Grudge Match

by Jessica Gadziala

  And they had seen Kenny fight.

  I was pretty sure there would be a lot of betting against me honestly.

  They would be losing big.

  And the people who bet on me, namely my own fighters and some people in Navesink Bank who maybe had seen me fight as a kid, would be making bank. While Kenny high-tailed it out of town, never to be heard from again. There was no way to save face in a place like Navesink Bank when you lost that kind of match.

  "About sixty-forty for Kenny." I snorted at that, shaking my head. "That confident, huh?"

  "Trust me, Laz. This is a fight I am going to win."

  TWELVE

  Adalind

  A quick computer search told me about all I needed to know about the barracks. Namely that, yes, they were abandoned. They were also in disrepair, some half-dilapidated. And, as my boss informed me, it was often the site of various illegal activities from drug deals to makeshift raves.

  The cops did do patrols down that way, but as I was starting to learn, everyone could be paid off in this town. I didn't know whether to be relieved or upset by this revelation. Relieved because it meant that whatever was going on at the barracks tonight, Ross wouldn't end up behind bars because of it. Upset because, well, no one liked corrupt cops.

  I tried to talk myself out of it for hours.

  It was well after dark when I was sitting in my apartment in jeans, a lightweight black sweatshirt, and sneakers, trying to will myself to stay in place.

  Even all during the drive there, my heart as frantic as a hummingbird's wings, my stomach in knots, I couldn't make myself turn around, go back home, not be that girl.

  I mean, hell, this was borderline stalkerish.

  But what was going on at the barracks that Ross' men all knew about, but he was obviously keeping from me?

  I was just going to drive past, I told myself as I drove past the beach, looking up at the Navesink Bank lights, feeling a fluttering sensation that was immediately followed by a sinking feeling in my belly.

  I was just going to see if I could see from the road what was going on.

  That idea got shot all to hell though five minutes later when I actually got stuck in traffic for people turning into the barracks parking lot.

  I simply followed, turning in where they turned in, parking where they parked. I sat for a long moment, staring at the long buildings that seemed to go on forever, trees growing out of the roofs, windows busted.

  I didn't want to go in there.

  Right?

  But even as I thought that, I was climbing out of my car, carefully tucking my car keys between my fingers, an action that maybe never would have occurred to me before the whole Kenny incident.

  As we walked as a crowd, me hanging back a good couple of yards behind the group in front of me, there were signs.

  Well, sort of.

  There were little glow sticks lining the path, leading past brick building after cement building after lookout towers. Yellow, green, and pink just urging us on into the dark night, blindly trusting it would lead somewhere that, hopefully, led somewhere mildly less creepy.

  I was vaguely aware of one of the guys in the group in front of me declaring, "It's going to be in the Voodoo Bunker." His voice was clear and confident with an edge of excitement.

  I was pretty sure excitement wasn't the normal response to something taking place in a location known as 'The Voodoo Bunker."

  Pee-yourself-worried sounded a bit more appropriate.

  What the hell did that even mean?

  I passed by a sign on one of the walls, the letters old, but with the moon shining down just right, I could make out the words.

  Fort Hancock.

  An old, abandoned army fort couldn't possibly have a voodoo bunker, right? Like, wouldn't the local rangers make sure crazy stuff like that didn't happen?

  Then again, here I was behind a group of ten, following a very obvious glow stick path, no one seeming to feel the need to keep their voices down.

  So I guess the rangers either had something better to do. Or, more likely, were sitting in their office, counting their money.

  "Which way?" one of the guys in front of me asked, all of them at a standstill.

  I stopped as well, my stomach dropping.

  Did the glow stick path stop?

  Were we at the, ah, Voodoo Bunker?

  I took a few steps to the side, looking at what they were all looking at - two separate glow stick paths. One kept leading forward. The other disappeared inside a slightly ajar metal door into a low, dark building.

  "It's a shortcut," one of the guys informed the others, clearly one who had been here before.

  Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, all of them pulled out their phones, flicked on their flashlights, and just went right inside.

  "Come on," a female voice said as she passed me, phone out, but light somewhat low. She was around my age with mermaid hair, tattoos, and a nose piercing. "It's no fun from out here."

  With that, she all but ran inside.

  Feeling maybe mildly less freaked the hell out by seeing a fellow female around, I carefully reached for my phone, took a deep breath, and followed the new path of lights into a low, long building littered with garbage, piles of broken cement and discarded rebar scattered everywhere, just threatening impalement if you so much as lost your footing, promising you would bleed out to a long, agonizing death with nothing to do but stare at the uplifting graffiti on the walls.

  Bitches ain't shit.

  Ronny was here.

  And the coup de grâce.

  My Chemical Romance for lyfe.

  Shining the light mostly downward to avoid aforementioned rebar impalement, I followed the glow sticks down a hall that curved to the left and back where a door opened back up to the outside, this time right in front of the ocean.

  Before me, just a couple of yards ahead, where all the glow sticks led to and ended, was a strange cement trapezoid structure sitting over - or maybe even submerged in - the very edge of the water.

  The sand was piled up high, inviting you forward.

  To the Voodoo Bunker.

  Even the name gave me chills as I forced my legs forward figuring that I had already come this far, I might as well see what was actually going on, what had everyone excited.

  Even if I felt like I was choking on my heart and maybe cursing myself for life for breaking into some kind of, I don't know, voodoo temple or something.

  I worked my way toward the door, slightly brighter than the other building, like maybe lights had been set up, or, possibly, just a group of people were inside with the flashlights on on their phones.

  I turned my own light off, wanting to be inconspicuous as I got to the end of the sand, needing to do a small jump to make it onto a half-rotted wooden step to get inside.

  Taking a deep breath, I followed the sounds of voices inside.

  And immediately understood why it was called the Voodoo Bunker.

  The walls were covered in graffiti, but not the typical mismatched nonsense you saw out in the other buildings.

  No.

  This was carefully done.

  This took hours and hours of uninterrupted work.

  They were bright colors too, like they were kept fresh. Whites, reds, yellows, and blues all outlined in black. There was something almost Aztec about the style. In fact, right to the side of me, one of the pieces looked to be a body strapped to a sacrificial alter surrounded by demonic creatures.

  Impressive, sure.

  But also creepy as all hell.

  And that was just one of dozens of pieces that stretched down the walls of the dome-topped space, seeming to go on forever, long enough to fit an entire damn army inside.

  The floors beyond the opening were all cracked and heaved, making it almost look like some kind of makeshift obstacle course the way it split up and down.

  As far as I could see, people were lining the walls, talking, taking pictures.

 
; Everyone, oddly, keeping away from the center of the space.

  I guess whatever was going on was going to take place there.

  What?

  A strange pop-up concert?

  A party?

  Why was Igor coming?

  He didn't strike me as a dancing man.

  "No, dude, I heard the guys talking about coming earlier to set up," one guy said coming in with his buddies, making me have to take several steps to the side to get out of their way. "They found actual fucking sacrificed chickens inside, throats slit, blood smeared all over in some weird shapes and shit. Crazy."

  Ah.

  Say what?

  Actual animal sacrifice?

  Yeah, okay.

  I was so going to be cursed for coming, wasn't I?

  I was going to end up with some rash that wouldn't go away. Some hideous mole that would sprout hair and prove inoperable. Complete alopecia. Sure, I wouldn't have to shave my legs anymore, but no thanks!

  I was pretty much ready to call it a failed adventure, chalk it up to temporary insanity brought on by too-strong of feelings about a new guy, and drive myself back home where I was going to try really, really hard not to think about the reality of animal sacrifices.

  But then there was someone yelling as a huge group of young guys moved inside.

  And who was leading that group, you might be wondering?

  Yeah.

  That would be Kenny.

  My blood immediately went cold as I watched them move toward the center, some jumping up and down, yelling Kenny's name over and over again.

  My eyes moved around, looking for some sign of what this was. Finding none, I decided this was a really, really good time to get my butt out of here.

  I definitely didn't want to be anywhere near Kenny and a bunch of his two-celled friends while they were hyping up for something.

  No way, no how.

  That seemed to scream out trouble for me no matter which way the situation was twisted.

  I had just turned to go to the door when another crowd came in, this one not rowdy at all. In fact, they were eerily silent. And in being so, made the entire bunker go quiet as well.

  But that wasn't what had my heart seizing in my chest.

  No.

  That was because, first, I saw Igor. Then the other guy, Lazarus, who had walked me to my car. And then another guy who had been at Hex, wearing a jacket like Laz had been as well. Not a fashion statement, as Ross had laughingly told me over dinner. They were bikers. As in, the illegal kind.

  But if Igor, Laz, and the other guy - all people from Hex - were here.

  Then...

  Even as the thought formed, my eyes fell on his profile.

  And I finally understood what this was.

  It wasn't a concert.

  Or a party.

  Oh, no.

  Everyone was here for a fight.

  Between Kenny and Ross.

  Oh, God.

  They were going to fight because of me? Because of what happened to me? That was, well, insane. I didn't want anyone - especially Ross - getting hurt because of something that he couldn't have stopped in the first place.

  Ross looked different right then too.

  Shed of his usual suit - another of his shields, I was convinced - dressed only in a tee that he stripped off when he got to the center of the room and a pair of bottoms just like Kenny, he seemed almost like another man entirely.

  It was in the fierce set of his jaw, in the stubbornly raised chin, in the tension that seemed to be overtaking every inch of his body, culminating in tightly curled fists down at his sides.

  His body too was intimidating. You could tell that the men around him had no idea what was underneath his usual suits, his normally buttoned-up, expensive attire. Even Laz and Igor looked taken aback at the sheer number of scars across his skin and, of course, the very prominent bullet wound scar on his shoulder.

  I swear you could feel everyone who had bet against him's thoughts right then.

  Shit, I put my money on the wrong guy.

  Looking at them now, stripped of all their usual clothes, just standing there as fighters in basketball pants, there was no way you would put your money on Kenny. To begin with, Ross was taller and wider. Even his hands looked stronger than Kenny's hands. And the scars spoke of some past they knew nothing about, but the proof was plain that it was brutal and violent.

  I didn't see a single scar on Kenny's skin.

  Both men sized each other up as their crowds moved away, and another voice rose from the crowd, loud, like an announcer.

  I didn't recognize him - tall, mostly gray-haired, and good-looking, dressed in a suit much like what Ross always wore, looking way too snazzy for a Voodoo Bunker in an abandoned fort near the ocean.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, bets are now suspended," he called out, making a few people who knew how badly they screwed up grumble. "Tonight, we have a special treat for you. It's been a long time since I have had the privilege to host a grudge match. Too long, in fact," he said, looking around at the crowd, everything about him enigmatic, drawing you in, making you strain somehow to hear every last word. "For those who don't know me, my name is Xavier Cooper. I have been hosting fights all around New Jersey since most of you were still pissing in diapers and begging for the tit. Though, from the looks of you disheveled fucks," he said, shaking his head at the hoodies and jeans the younger generation wore that he clearly disapproved of, "you must all still be begging for a glance of a tit."

  There was a chuckle at that, making Xavier's lips curve up toward his dark eyes.

  "Now, tonight, I have the honor of introducing you all to someone you likely only know as the owner of Hex, the place that has all but put me out of business," he said, giving Ross a head shake, but he was clearly fond of him. "What many of you might not know was that once upon a time, back when he was a young and hungry boy of maybe eighteen or nineteen, Ross Ward was one of my best fighters."

  You could literally hear everyone draw in their breath at that information. Even Kenny seemed to lose a bit of his bravado.

  "And tonight, he has a grudge to settle against one of his own fighters, Kenny Depta who, allegedly, sucker punched a woman outside of Hex, leaving her bleeding behind a dumpster."

  At that, there was a murmur of anger, people who didn't know the story clearly pissed that they had been duped into putting money on his woman-beating ass.

  And though I knew no one knew I was there, it somehow felt like people were looking at me, like they knew I was the bleeding woman, like they knew this was all because of me.

  "Alright, alright," Xavier said, waving a hand around. "Like I said, it was allegedly. No charges have been filed. But, well, let's just say we have it from a pretty good source - the woman herself - that this was what happened. And in my experience, contrary to popular belief, women don't tend to cry wolf over things like this. Now, see, that is bad for business as a whole. But to add to the drama tonight, I feel I must add, Ross Ward has now claimed this woman as his own. And he wants blood."

  There was a murmur of approval from the crowd, all except maybe Kenny's friends who were all puffed-up in the chest, tense in the jaw, clearly pissed that Kenny was being painted the bad guy. Even though he clearly was the bad guy.

  "For those new to matches, here are the rules. There are no rules. No shots are off-limits. There are no breaks or rounds. Tap-out or knockout is the only end to a fight. And without further ado," he said, and both Ross and Kenny moved forward, closer to each other on the uneven ground. "Fight!" he demanded, moving quickly backward toward my direction where Laz and Igor had moved in to keep a close eye.

  "You, I've been watching you," Xavier said, his booming voice carrying over to me even as the first whack of fist on skin made my entire body jolt like it landed on me as well, even though I couldn't quite see who threw or who took that hit.

  "Me?" the man who had the other biker jacket on asked, brows half-raised.

  "Pagan, I
hear you called. Where were you when I needed someone with that much bloodthirst?"

  "Me?" Pagan asked, smirking. "I was drinking five-hundred dollar bottles of booze out of my father's library."

  They all laughed.

  But I was pretty sure he was actually telling the truth. There had been a strange bite to his words that you didn't typically have if you were joking around.

  The men parted again, conversation clearly over, as they turned to watch the fight.

  It gave me just enough space to see between their bodies, to watch as Kenny cocked back, swooped low, and slammed a fist into Ross' side, making Ross hiss and fall back a step, his ankle scraping against the jagged, uneven floor, and I watched as blood started trickling down, seemingly unnoticed by Ross.

  I hadn't been aware of it, but I must have gasped, because the group in front of me turned, and Laz's air sighed out of him.

  "Sweetheart, what the hell are you doing here?"

  "I told you to forget I said anything," Igor told me, shaking his head.

  "Right, like that was going to happen," Laz snorted. "You don't want to see this. Let me walk you back to your car."

  My head was shaking even as I saw Ross take another hit before charging forward at Kenny.

  "He's doing this because of me," I said, like it explained everything.

  "Mostly, yeah. But it doesn't mean you have to watch. And he's gonna have all our asses if he finds out we saw you here, and didn't make you leave."

  "Well that's--" I trailed off as Ross landed a fist that sent Kenny literally spinning, but the force made Ross stagger back, his foot falling off the end of a particularly low break in the rocks, making him slam down on one knee just as Kenny got his bearings again, and came charging forward.

  "You can breathe, darling," Xavier informed me, voice calm as could be. "I've seen him in hundreds of fights. No way is he going down this early. And no way is he going down at all when this is about more than money."

  Then, as he predicted, Ross got up, doing so while swinging, landing an uppercut that had blood spurting out of Kenny's mouth.