We were waved on through, and Aston's arm was on mine, guiding me through the bodies inside the warehouse. I stepped gingerly on the concrete floor. I was wearing jeans, but I didn't want to know what the hell kind of bodily fluids might be covering the floor here. A loose coating of sawdust and dirt covered the floor, I assumed to mop the blood. Human or animal, I didn't know, but the thought was nauseating.
Then the bodies in front of us parted, and I glimpsed the corner of the cage in front of us. And I felt a huge sense of relief. Human fighting, not animals. Aston turned toward me, looking down at me with a strange grin. "Have you ever seen this kind of thing?" He paused for a beat, not waiting for me to answer. "Of course you have."
He knew about the old man and his dogfighting. How much Aston knew about my life when he was not a part of it chilled me inside.
Aston looked ahead, distracted by what was about to happen. All around me were the sounds of voices, the murmuring of conversations I couldn't quite catch. The air was charged with a sort of electricity, and I imagined that this is how it must have been for spectators watching gladiators - two men fighting to the death.
An announcer was already introducing the fight. "In the camouflage trunks, our very own underground knockout heavyweight champion, undefeated in eight consecutive fights, Marshall "The Law" Fowler!"
The crowd cheered and whistled for the clear favorite. I watched as a thick man with a shaved head walked around the perimeter of the cage, acknowledging his fans, making his way to the center. Aston pulled me with him, toward a roped off area, some kind of makeshift VIP space that was apparently reserved for important people like him.
"Do you have money on the fighters?" I asked Aston, who was only half listening to me. His grip on my arm tightened absently. Aston had a number of vices, and I knew gambling was one of them. What I really wondered was whether this was a new business venture. Dealing in flesh came naturally to Aston.
"There's always money on everything, doll, didn't you know that?" Aston asked. "Of all people, you should know that."
Of all people. Of course I knew that. I was his prized possession, after all.
Standing in the middle of the ring, the announcer looked from one fighter to the other, and then announced "Fight!" before exiting the cage.
The fighters circled each other, each looking for an opportunity to strike. Sweat glistened on the length of their bodies, their sinewy muscles rippling, causing light to glint off them under the dim lights in the warehouse. The bald fighter in the camouflage shorts was turned in my direction, his face revealing that this wasn't the first fight he'd seen.
I couldn't see the other guy's face. But he was tall, lean, and carried thick muscles around his neck and shoulders. The way he stood and moved reminded me of a Muay Thai fighter. His movement was fluid, calculated, and he had a leanness that came from hours and hours of working out. A large tattoo covered his back-an emblem and the words "Inferno Motorcycle Club" at the top. I could see tattoos covering the length of both arms, on his calves, and I wondered if they covered his chest as well.
He sidestepped a sudden onslaught of swings from the man in the camouflage shorts, never stopping his rhythmic movement.
But when he turned, I saw his face. I recognized him, or I thought I did. I squinted at him, staring like an idiot. It wouldn't be him. The odds were astronomically high.
But it was. I was sure of it. It was the man from the casino, the one who had been wearing slacks and a collared shirt, looking every inch the corporate employee. Except for the fact that even then his shirt sleeves had been rolled up to reveal his tattoos. And the look in his eyes that day, when he saw the lashes on my arms, that scared me. There was a darkness there, anger that made me afraid to imagine what was going through his mind.
I held my breath, glanced at Aston to see if he'd noticed. He'd been so far away, that day in the casino, there was no way he'd actually seen the man's face. I waited for Aston to recognize him, but he didn't seem to.
His opponent in the camouflage shorts had managed to work him backwards towards the chain-link of the cage, pushing him against it while striking at it him from the knees. My breath caught in my throat as he took a few shots, then I felt myself exhale as he spun quickly, and backed away.
The crowd threw out a few "boos," expecting more action from the fighters, I supposed. I heard a few of his friends, dressed in leather like the bouncer at the door-bikers- shout. "Come on Hammer, let go already!"
Hammer.
It didn't seem to faze him. He continued to move around the cage, and seemed satisfied to let his opponent bring the fight to him.
He didn't have to wait long.