse of Blue’s hand being raised in the air, worn glove and all.