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Chapter 18
Wyatt
After the gym, I crave a long shower and toss my sweaty jacket onto the floor of my room. My muscles ache for a ton of hot water, pounding the soreness out of my limbs. Since training started again, I’m using muscles that I haven’t moved in a year, but fighting at the Pit isn’t as challenging as the dojo in Woodland Heights.
The Pit is a bunch of dumb guys posing and using brute force until Grinder calls it. He makes it clear that the paramedics aren’t coming to the warehouse to save anybody. Bleeding is expected. The hordes chant for blood for their money. They don’t want to see a real fight. Not something that takes skill and expertise. I haven’t had a challenger yet that I couldn’t take down within seconds, but the wild masses aren’t there to see training in motion. Howls of pain and blood splattered all over every surface are what they want. I’ll deliver it as long as it’s not mine.
“Wyatt, I see you’re at home.” Bryce walks into my room like he owns it. Maybe his parents paid for this building too.
“You didn’t see that the door was shut,” I state sarcastically, wiping the sweat off with my shirt.
He shakes his head and flounces down on my bed, lying across the clean bedding as if he’s about to take a nap. Bryce pretending to be bored is dangerous. It’s like petting a napping cat that doesn’t want your hand anywhere near it. He’s gearing up to pounce, and he’s come looking for me this time.
“Watch the shoes,” I scowl, “I don’t care if they are Gucci.”
He smirks. “I’ve noticed you prefer owning old things.”
I look away. “I have other interests, and shopping for sport isn’t one of them.”
Bryce sits up. “I’ve noticed. Not important. This weekend, I have a task for you to do while you’re indulging in your other interest. You’re tasked with throwing the fight.”
My mind can’t comprehend what I’ve just heard. I lower my gaze quickly, so he can’t read my thoughts on my face. I’ve been careful, and Astrid would never tell. True, she’s hanging out with Bryce, but that look in her eyes broadcasts how much she despises him. And I’m sure he’s giving her a hard time to amuse himself.
“I only go to the dojo to practice.” I pick up my clothes and toss them in the hamper. “I’m not in any tournaments until the spring.”
Bryce leans back on my bed, placing his dirty shoes on it as he trails his finger along the wall. “You live like a monk,” he says, watching his finger. “A few family photos, some old sturdy clothes, only a laptop, and not much else. It’s hard to tell that you’ve lived here for four years. How do you survive on so little, Wyatt?”
I glare at him, but he refuses to look at me. “What do you want?”
Bryce sits up on the edge of the bed. “Don’t waste our time denying that you work for a living. Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you? Did you think a corny mask was going to conceal your identity from someone who knows you? You’re the hottest fighter in that pesthole. And with my sponsorship, you’re earning a generous purse.”
In shock, I forget to deny. “You don’t sponsor me.”
Bryce shakes his head, disappointed that I’m out of the loop. “Throw the fight, and you will be compensated. You can buy a poster for your wall or a plant for the window.” He scoffs. “Buy both.”
Bryce walks toward the door, and I’m about to shove him out of it. He turns quickly and faces me again. “I’ll be there to watch, Wyatt. Give them a show. Maybe last for three minutes and then bow out gracefully. A bloody nose should suffice.”
“Get out!” I shout.
“Not yet.” Bryce walks back toward the bed and glances at the dirt marks his shoes left behind. “I’ve noticed your interest in our new student, and let’s not waste time pretending which one. There’s only one that has both our interests this year.”
“What about her?” I ask.
“To the point. That’s good.” Bryce leans against the wall, and I’d like to put him through it. Unfortunately, he has figured out my precarious situation. I have to fight at the Pit, or I can’t pay for my last term at Stonehaven.
Bryce tilts his head, pretending to think before he speaks, but he knows what he is going to say. “Astrid must know your secret. Touching, like Clark Kent and Lois Lane. But she hasn’t told me, not with words anyway. She’s a good fighter, unlike the few girls there. But the crowd isn’t interested in seeing women fight unless it’s a catfight. Skimpy outfits, hair pulling, nip slips, and plump asses bouncing in the air. Two hot girls fighting would draw in more money than any good male fighter, including you.”
He leaves the thought out there but doesn’t voice exactly what he wants. Bryce is leaving it up to me to bite, but I’m not taking the bait. I get why Astrid slapped him, and I would’ve held him in place, but disputes aren’t settled like that at Stonehaven. We have to be civilized and thrash people’s esteem with our petty words.
Bryce finally opens the door to leave. “Don’t try to be clever, Wyatt. You were never good at that. Just do as I say. That’s all the thinking you have to do. And that other task,” he says, “Did you do it yet?”
“Not yet,” I reply evenly.
“That’s a shame.” He slowly closes the door. “I might have to get someone else.”
