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.

There was nothing tasteful about watching two men fight. It was especially grim when they were surrounded by a wall of screaming people with no way out. It was dirty and amateur, and not a thing about it was safe, but that’s why they were so popular. The crowd lapped this shit up with hungry eyes.

Maybe it was that I feared he’d get injured seriously, or maybe it was because I had a clear view to the impending chaos that was about to start – whatever was the reason, my nerves skyrocketed and a thrilling feeling coursed through my body. The anticipation was absolutely brutal. I couldn’t hold still as I watched Heath make his way to the centre of the circle where the steroid injector met him.

So immersed in the size difference between them, I zoned out completely. The noise level fell away. I focused solely on Heath’s impressive torso and the slight movement of his head as he waited for the referee to signal the start of the fight. His eyes were bright and wide, and his skin already sweaty from the humid air. He was calm and steady, and the slight flash of his relaxed face in my direction told me of his confidence, especially when he winked at a few girls.

Then, without warning, it began with a punch across his face.

*

There were very few moments in my life that I could remember feeling like I was on the edge of my seat. My world had always been a safe one. I had two religious parents that had stressed the importance of education in our poverty stricken lives; both of them combined resulted in strict parenting that kept me sheltered for most of my upbringing. I had gone about my days according to schedule, and the predictability had dulled my joy in life.

That was until my father’s depression came to light when he took his life away three years ago. He was found hanged in the woods with a suicide note. It had been a shock to Mom and me, and we were suddenly facing the world in dire circumstances. While we’d never been super comfortable money-wise, my father had always made sure we had just enough to make it by. Without him, we were struggling. She lost the plot and took her faith to extremes, and I was virtually on my own in my suffering. It was like stepping out of a cage in the middle of the jungle, alone. Safety was immediately stripped from you, and you had nobody to depend on but yourself. But when Ryker came to pick up the pieces, it took away the pressure in life and I was halfway out of that cage. He’d helped me cope and never left my side, providing me with the kind of trust I had never second guessed.

Until he broke my heart by doing what he did.

It was only until now, standing in this derelict warehouse, that I began to really see and feel things I never did before. Like what would it be like if you gambled the last of your money away on an outcome you couldn’t control? The excitement stemmed from the unpredictability – and not just in the fight, but in everything Hedley had to offer. It was a dark and cold place where people were desperate for money – so desperate, in fact, they resorted to fighting like this.

It was fascinating.

I watched people scream “Lawson” over and over again as he recovered immediately from the punch across the face. He shook his head almost as if to regain clarity and moved away from the large opponent I quickly learned was aptly named Tank.

Without realizing it, I was holding my breath and wincing at every punch thrown from both opponents. Sometimes they hit air, and other times they hit flesh. And the sound of grunts and heavy panting so close to me only added to the reality of the fight. I wasn’t watching some movie, detached but attentive. This was real, and I was more emotionally invested than I thought I could ever be.

Then again, this was Heath, a man who, up until a short while ago, I’d seen almost every day. My eyes were glued to him. I watched the skilful way in which he moved; fluidly, without one misstep as he dodged Tank and found the most inopportune moments to send a punch across the massive man’s face and ribs. These were strong, perfectly aimed hits that you could actually hear amid the screams. Heath had a damn good fist and he was strong as hell. Some things never change.

It wasn’t long before I realized something. Heath was taller, leaner and lighter on his feet. Tank, on the other hand, was all bulk, moving slower than him. Heath might as well have been running laps around the large man. Soon, Tank was out of breath, swinging tiredly at him while turning redder in the face. Steroids may have helped him look like a Gladiator, but it served absolutely no purpose in his cardio longevity. And when Heath stepped in more and more, closing the distance, I was left gobsmacked.

Because he had this.

The win was on him.

The crowd went berserk as they watched him attack Tank. Punch after punch after punch… And then an uppercut that sent the man tumbling back, falling gracelessly. The blood erupted out of Tank’s face long before his back slammed hard on the ground below. Mists of blood and sweat mingled in the air around him.

The room went quiet. For a moment, eyes descended on the unmoving form lying unconsciously at Heath’s feet. And when that moment passed, it was filled with cheers and screams.

And I just stood there. Shocked.

Heath wasn’t smug about his win. I’d seen others flaunting their egos while swearing down at their opponent and yelling, “Who’s the man?” to everyone around them. But instead, Heath just stood there too, wiping the sweat off his face with the back of his hand. His chest rose and fell and rose and fell, until he finally caught his breath. There was a hollow, blank expression planted there on his face, and those eyes seemed distant and cool as they travelled around the room.

When Heath got into his zone, he was scary. I wasn’t even sure he registered what he was looking at. He fought from within and it took him far away from the present.

Everyone surrounded him, shouting their praises, patting him everywhere. I pushed through the dispersing crowd, knowing it was pointless getting his attention now. Invisible as always, I hurried out of there without a problem.

Two

Allie

I was waiting by his truck when the warehouse exploded with bodies flooding out of the doors. Loud chatter and excited hoots filled the air as they went to their cars, or down the sidewalks in groups. I clutched the strap of my backpack filled with my belongings with one hand and faced the truck. I stared at the body, remembering the summer Ryker and Heath had spent getting it to work. It was old, but the body was strong, and according to Heath, “A manual can always be saved.”

I didn’t know anything about cars, but I watched them for hours, sweating up a storm under the scorching sun, swearing and tearing apart bits and pieces. The brothers fought nonstop, especially when Heath – an apprentice mechanic that was very familiar with cars – kept trying to get Ryker to do as he was told. I didn’t want to tell Ryker that his brother realistically knew more than him, so I’d watched the argument unfold acting like a bystander.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Ryker had yelled, throwing a wrench on the ground.

“I’m your big brother,” retorted Heath.

“By a whopping eighteen months, dickhead. That don’t mean shit.”

“Yeah, well I’m bigger than your punk ass, so shut your fucking head up and do as you’re told!”