by Leanne Davis
I’m not outraged; and I’m not above it. I’m perfectly willing, usually. I just feel like having a real fight. My rage is screaming for release. I need to let it out.
But I also want to get into that ring. “Max? You willing?” Simons asks.
I finally nod my head. Simon smiles. “Make it look good.”
In other words, get my ass beat down. While I nod my consent, I realize I’m truly the sickest fuck and Christina dodged a huge bullet when I broke her heart.
~Christina~
Squealing out of my driveway like Max did, I drive straight through town and towards where I think the gym is located. Lindsey mentioned it to me. I’m not sure why I think he’ll be there, or what he’s doing, but something doesn’t seem right. That includes the strange changes in Max over the summer. The way he shut me out, completely, and then pushed to have sex with me. Then he just totally shut down on me again. I don’t know what to do with any of it.
Something is off with Max, and I’m tired of ignoring it. I know I’m right and Lindsey’s concern tonight just confirmed it. I pull into the address my GPS provides for the gym’s name. It’s freaking crowded. There are cars all over the lot. I glance around. Seriously? Why, on a Saturday night, at eleven o’clock, is it crowded? I can’t fathom a single reason.
After parking, I start towards the front door. But there’s a crowd out front. I avoid it and circle around the back. There is nothing but a creepy alleyway. I go down a bit and wait off to the side. I wait for a while. When no one appears, I pull on the door and it opens, much to my surprise. I slip in and quickly stroll down the hallway so I look like I belong there.
The place is bumping. There is music with heavy bass pounding from somewhere. I’m off in what appears to be offices and storage rooms. It gets louder the further into the building I go. I hear cheering and crowd calls. A lot of yeahs and boos and screams. What the hell is this? It is so loud, when the crowd stomps, it feels like the entire building is crumbling in an earthquake. I start to exit the hallway when I bump right into someone. I stop dead. My cheeks heat up. I’m caught.
“What the fuck are you doing back here?” The voice belongs to a woman in her thirties. She’s freakishly built. I swear, my head nearly bounces off her fake boobs, which I’m about eye level with.
“I—I…”
“You’re what?”
“Looking for Max. Max Salazar,” I stammer out finally. I’m intimidated by this woman who looks like she’s ready to smack me in the face. If she does, I’ll be cold-cocked.
Strangely, her sour facial expression goes from looking mean to barely softening around her mouth and eyes. “Max? Why?”
“I’m his friend. I was looking for him. That’s all, I swear. I’m not trying to cause anything.”
“Christina?”
My mouth drops open when she says my name, but not as a question. “Y-yes. How did you know that?”
“Because there’s no one else he mentions, now, is there? Does he know you’re here?”
Oh, God, she knows him! If she knows that much about him, who could she be to Max? I step back and lift my head to take in the woman before me. Starting with her bleached hair, my eyes sweep to the floor. She’s hot, but in a hard, brittle, and built way. I feel pale, scrawny, and skinny beside her. My heart starts to melt in my chest. She knows Max. She knows my name too, and my mind wants to shut down. I know he’s having sex with her. For some reason, I sense it down deep in my guts.
“Christina, you should go home. He didn’t invite you here, did he?” the woman says in a surprisingly kind voice with sympathy in her eyes. I don’t think she’s just a dismissive bitch. It seems like she’s almost sorry for me. What the hell is this place?
“It’s none of your business.” I grit my teeth and feel like baring them at her. Yup, not feeling too mature right about now. Confused and terrified, I can only wonder what I’ve stumbled into. What is Max involved in? Something feels really off about it, and my anxiety rises from deep in my stomach until it lodges in my throat. A weird taste fills my mouth. It’s acidic and bad, like I’m tasting what I’m about to witness. And this woman. This woman is screwing Max? I can’t be mature. I can’t handle it. Tears are burning the insides of my eyes, but I blink and hold them open, forcing myself not to cry. I have to grow up. I will not give this woman the satisfaction.
“No, it’s not. I just think you’d be better off going home. Good luck, whatever you choose.” She surprises me when she passes around me and seems to leave without further admonishment. She simply keeps going down the hall.
I turn from staring after her leotard-clad ass. Okay, she’s like, dominatrix hot. She’s probably five foot ten and a hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle. She’s impressive and it kills me to think Max would want her. I shut my eyes in total humiliation. Then the crowd’s roar turns to ear-piercing screams. I come out of my shock. I put my hand to the door that separates me from whatever is out there. My stomach jitters. I am scared. I taste bile in my throat. I want to turn and run down the slightly quieter hallway that, at least, lets me retain my ignorance. But the energy, the noise, the whatever, is calling me. I have to know.
I push on the door and it opens.
I don’t know what to expect.
It’s a dark cavernous room lit only with spotlights down towards the center. The smell of sweat is thick in the air. It reeks and hangs over my head like a fine mist. The crowd is standing around. People from all walks of life and every age group fill the immediate area. Finally, I spot a break in the throng of people and see what they are gathered around. A ring. A small, slightly raised ring used for boxing with ropes, the spongy kind that people can bounce off.
Fight club. I’m at an illegal fight club! I know it the second I see the ring before I even witness the people inside it. Two girls circle each other, wearing only bikinis and a sheen of sweat. They are both slick and shiny with it. Blood is dripping from one girl’s mouth. They headlock and go after each other as the crowd goes nuts. I stand there, completely stunned. I don’t know what to do. A weird panic climbs up my spine. Why does anyone like this stuff? It makes my stomach turn as one woman gets the upper hand. She slams the other one down and holds her immobilized. No referee and apparently, no rules. Loud smacking and grunts and blood. Blood smears the ring. My stomach turns in revulsion. It is sick entertainment for me. I don’t even get real boxing or wrestling, the kind with strict rules and safety equipment and officials. I mean, that’s bad enough, why would anyone willingly want to get hurt even worse? And do it like that? A free-for-all for a bloodthirsty crowd’s entertainment? The spectators seem rabid to me. They’re all jacked up on others’ spilt blood, sweat, and pain, as if they aren’t members of the human race.
Max likes this stuff. I know that. I’ve seen him. But I just can’t believe he’d be involved in watching it. It’s so off-putting to me. I’m disgusted. One girl finally assumes she’s won and jumps off the other before she starts circling the ring. Throwing her hands in the air, she acts as if she’s a beauty pageant winner, making her rounds. The crowd is cheering louder and catcalling the woman, as if she’s hot. As if her dripping sweat is sexy. I am totally repulsed.
Yet, I am ashamed to admit my attention is riveted. I can’t take my eyes off it. I just can’t believe people are willing to do this and others are willing to watch it.
Then… I almost fall backwards. A wave of dizziness overtakes me and my breathing grows rapid. So rapid, it hurts. I press a hand to my chest. No. No. No way. But it is. Max is standing there at the side of the ropes and about to go in. In there. That disgusting enclosure of debauchery, depravity and revulsion.
I’m not a fan. But Max? My heart leaps from my chest. I feel like it’s getting punched. Please, no. He’s so far above this. I look around, totally grossed out and appalled to find so many deplorable people there. So many cheering it on. So many bloodthirsty, awful people.
And Max is going to perform for them.
He found
the perfect outlet, I realize in that moment as surely as I know my name. This is what he’s done all summer. This is why he pulled away from me. This is what Max really wants to do. This is the part of Max I could never understand.
He enters the ring. I make my legs move forward. I have to stop him. I’m panicked. I’ll do anything to stop it. I can’t have Max doing this. Not in front of these people. I scream his name, but it’s lost in the roar of the crowd and loud music that drones on and on, spiking the high energy and amping up the eager onlookers. The music beats and slams in rhythm with the fighting. Like the crowd. Like my heart.
I’m dizzy. I can’t see clearly. My eyes are stinging with hot tears. Yes, the tears are flowing down my cheeks and the top of my head feels like it could spin off. I become light-headed and worry that I’ll faint. I feel odd. I can’t believe this. Now someone is entering the ring with Max. My Max. Oh my God. A whimper escapes my lips, unheard in this angry, belligerent place. The guy is huge and white and, no doubt, ready to rip Max apart. Or… well, fuck, I know that’s not true. Max might rip him apart. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand to know this is what Max has chosen.
A bell dings. That’s about as professional as this set-up can be, as far as I can judge. Max is wearing loose gym shorts with some kind of Spandex under them that reaches his knees. He’s barefoot, and has on nothing else. No gloves. No headguard. No mouthguard. I’ve watched boxing matches with him, and there is always a referee standing next to the fighters, and stopping the fight if it goes too far. To prevent anyone from being hurt or killed. I get some comfort thinking most likely, no one will die in those fights. But this one? Who’s going to stop it if it turns deadly? The crowd would simply cheer harder, in my opinion. I have no doubts of that.
I scream his name. Then I scream it again. My throat is burning from the effort. I do it over and over and over again. But no one even turns around. My voice is lost in the cacophony and chaos of the crowd. Max goes straight in for the guy, headbutting him right in the stomach and plowing him to the edge of the ring. The crowd goes nuts, but I go nuttier.
I try to get closer, but can’t. The mass of bodies prevents me. There is too much noise. I finally stop screaming his name and just stand there, watching him.
Things are okay until something suddenly shifts between Max and his white opponent. Somehow, the other guy has the advantage and starts pummeling Max’s chest and face with his knuckles. Sweat and blood fly off them like a wet dog shaking to dispel the water. There’s a weird little spray of body fluids, blood and sweat around them. I can hear Max’s grunts somehow over the clamor of the crowd. They love this part. I figured that out, just like in the last fight, they love the ending. The beaten loser falling down. The blood and gore of the defeated. Max finally falls onto his knees. I can’t stop crying as I watch him getting kneed in the face before dropping forward. I scream his name and try to push through the swelling crowd, but they only contract closer and more tightly around the ring. I can’t get to him. My heart is swelling and nearly pushing into my ribs. I don’t care what he’s done or what was said; I just need to get to him. I have never felt like I needed to get to anyone so much in my entire life. I cannot stand it. I am losing it now. People push me back, but I claw and scrabble around them, while my tears fall all over my face. It’s horrifying. Max’s prone body is being pulled up before they slide him off the ring as if he’s no more than a rag doll. They don’t even try to take care of him. He could have a concussion, or a broken nose, or who knows what? Not one of them cares if their clumsy jostling as they nearly throw him out of the way will cause permanent damage. I follow, albeit from a distance, watching them drag his inert body past the crowd. A few glance down at him as he passes, but instantly turn back to the noise of the next two fighters. I stop when I see them entering the men’s locker room. I stay back and wait. Finally, the guys who took Max inside the locker room exit. Rushing forward, I back into the darkened hallway. It has a weird, echoing affect that dims the noise of the loud crowd.
I enter the room, which is freakishly quiet after the mind-numbing jeers and yells. I pass the freestanding locker rows. I hear water running. My breath is caught in my throat. I dread passing the last set of lockers. I slow my feet. What will I see?
There he is. My heart plummets into my stomach. He’s lying on the fucking floor! They’ve literally thrown him in there on the floor. He’s on his back. One leg is bent towards the other, and one arm is over his chest while the other is bent near his head. His mashed face is wet and bloody. It all congeals in an angry red pool of liquid as the shower hisses down on him. He’s not moving.
I whimper, unable to contain my shock. I mean, it’s more than horrifying to me. I rush forward and land next to him on my knees. Instantly, my jeans are soaked with the puddling water. More water falls over me. I push my hair back and touch Max’s chest.
I pause and stare at my hands on his dark skin. He’s out cold. He doesn’t know I’m next to him. He doesn’t even know I’m touching him. I can’t stand it. I lean forward and gently take his head in my hands. His breathing sounds regular, but I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I don’t know if I should move him. I don’t know if I should call the police. I think he needs an ambulance. I just don’t know. I am crying. I mutter his name over and over. “Max? Max? Come on, Max! Answer me.” I lean down and kiss his lips while pushing the hair off his bloody forehead. No, this can’t be. I quickly stand up and shut the water off. Why would they do that? It’s inhumane. The frigid water is showering over him, despite his unconscious state. Jesus. They are monsters. Why? Why would Max sign up for that? Or do that to himself?
Pulling out my cell phone from my purse, I’m glad it was protected and stayed dry. My hands are wet and shaking, but I start to dial.
“Put the phone down.”
I whip around, hearing a quiet voice from behind me. There is a big man there, watching me. I didn’t hear him enter. I take a step back. He seems… I don’t even know how to describe the man. He’s wearing a suit. His hair is blond and combed, all neat and tidy. He looks like a typical businessman, going off to sit in a cubicle, but something doesn’t click. Something I can’t explain. It’s his eyes. They are so cold. Lifeless. Now, I realize Max doesn’t get like that. His gaze when he chooses, can be vacant, and kind of distant, but not like this guy’s. I’m feeling chills going down my arms and spine before they settle in my neck. What have I walked into?
I slowly lower my hand away from my ear. The man nods. “Who are you? Who are you to him?”
“His cousin. Max is my cousin.”
“I’m the owner here. Max fights for me. Who were you calling, little girl?”
“N-no one. Just my mom,” I finish lamely. I know enough not to admit I was calling an ambulance. I feel dizzy again, as if I’m about to crumble to the ground and another chill travels through me. Oh my God, I’m scared. I’m really, really scared. I take another step back and my feet are in the puddle of water. I glance down, Max is still out. I want him to come to. I’m terrified he’s seriously hurt. What if he’s really hurt? I also need Max to explain what this is, and if I need to be afraid.
He makes a tsking sound. “Now, I don’t believe you. I saw you out there. Max means something else to you.”
Shouldn’t anyone who gets beaten unconscious be taken care of? I have to care about him to want to bother? I am chilled to the bone by this man, and this place, and being caught in the men’s shower, essentially alone and helpless. I want my dad. Suddenly caught in this strange staring contest with this man, I want nothing less than my dad to save me.
“We don’t involve the cops… or paramedics either. Max knows that. He wouldn’t want you to call anyone. We like to handle our own, in-house.”
My anger builds. “By throwing him unconscious into a shower stall and spraying cold water on him? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I shout as my hands fold over my middle. The man’s face tightens. I realize I said that out loud and step b
ack again.
“No, I’m not kidding you.” The man’s voice is even and cool, almost as if he’s offering me a glass of lemonade in his parlor, and not staring at me across an empty locker room. The weird echo effect of the outside drama keeps rising and falling.
I glance down. “I’ll just ah, you know, wait for him to wake up and we’ll leave.”
A weird smile twists the man’s mouth. “You’re not going anywhere.”
My mouth drops open. I step back again and my butt hits the tiled shower wall. I am literally trapped in there with Max bleeding and unconscious at my feet. This man’s silky, cool voice and threat finally dawn on me.
I realize I’m in the kind of trouble I never pictured. Not in our small town. I’ve always been a naïve, fucking fool; I finally realize that. Only it’s too late.
Chapter Twelve
~Max~
I FEEL THE PAIN in my face first. Groaning, I try to take stock of where I am. I recognize the freezing cold of the tiles in the locker room. I lost, I realize, and start to fully feel the pain engulfing my body, but mostly in my head. Third damn time. I hate losing. My heart sinks as I swear through clenched teeth. God. Damn. My nose hurts. A pain I can’t explain hurts my face. But no water. I crack an eyelid open. It’s hard to see because it’s so swollen, and so is the other one. The shower isn’t running. That’s unusual. I finally manage to see the top of a head from the corner of my eye. I turn my head slowly, and my stomach pitches and rolls like I’m about to be sick. But it all fades. Everything fades as I finally turn onto my side and see to who the dark head belongs.
Christina? I blink. But she’s still there. I’m not hallucinating. She is there. But she’s not even looking towards me. She’s staring off and her eyes are huge with fear. I glance to where she’s looking. Fuck! Simon. He’s standing there, staring at Christina with a weird smirk on his face. Simon owns the gym, so he hosts and sponsors these lovely events. Bruce gets a cut for bringing in fresh meat; and the fresh meat? They get a teeny, weeny cut of that. It’s a strange cash cow comprised of entrance fees and betting in its own underground ring. Surprisingly, they do well away from the cities and in small spots like this, where people aren’t looking for or expecting it. In places where gyms like this one are all but left alone. You’d think they’d prefer a much more nefarious location than the local gym where kids learn karate or taekwondo and stay-at-home mothers take their Pilates classes. That’s all during the daytime, however. Nighttime brings out the snakes, like me.
