by Payge Galvin
“No, it’s not— I know him.”
“You mean you want to know him. There’s a difference, girlie. Best remember that and take a word of advice. You’re wasting your time. But if you want to waste your money, too?” She held out her hand again.
Jess took out her wallet and Declan’s phone. “This is his. He left it in the car, and he just got a call that I think could be important. I’m not trying to avoid paying.” She handed the woman a twenty. “I just need to give him a message. Can you get it to him? Please?”
The woman eyed her and the phone. “All right. Keep your money, but I can’t pass on a message. He’s in the ring. I can tell someone to let him know afterward, but if it’s urgent, best thing is for you to give it to him yourself. Can’t go ringside, though. Head on upstairs to watch, then go down when he’s finished.”
“Thanks.”
“Take the first left and go up the stairs. If anyone stops you, tell them Rita said you should watch from the box seats. Follow the hall until you see the balcony and find yourself a spot along there.”
Jess followed the directions. She encountered one guard at the bottom of the stairs, but she barely got as far as “Rita said—” before he moved out of the way.
“Turn right at the top,” he said.
She hesitated. “Rita—”
“Frat-boy assholes on the left. Go right.”
She thanked him and ascended the stairs. From the top, she could hear the hoots and hollers of the frat boys. Quickly she ducked right. She seemed to be up in the rafters, walking on planks. When the noise below grew deafening, she looked left to see a makeshift balcony. Across the way were more sections of balcony. Apparently, these were the “box seats.” There were no actual seats and the railing looked like it would give way with one hard shove. She gingerly approached the edge and looked down to see…
A cage?
That’s what it looked like. A metal cage maybe ten-feet square. Rows of bleachers surrounded it, though hardly anyone was sitting. The spectators were all on their feet, yelling and stomping and gesturing.
I’m in the wrong place.
She had to be. This was some kind of animal act, and from the way people were shouting, she was afraid to take a closer look in that cage. A dog fight was her guess, and she definitely didn’t want to see that. Yet she didn’t hear growls and snarls. She heard the thwack of fist hitting flesh and finally looked down to see a man in the cage. A blond mountain of a man, covered in tattoos and blood.
Not a dog fight. A human fight. In a cage.
Jess swallowed. As she took a step back, she caught sight of the other fighter, a smaller man, nearly hidden by his opponent’s bulk. What she could see was the tattoo on his right biceps. From here, it only looked like red splotches, almost indistinguishable from the blood spatters, but with one glance, she knew that splotch was a lion. Declan’s tattoo.
Jess gripped the railing and strained to see better, telling herself she had to be mistaken. Declan boxed. This was not boxing. This was fighting in a cage, like an animal. That’s what it looked like, too. Animals going at each other, punching and kicking, scrabbling for a hold. No rules. No limits. Like dogs trapped in a cage, fighting to the death.
Declan’s opponent went for his hair. For a second, it seemed Declan didn’t see it coming, but before the guy could grab a fistful of hair, Declan feinted and snagged his feet and the big man went down. Jess leaned over the railing. Declan stomped the man on the ground. Stomped him hard enough that Jess fell back, wincing, and the movement caught his attention. He looked up. And saw her.
The guy under him grabbed his leg. Jess shot to the railing, leaning over and crying, “No!” Laughter erupted from across the way, the frat boys, watching her, laughing. Laughing at the silly girl.
Declan started to tumble as his opponent wrenched his leg, but he managed to grab the cage bars and avoid going down. He glanced up again, looking for her, and when he saw her, he faltered a little. The big man grabbed him by the shoulders and wrenched him away from the bars.
“Jess?”
A voice behind her, sounding out of breath. She turned and the first thing she saw was the hoodie of the guy she’d spotted searching the parking lot. Only now the hood was lowered. It was a young man, maybe Declan’s age, taller, dark skin, a shaved head. Which made him…
“Troy,” he said before she could open her mouth.
He strode past her and looked down, then whispered, “Shit.”
Declan had recovered from the throw, but he was glancing up again, searching for her. Troy motioned that he was taking Jess downstairs. Then he turned to Jess.
“Wave,” he said. “Smile if you can.”
She hesitated. “I…”
“He’s in the middle of a fight, and if he’s distracted, that gorilla is going to—”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
She moved toward the railing. Troy propelled her closer, leaning down to whisper. “Pretend everything’s okay. Yeah, I know it’s not. Just pretend for his sake.”
She waved. She didn’t smile—it’d be so strained that it would be worse than not smiling at all. So she fixed on a neutral expression and motioned that she was going downstairs with Troy. Declan nodded and turned away just in time to duck a punch and slam the other guy with an uppercut.
“Good,” Troy murmured as he steered her into the hall. “Let’s hope he keeps it together now. And if he doesn’t it’s his own damn fault.”
She looked back at Troy, questioning, but he only shook his head. “I couldn’t find the damned car. Declan was distracted and got into the ring without telling me where the hell he parked. There’s another lot he usually uses, and I checked it and then the main lot, which is packed…”
“I saw you looking. I just… I misinterpreted.”
He shot her a wry smile. “Big black guy in a hoodie checking out cars?”
“I only saw the hoodie and the car-checking.”
He nodded. “Fair enough. Also fair enough that you got spooked and headed inside.”
Jess shook her head. “That wasn’t it. I came in because Declan left his phone and his brother called.”
Troy tensed and stopped short. “Ciaran? Is something wrong?”
“He didn’t leave a message.”
“Shit! Okay. Let’s get you to the dressing room and call him back.”
Chapter 8
Jess
Troy convinced Jess to phone Ciaran back herself.
“He knows me, but we’ve never met in person,” he said. “If he’s in trouble, it’ll be better if he hears a woman’s voice.”
“You think he is in trouble then.”
“Let’s just play it safe and call.”
They went down another hall in silence. Then Jess said, “It’s his father, isn’t it? Ciaran’s dad. Declan’s stepdad. Declan never said exactly what the problem is at home, but I’m guessing that’s it. Physical abuse?”
“Not with Ciaran. Well, no more than cuffing him now and then. Deck’s just worried about… it getting worse.”
“Because it was with him.” She hurried on, “I’m not asking you to confirm that. Just… So I know what to expect when I call. If it’s abuse, it would be physical.”
“Yeah and maybe…” Troy shook his head. “Just call. Once he’s calm, I’ll talk to him.”
Troy took her into Declan’s “dressing room,” which was little more than a closet-sized stall with a shower. She sat on the bench and hit Call Back on Declan’s phone. It rang once. Twice. Her gut clenched with each unanswered ring and then—
“Hey, Deck,” a boy’s voice answered.
“It’s not Declan,” Jess said. “I’m a friend of his. Jess. He’s… boxing. I’m with Troy, and I saw you called, and I thought I should call back in case it was important.”
“Are you his girlfriend?”
“No, just a friend. Is everything all right, Ciaran?”
“Sure. I was just calling to tell him we need to switch
our weekends, ‘cause I’m going to a birthday party next Saturday, and I was kinda hoping I could come up there the weekend after instead of him coming here, ‘cause there’s a Minecraft con in Phoenix.”
“Right, the game. He said you play it. Is there anything else? Is anything wrong?”
As the silence stretched, Jess clutched the phone tighter. “Ciaran? Do you want to talk to Troy about it?”
“Nah. It’s just Spanish.”
“You’re taking Spanish already?”
“I’m in special classes ‘cause I do good in school. Just not in Spanish. I got a C.”
“Are you… in trouble because of it?”
“Trouble?”
“I know my dad used to ground me for a week if I got anything less than a B-plus.”
Ciaran laughed. “My dad doesn’t care if I even go to school. He says it’s not important. Deck’s the one who says it is. But he’s not going to get mad over a C. It’s just that he’s been helping me with my Spanish and he promised me a weekend there if I got a B. I tried, but… I really hate Spanish.”
“The prepositions always got me. I still can’t figure them out.”
“No kidding. It sucks. Science is much easier.”
“Agreed. Math and science all the way for me.”
“You like math? Girls usually don’t.”
Jess smiled. “Then you’re hanging out with the wrong girls, because plenty of them do. As for the Spanish test, I’m sure you can convince Declan to let you come over for that Minecraft con. Just tell him you need to come to Arizona so you two can practice what you’re learning and that will help your grades.”
Ciaran laughed. “That’s a good idea.”
“Okay, then. I’m going to pass you over to Troy so he can say hi. It was nice talking to you, Ciaran. I’m glad everything’s okay there.”
She passed the phone to Troy, who spoke with Ciaran for a few minutes. When he hung up, he shook his head. “Ah, to be ten again, when a bad test mark is a crisis.”
“I guess I overreacted,” she said.
“Nah. If I’d seen him calling, I’d have done the same. Can’t be too careful.”
Troy pocketed Declan’s phone and sat beside Jess on the bench.
“What you just saw in there, Jess?” He pointed back toward the arena. “It’s about Ciaran. I’m telling you because Deck won’t. He’ll make up some lame excuse and it’ll lead to some big misunderstanding about what he’s doing in that ring—a pointless misunderstanding.”
“He’s earning extra money so he can get custody of Ciaran.”
Troy looked over, as if surprised.
She forced a weak smile. “It was a shot in the dark, but that look tells me I’m right.”
“Yeah.”
“He earns a lot of money in there then? Enough to be worth…” She tried not to shudder as she glanced toward the arena. “Sorry. I shouldn’t say that. I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looks. It’s staged, right? Like WWE?”
Troy said, “Sure,” but after enough of a pause that Jess said, “It’s not staged, is it?”
“It’s… not as bad as it looks. There’s some staging for the audience. Hitting to get blood spatter and that sort of thing.”
“Because they want to see blood.”
“Yeah. Basically, folks who come to watch this want to see a couple guys beat the shit out of each other. Which is why Declan would never have brought you in. He’ll probably act like he’s fine with it, because he wouldn’t want you feeling bad for him, and meanwhile, you’d be thinking, ‘What kind of Neanderthal likes that sort of thing?’”
“I wouldn’t have thought that. I was just confused. It wasn’t what I expected from Declan.”
Troy relaxed. “Good. Because a lot of people would. Guy boxes, shoots, barely got his high school diploma. This is what they’d expect of him. It sure as hell is what…” He shook his head and got to his feet. “I’ve said enough. Just… maybe ask him who got him into this. He’ll bob and weave and duck the question, but if you make him answer, it’ll explain a lot.”
He tilted his head as if listening. Then he walked to the door and opened it. In the distance, the crowd was roaring. After a moment, that roar coalesced into a chant. Declan’s name.
“We have a winner,” Troy said.
Jess exhaled a sigh of relief. She’d been worried that she’d thrown him off his game. Even without the distraction, he’d been up against an opponent twice his size. When she said as much, Troy screwed up his face. “Nah. Like I said, part of it’s show. Which doesn’t mean that bruiser wasn’t giving it all he’s got, but this isn’t a boxing match, where you’re matched up with guys of your size and ability. That guy’s an amateur. It’s like pitting an expert marksman against some guy who shoots beer cans in his backyard. Now, if you can wait here, I’ll go congratulate our winner.”
Jess rose and stepped after him. “Can I come? I’d like to congratulate him, too.”
“If it was a boxing match or a shooting tourney? Absolutely. Nothing would make him happier. But this?” Troy shook his head. “He won’t want you being proud of him for this.”
“Okay,” she said. “And thanks.”
He nodded and went to get Declan.
Chapter 9
Declan
Jess was here. She’d seen him. He’d looked up and he’d spotted her in the box seats, and no matter how far away she’d been, he’d seen her expression as clearly as if she’d been standing in front of him. Absolute horror etched on every feature.
He’d fumbled then. Fumbled a few times. He couldn’t help it. All he’d been able to think was, “Jess is watching.” Watching in horror, and if he could have walked out of the cage then, he’d have done it. Forfeited the fight. Forfeited the money he’d given Troy to wager on him. Listened to the audience’s boos and catcalls. Listened to Barb, later, raging at him that he’d just set his career back six months and he’d better damned well not expect her to set up another match for him before Christmas.
He’d have regretted it later, but he’d still have run out and explained before Jess took off and refused to speak to him ever again. Leaving the cage wasn’t an option, though. That’s when Troy had shown up—finally, goddamn him—and Jess had motioned that she’d wait. That’s what let him finish the bout. It was also what let him win it, despite his distraction. He’d wanted to get the damned thing over with so he could get to Jess before she changed her mind.
Finally, it ended. He’d won. And for the first time, he didn’t spend that moment post-bout standing in the middle of the cage, looming over his opponent. The audience loved that, Barb always said. Unlike other fighters, he didn’t hoot and holler and pump his fists and cheer. He stood in silent victory. To the men, it bolstered his rep as the strong, silent type. To the women, it made him look dangerous and intense. Taking a moment to contemplate his win, before walking out of the cage. Except that wasn’t what he was doing at all. He was calculating. He took that final moment to figure out how much he’d won—from the bout and the bet—and how much closer it brought him to his goal. That was his ritual. One moment, bloodied and bruised and battered, to remind himself why he did this.
Tonight, he headed straight for the door. Barb met him there. A tiny woman in her sixties, she organized the bouts and officially had no interest in the fighters themselves, but she acted more like Declan’s manager. As long as she didn’t expect to be paid a manager’s wage, he was happy enough to be taken under her wing. Tonight, when he started heading out, she blocked the exit and gave him a look that said he’d forgotten his ritual.
“Next time,” he grunted as he sidestepped her.
“What’s with you tonight?” she said, following him. “You’ve been distracted since you got here.”
“Still won, didn’t I? And you’re always telling me I finish them off too fast.”
She grunted. “You’re lucky he didn’t finish you off. Something’s up. Better not be a girl.”
Troy showed up t
hen, pushing through the ringside crowd. Declan grabbed the towel from him and kept walking.
“He’s distracted,” Barb said to Troy.
“I know.”
“It’s not a girl, is it?”
“It is.”
“Shit.”
Declan scowled at Troy as he caught up. “Thanks a helluva lot.”
“Better to admit it before she finds out there’s a girl waiting in your dressing room.”
“You left Jess there?”
“I locked her in so she can’t escape.”
Declan snorted and put his hand out to clear a path through the crowd. This was the part he hated almost as much as the actual fight. In boxing, spectators let the fighters depart in dignity. Here, Barb was all about giving the folks what they wanted. Including the chance to get up close and personal with the combatants. The congratulations and high-fives made Declan uncomfortable, but he accepted them politely. It was the grabbing he hated. Guys grabbing his arms, giving what he guessed was supposed to look like a friendly clasp, but really testing his strength. Women also grabbed, and not his arms either. Guys sometimes did, too, but they were more discreet—this wasn’t the sort of crowd that wanted to see that. Declan didn’t care who was grabbing him—it was equally unwelcome.
Troy cleared the way as best he could. Declan kept his arm out, as if nicely gesturing for people to step aside, but not above using his elbow for encouragement. Someone smacked his ass. Someone else rubbed his thigh. He didn’t even look to see who had done it. They were almost at the exit when a girl younger than Jess stepped in front of him and flashed her boobs.
He looked away fast and snarled, “Have some self-respect,” and everyone laughed, and he felt bad about that—he didn’t mean to humiliate the kid.
As they passed into the dressing room hall, the guard stepped in to block their rear. Declan thought of the girl, then about earlier, in Jess’s townhouse. About the self-defense lesson that had seemed to be heading in a whole other direction until that damned Walker tried to break in.
Engaging in a little one-on-one with Jess was fine fantasy fodder. That’s why he’d worn his jeans instead of something less constricting—so she wouldn’t see exactly how much he enjoyed their lesson. But she’d enjoyed it too. He was certain of that. She’d been into it enough that he was fairly sure, if he asked her out, while she might not jump at the chance, she might not turn him down flat either.
