Exposure (The Fringe Book 2)

by Tarah Benner

  “Working.” There’s a hard edge to his voice I’ve never heard before, and it shocks me more than him weighing in on the Lenny-flipping-off-Seamus incident. He’s usually easygoing and friendly, but tonight he’s all business.

  “You two here to see Parker fight?” he yells over the noise, looking from me to Lenny.

  “Yeah.”

  Blaze grimaces. “You shouldn’t have come. He’s not going to walk away from this one.”

  Panic claws its way up my throat, making my voice go weak. “What do you mean?”

  He glances over my shoulder. “Shane called in a fighter from retirement.”

  That doesn’t sound as bad as Blaze seems to think it is, but I’m briefly distracted by his mention of Shane.

  “How do you know Shane?” I ask.

  “He’s my dad.”

  I didn’t see that coming.

  “Last call for bets!” someone shouts nearby.

  In a panic, I wave over the scraggly-looking man and beam a hundred credits to his interface on Eli.

  “Did you just bet on him?” Lenny asks slyly, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

  I nod and try to get my breathing under control. I want to ask Blaze more about the fighter and Shane, but he’s already disappeared into the crowd.

  “I kind of thought you’d want to see him get his ass beat,” Lenny shouts at me. “I heard he’s been riding you hard.”

  “What?” I splutter, feeling my face heat up.

  “In training,” she says, pausing to cheer and clap her hands in the air. “I heard he’s been rough on you.”

  “Oh.” My stomach does an uncomfortable flip. I keep forgetting I’m supposed to hate Eli. It’s a strange thought to consider when my insides are squirming with fear for his life. “He’s not so bad.”

  I expect someone to come over a microphone to announce Eli and the other fighter, but the match is less organized than I imagined. There’s no announcement, but I know the second the other fighter enters.

  The crowd goes wild, dissolving into a storm of cheers and screams.

  Because he’s a few inches taller, I see this guy’s head before I saw Eli’s. As he steps through the crowd, the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach intensifies.

  Eli’s opponent is a gigantic mass of muscle and tattoos. He has light brown skin, a shiny bald head, and watchful black eyes. He’s probably only about five years older than Eli, but his weathered face and the jagged scar under his eye add a good decade to his appearance. He’s wearing a look of pure hatred and bloodlust.

  I always thought Eli was well built and strong, but he’s nothing compared to this guy. He can’t possibly be in Eli’s weight class.

  Craning my neck to see over the crowd, I catch a glimpse of Miles. He’s standing beside the ring in Eli’s corner, and he looks much more nervous than he should.

  Completely forgetting that I came here with Lenny, I start fighting my way through the crowd toward him.

  The spectators have squished together, craning their necks to get a good look at the other fighter, so I have to stomp on a few feet and elbow people in the side to get to Miles.

  By the time I reach Eli’s corner, the other fighter is climbing into the ring. He has a pair of fiendish wings tattooed across his back and ink to spare spanning across his chest and shoulders.

  Eli is facing him, moving his feet and rolling his shoulders to stay loose. Judging by his rigid back, it isn’t working.

  The other man sneers, and the thin mustache over his lip quivers. He flexes, and his pecs ripple as though he’s teasing Eli.

  “Miles!” I pant, tugging on his arm. He’s dressed down tonight in athletic shorts and a tight T-shirt, but he still looks pretty intimidating.

  He jerks around quickly — almost as though he expects a fight himself — but relaxes when he sees me.

  “You shouldn’t have come, Riley,” he says. “This isn’t gonna go well for him.”

  “Don’t say that! You’re supposed to be encouraging him!”

  “No, I’m supposed to keep him alive in there, and Shane just made my job a lot harder.”

  “Who is that guy?”

  “Angel Lopez.” Miles’s eyes narrow. “They call him the Death Angel. Eli used to fight his brother, but Angel’s been in the cages for two years.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.” Miles glances up at Angel. “You could say that.”

  The ref steps between the two fighters, and the crowd erupts into a storm of boos and cheers.

  Across the room, I can see Blaze and some other men trying to push people away from the ring, but they’re too excited for this fight.

  Eli steps into the center to hear what the ref is saying, looking as though he’s about to witness his own execution. His body is completely motionless, but I can tell every part of him is thrumming with anticipation.

  I can’t hear what the ref is saying, but I already know the rules: No kicks to the groin, no eye gouges, no rabbit punches, no biting. Pretty much anything else is fair game.

  Angel squares off against him, and Eli rolls his body into his fighting stance. A spark of animosity flashes between them, and Angel’s mustache quivers as he sneers.

  A bell rings, and he springs into action.

  Suddenly I understand why blind fights are so dangerous: Eli knows nothing about Angel’s style. He has no idea what Angel is going to do, but he doesn’t have to wait long to find out.

  As though someone let him off the leash, Angel flies forward with two jabs and a wild right hook. Eli is quick to protect himself, but Angel’s fist still barrels into his arm with bone-crushing strength.

  I cringe, but it doesn’t seem to faze Eli. He throws out a punch so fast Angel never saw it coming. It bounces off his nose, but Angel just tosses him an evil smile.

  They circle each other, and I can tell Eli isn’t giving Angel as much room as he should. He’s much more agile, but Angel moves with speed I never would have expected from a man his size. He isn’t scared of Eli — that much is clear. He’s enjoying this.

  Angel throws a jab. Eli slips to the left. He comes over with a cross, but Eli blocks the worst of it. Angel aims a strike at Eli’s liver, but he’s already dropped his elbow to his hip to absorb the blow. Angel releases another vicious hook, and Eli ducks.

  At first, I think he’s just going to evade Angel’s blows all night, but then I realize Eli’s waiting for him to make a mistake.

  Angel’s hits are packed with power, which means every movement is huge.

  I vaguely remember Eli making me watch Bear’s strikes in training, and suddenly, it feels as though I’m watching the fight through Eli’s eyes — analyzing Angel’s movements, choreographing my next strike.

  When the Death Angel goes in for a hook, he winds his arm way back.

  Eli takes the shot. He throws a punch at Angel’s dead side. He’s completely undefended, and Eli’s glove sinks into his face and knocks him back.

  The crowd screams, and I know many of them were probably waiting for the great Eli Parker to make a comeback. There’s no question he’s a phenomenal fighter: fast, agile, and patient.

  Once he finds his stride, he starts picking Angel apart. Angel may be bigger, but Eli is more skilled. His eyes miss nothing, and he starts taking more risks — lunging in for a jab to the body and setting up a quick succession of hooks and uppercuts.

  I can tell he’s poked the sleeping giant, and when Angel lets out a feral growl, a jolt of fear shoots through me.

  Eli gets tangled up with Angel on his next hook, and he can’t get out of the way fast enough to avoid a nasty cross.

  The bell rings, signaling the end of the first round, and the ref shoots forward to push the fighters apart.

  There’s no need. Eli is already backing into his corner. Miles climbs up, and I stick my head between the ropes for a better view. Miles mops the sweat off Eli’s face, and Eli’s eyes widen in surprise when he sees me.

  “What are you doi
ng here?” he pants around his mouth guard.

  My mouth falls open, but I’m unable to form a response with all the thoughts flying around in my head.

  “What’s she doing here?” he asks Miles, a little dazed and apparently pissed off that I showed up.

  “She’s probably hoping to see you get your ass kicked,” says Miles. “You’ve knocked her around the ring enough.”

  “Well, you may get what you came for,” Eli mutters, taking a swig of water.

  The look in his eyes is terrifying: murderous, but afraid.

  “What are you doing?” I shout.

  “What I have to do.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. Even though he’s doing okay in the fight, it doesn’t take a genius to see that he’s bitten off more than he can chew with Angel.

  The break ends, and Miles helps Eli to his feet and climbs down.

  Eli and Angel square off again, and the bell rings.

  Within five seconds, I can tell this round isn’t going to be anything like the first. The break seems to have given Angel renewed energy. He looks meaner, hungrier, and a little unhinged. He’s grinning at Eli in a creepy way, sweat beading on his mocha skin and sliding off his tattoos.

  The two circle each other, and Angel throws a few fakes to distract Eli. Eli doesn’t take the bait, and when Angel releases a devastating hook to the body, Eli steps in to absorb the force of the blow.

  They trade punches back and forth, and Eli manages to counter every one of Angel’s worst hits.

  Growing annoyed, he comes at Eli for real. His punches are powerful, but Eli seems to know everything Angel’s going to do before he does. When Eli takes an opening to throw an uppercut, Angel’s head flies back.

  Eli doesn’t waste the opportunity. He grabs Angel around the neck and uses the leverage to drive his knee into his abdomen with puke-inducing force.

  Angel buckles — folding in on himself — and Eli twists around to capture him in a headlock. Angel rolls his head into Eli’s side, but not before Eli’s gotten two good punches in.

  For such a large man, Angel is surprisingly flexible. He twists his body around and throws his weight to the ground. Eli’s strong, but he can’t withstand that much dead weight on his injured leg. His knee buckles, and they both go down.

  Eli lands on top, but Angel uses his weight to throw him.

  Suddenly their roles are reversed.

  I hear myself half groan, half yelp as he winds up for a punch. His fist connects with Eli’s face, and his glove comes away shining with blood. He unleashes several more hits, but Eli’s still with it enough to keep his gloves protectively in front of his face.

  After a few horrible seconds, Eli bucks his hips, and Angel flies forward.

  I recognize that move. Eli taught it to me.

  The second Angel’s hands hit the mat, Eli grabs one of his arms and yanks it toward his body. At the same time, he throws his hips to one side, dumping the larger man onto the mat and climbing on top of him.

  Angel is still stunned, and Eli has a handful of seconds to deploy a series of quick, efficient blows.

  For an instant, I think he might finish Angel then and there, but then the bell rings, and the ref rushes to push the fighters apart.

  Reluctantly, Eli pulls himself off Angel and starts to back away.

  It all happens so fast nobody has time to react. Angel springs up unbelievably fast and releases a savage round kick. It connects with Eli’s leg just a few inches above the knee, and I have the sudden urge to throw up.

  Eli grimaces and doubles over. I know the pain must be flaring through his leg from his gunshot wound, but he tries to hide it.

  The ref yells, shoving Angel away too late. The damage is already done. He’s hurt Eli, and now he knows his weakness.

  The Recon people in the crowd are shouting and booing, but Angel looks satisfied.

  Miles is already in the ring, yelling at the ref and Angel, and I clamber up between the ropes to help Eli. I yank up the folding chair and turn to help him lower his body into it.

  He no longer looks angry that I’m here. I can tell he’s trying not to show the extent of his agony, but it’s evident in his eyes. He grimaces as he spits out a stream of blood, and the look on his face is one of pure defeat.

  Taking in his swelling eye and the blood coating his face, I have the sudden urge to call for Miles. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, and it feels as though I’m trying to breathe with a hundred-pound weight on my chest.

  Eli looks broken.

  For a second, I don’t think I can handle it. It hurts too much to see him like this. But Miles is busy yelling at the ref and Angel’s cornerman, so I tell myself to suck it up and make myself useful.

  I don’t know what to do, so I hand Eli his water bottle so he can wash the taste of blood from his mouth and grab a towel to dab at the cut over his eye.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, rubbing his leg where Angel hit. A muscle in his jaw is throbbing, and I know his wound must be killing him. “Now he knows.”

  “He already knew,” says Miles, appearing over my shoulder and eyeing Angel darkly. “He was just waiting for his chance. You were right up on him. He didn’t have room when you were fighting.”

  Someone near the ring produces an ice pack. I take it and push Eli’s shorts up a few inches. He tries to grab my hand, but he’s too clumsy in his glove to snatch it away from his thigh.

  “Shit!” I gasp, wincing at the blood coming through the dressing on his leg.

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine. You can’t stay in the fight.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “Eli —”

  “Harper, stop,” he groans. “This is happening.”

  “Only one round left,” says Miles, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Think you can hang on that long?”

  Eli doesn’t answer. He just stands up and pushes me gently aside. The ice pack falls to the floor.

  Angel is already waiting for him, a malicious gleam in his eyes. Eli tries to look as though the kick didn’t affect him, but I can read the pain in his tight shoulders.

  The bell rings again, and Angel doesn’t hesitate. He fights dirty.

  He throws another round kick, but Eli is ready. He raises his leg to block the kick and slips Angel’s punch with a cross.

  Angel parries his blow and dives in to deliver a sucker punch to Eli’s stomach. Eli folds in on himself a little, and Angel throws out an elbow that smashes right into Eli’s face.

  I know that move. It’s my absolute favorite, and it hurts like hell.

  Eli staggers back just a little, and Angel comes at him again with a storm of brutal punches.

  Jab, jab, hook to the body, hook to the head, upper cut, and Angel’s nasty overhand punch.

  Eli doesn’t have time to evade each blow or aim his counterstrikes. Fists are raining down from every direction. His gloves form a wall around his face, but I know he still feels every hit to the bone.

  He should be going on the offensive, but he’s just inching toward Angel, taking his punches and slowly closing the distance between them.

  At first I think he’s giving up, but then I realize he’s closing the gap on purpose. When Eli stays within range of Angel’s punches, Angel doesn’t have room to throw another kick. He doesn’t have room to do much of anything.

  It seems to be working until Angel rips into Eli’s side with a violent hook.

  Eli staggers back, and those few feet are all Angel needs. He turns his body and jerks his knee in for a side kick. It’s so quick Eli has no time to react. It slams into his leg — right where he was shot.

  Eli’s face contorts in pain, and his hand goes instinctively to his wound.

  When he drops his glove, Angel takes the shot. He hits Eli in the chin with so much force he can’t possibly stay upright.

  He hits the mat in slow motion, and Angel aims another vicious kick to his wounded leg.

  I feel that kick as
though it were aimed at me. Pain flashes through Eli’s face for a split second, and then I can’t see his expression anymore.

  Angel dives on top of him, slinging blow after blow after blow.

  It’s the sounds that tear me up inside — and the fact that Eli doesn’t have a chance to fight back. Desperation and helplessness wash over me, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to throw myself into the ring and kick Angel in the head. I’ve never wanted to end someone quite as much as I want to right now.

  Get up, get up, get up, I chant.

  But Angel is a deadly machine, and Eli remains motionless.

  Come on, Eli. Get up!

  He doesn’t.

  The crowd’s screams and cheers are deafening. People are flinging themselves toward the ring to get a closer look, almost knocking me over in the process.

  I barely notice. I can’t tear my eyes away from the grisly battle. Angel shows no sign of slowing down, and Eli still isn’t fighting back.

  The Death Angel delivers one more crushing blow, and I realize Eli is finished.

  fifteen

  Harper

  Out of nowhere, the ref dives in to break up the fighters. Someone blasts an air horn to signal a technical knockout, and the ref yanks on Angel’s arm to pull him off. One of Eli’s gloves is still pinned to his face, but his other arm is lying useless at his side.

  When the crowd erupts into boos and cheers, I realize I’ve been gripping Miles’s massive bicep in panic. I let go and clamber into the ring, where a guy dressed like Blaze is already running up to check Eli’s vitals.

  He’s stirring, but he doesn’t look right.

  “Eli! Eli!” I barely recognize my own frantic voice.

  His eyes drift around, but he’s still lying on his back. He knows I’m there, but he doesn’t make eye contact.

  Kneeling down in front of him, I’m shocked to see how bad of shape he’s in. His face is swollen and bloody, and one of his eyes is so puffy he probably can’t even see out of it. I shake his shoulder, but he’s still out of it.

  The guy with the med kit helps him sit up, and I want to demand this kid’s credentials. There’s no way he’s Health and Rehab, and Eli needs a real doctor.