Page 19 of The Fighter

I knew that. The guy I was fighting—Dirk—was bigger than me, a total fucking giant. And I was big, so that was saying something. But I’d seen him fight last month. He was slow as hell, and his endurance was shit. His aim was shit too.

Basically, Dirkwasshit.

Chen’s bodyguards stood behind Lary, wearing all black like this was the fucking movies. Chen was all about image, the asshole. He worked for Devlin Walsh, the fucker who stole my life five years ago. I’d contributed to that, but I couldn’t take it back. The reason I had to fight was six feet underground, and if I could do it all over again, I’d still put him there.

Chen controlled the fights and the fighters. I rarely saw Devlin anymore, which was good, because it was hard not to pound his face in. He was an unhinged maniac who thrived on suffering, and everything about him made me sick.

I pulled my hands out of Lary’s grasp and gripped the edge of the table I was sitting on in this supply closet. Sometimes I thought I could talk to Lary, give him something, one piece of me, but I gave enough to Chen, to Devlin, to my sister. I wasn’t sure I had enough to give anyone else.

No one ever gave me anything. Except Con. For a couple of hours, he’d given me Tav. Every other minute of my fucking life, I was Husk. But that was over now, wasn’t it? Because he’d given me a choice, and I couldn’t choose him. I couldn’t give him any more than what I already did. Could I? It was all I thought about since I saw him a few weeks ago. What could I give him that he’d accept? I could maybe give him scraps, but this was Con we were talking about. He’d always want more. He deserved it too. He was a successful businessman who should be married. He should be attending black tie events with a pretty man who fit in his social circle, who looked at him like he raised the sun. Not me, a scarred husk with nothing to offer.

Lary’s tanned face was lined with worry as he looked at me. He didn’t hide it as well as he’d used to. In the years since I’d been fighting for Devlin, Lary’s hair had gotten grayer and grayer, thinner and thinner. I wondered what hold Devlin had over Lary to make him put up with this bullshit. I had a soft spot for Lary, though, the old bastard. I’d never tell him though. Sometimes I thought Lary was the only person who gave a shit if I stayed human.

“Ten minutes,” said one of the wannabe bodyguards.

Lary placed his calloused hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Just go out and do what we talked about, boy. Remember to let him get in a couple, okay?” He used to hate to tell me that, to order me to let myself get hit. But that was years ago. Now, it didn’t faze either of us. And we both knew I fought better, made the fight more exciting once I was bleeding a little. And that’s what Devlin wanted, an exciting fight.

The door flew open behind the bodyguards, and Casey sauntered in with a smile on his face. He wore a pair of impossibly tight jeans and a thin V-neck T-shirt.

“Hey there, Lary,” he sing-songed, batting his eyelashes.

Lary scowled. “Would you get your ass out of here?”

Casey didn’t skip a beat. “A lot of men pay a lot of money for this ass.”

Lary threw up his hands and wandered away, muttering to himself.

Casey focused on me, the flirty look gone while he stood between my spread legs. “How are ya, Husk?”

I shrugged. What else was there to say? I didn’t stand back here and shadowbox, getting hyped. This wasn’t some televised smackdown. This was a brutal underground fight. I needed all the energy I had.

Casey’s hand fluttered near my knee, but he drew it back quickly without touching the skin. I’d allowed him near me one time. A year ago, I’d been desperate for someone to touch me that wasn’t with a closed fist. Casey was a rent boy who worked for Devlin, so I’d offered to pay him. But it hadn’t gone so well. I was nervous. Casey was still scared to death of me. We’d ended up rubbing against each other until we both came, then we’d slept on opposite sides of the bed without touching each other again.

We never talked about that night, but that was the start of a tentative friendship. He didn’t know my name, and I had no idea if Casey was his real name. All I knew was that we were both slaves to Devlin. And that Casey brought me a flask full of whiskey before every fight. Sometimes it was the only way I could come alive enough to pummel someone’s face.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the silver flask. I grabbed it from him and tilted it back, welcoming the burn down my throat and into my stomach. The warmth spreadout to my limbs as I wiped my mouth with the back of my taped hands and handed it back to Casey. “Thanks.”

He slipped it into his back pocket and cocked his head at me. He was pretty, with a runner’s body, blonde hair and blue eyes. He wasn’t my type, but even I knew men probably paid a lot to see those lips around their cocks. If I had energy to waste on someone else, I’d waste it on Casey, though. He was a good kid. A smart kid. I hated that Devlin had his hooks in him.

“Dirk seems to be favoring his left leg a little,” he said quietly, fingering the hem of his T-shirt. That was a job of Devlin’s rent boys, to spy on the competition. And Casey was the best, so since I was the best of Chen’s fighters, Casey usually reported to me.

I smoothed down a piece of tape. “How so?”

“Sideways movements. He advances okay, but something about his sidestep. It’s weak.”

I lifted my gaze. “Good job.”

Casey smiled, not the fake one he used for Chen or anyone else. But the real one that he’d given me right before we had tried to fuck. I patted his cheek.

“Gotta get out, Casey,” one of the bodyguards said.

“Good luck,” he whispered, then adopted that fake smile before turning around with a little flounce in his step. “All right, fellas. I’m off. You have a nice night now.” He winked at the one, and my lips twitched.

I hopped down off the table and smacked my hands together. I didn’t bounce on my toes or roll my neck or any of that bullshit they did in the movies or whatever. None of that mattered. All that mattered was that my head was in the right place. Too bad it wasn’t, not really. It was in Conrad’s bed. I’d known that showing up at his office would remind me of everything I’d lost.

“Five minutes.”

Without a word, I walked between the bodyguards as they opened the doors for me. The warehouse we were fighting inwasn’t so bad. I didn’t think the lights were going to fall on me any minute, or that the whole place was going to go up in flames if someone flicked a cigarette wrong. A rope had been set up to lead the way to the fight ring. There was no mat. Hit the floor and hit concrete, that’s the way it was in Devlin’s world. I never hit the floor.