Page 11 of Liquids

I gaze down at my shaking hands. “I can barely remember how to resuscitate someone, Marni.”

“Can I play nursing assistant?”

And it makes me smile. “As long as you don’t pass out if it all goes south.”

I blow out a shaky breath. How do I get sucked into these things? I’ve just got to try and get through this and make sure no one dies.

As luck would have it, the next two fights are uneventful—apart from guys beating the shit out of each other, of course. I find bags of ice in a cooler in Dr. Moreno’s car to help with the swelling, and deal with a couple of cuts, even threading some stitches through a guy’s eyebrow as he sits in the front seat of the doctor’s car, lights on to illuminate what I’m doing. My hands shake, but there’s something soothing about stepping back into the role of putting people back together, and even though I don’t remember a lot of what I learned when I was a nurse, stitching people up and icing injuries is easy. At least I don’t have to dredge up any drug interactions.

The guy thanks me and puts his hands on his knees and says he’s going to sit for a while, and I narrow my eyes at him as he leans his head back against the headrest. Concussion? He has thin bony fingers, and his skin is almost translucent. A pale sage and gray blue, that’s what I’d use to paint him. I shake my head at myself. No imagining. No painting. When I turn toward the fight again, Angelo is pushing through the crowd into the middle. It’s bare of grass now, churned up mud everywhere.

As Angelo’s voice rises, the chatter falls away. “And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Gentlemen, make sure your bets are placed! From Chicago for one night only, fighting for an amazing prize purse …”

Whistles and catcalls rise into the night.

“… The Bear!”

A guy steps out in front of a car close to where I’m standing and walks toward the circle, and he’s the biggest, brawniest Eastern European fighter you could imagine: shaved head, thick neck, and tattoos all the way down his arms. His breath rises like a mist in the cold night air and he’s already stripped down to a pair of tight white shorts. Nothing that anyone could grab hold of. Men part to let him through, and he raises one hand in a fist over his head, as the crowd jeers and cheers in equal measure.

“… Fighting against our very own Rigger!”

Angelo’s voice builds to a crescendo, and my jaw drops as a huge cheer goes up. Rig is a fighter? I glance down at the guy in the car seat. He waves a hand at me. “This is the big fight. Go and watch. I’m fine.”

I give him another quick once-over. His tremors are subsiding. I think he’s just winded and needs to rest, so I scoot over and find Marni right at the front as Rig steps out from a gap in the crowd. He’s back? Where did he materialize from? Why didn’t I know he was a fighter?

And I must have said that out loud because a guy next to me says, “He got back from the rigs today, apparently. Angelo persuaded him to come back for the money. Rig’s as mean as fuck, but the Bear, man … I’ve watched him up in the Windy City, and I don’t think our Rig can take ’im.” He shakes his head.

I’ve never seen Rig fight here. Mind you, Marni and I have only managed to find out about two of the fights before she got an in with Angelo.

“Thought he’d given it up,” the guy on the other side of him says.

“He did for a while. He got injured, and I think he couldn’t take the contracts on the rigs. Those drilling gigs he does are lucrative.”

Funny how everyone knows everyone’s business in a town this size, even if you don’t talk to anyone about it … and I’m pretty sure Rig doesn’t say a word. Before the evening I took leave of my senses and propositioned him, which, let’s face it, despite all the rough handling, was the hottest sex of my life, I’d never heard anything about Rig’s business. Now people can’t stop yapping about him.

The Bear parades around the circle, bearing his teeth while Rig studies him, bouncing on his toes and stretching his legs. The referee blows the whistle and out of nowhere Rig charges. The crowd surges back, but the force of his charge carries the Bear right through the circle, mowing people down as men run backward trying to move out of the way. Rig and the Bear careen out of control across the grass, the full weight of Rig carrying the Bear down, and a huge roar goes through the crowd. Men gather around them as soon as they land, rolling over and over, the crowd moving like a wave as they tumble. The punches come so fast I can hardly watch. The Bear gets hold of Rig’s hair and tries to slam his head into the ground, but Rig somehow manages to bring his knee up and get him in the balls because the Bear gives a howl of rage and pain. And in the moment he’s distracted, Rig’s up on his feet and kicks him hard in the back, but the Bear bounces up, too, snarling, spit flying from his mouth.

“Interesting. He let him off there,” says a reedy voice at my elbow.

“Let him off?” I ask the old guy who’s appeared on the other side of me. God, Farmer Jones. What the hell is he doing here? He has to be over a hundred.

“Could have pinned ’im, kept him down. Got the weight to do it, too. But he got up so the fight could go on. The Bear’s furious now. These fighters don’t like to be given anything. Smart play. Rig might beat him.” He rubs his hands together.

“Have you got a bet on?” I say.

“You betcha, girly. Rig hasn’t let me down yet.”

“He’s never lost?”

“Nope.”

Wow. A howl of rage from Rig reaches my ears, and my eyes swing back to the fight. The Bear’s got him pinned on the ground, and the crowd is chanting, “Get him off! Get him off!” But the Bear shoves his fingers somewhere into his throat, and holy shit, Rig’s face gets redder and redder as the Bear pushes harder and harder and Rig struggles to break the hold. There’s no way this is allowed. But no one’s coming to stop it. He’s going to kill him. But the Bear’s face is going purple: I can’t see what Rig’s doing, but he’s torturing the Bear, too. I’ve never seen anything like this fight. I stare at the ground.

The other guy next to me chuckles. “He’s got his knee right in his balls,” he says. “Not allowed normally, but there are no rules out here.” He grins.

What?

Sure enough, when my eyes snap up, Rig’s leg is wedged between the Bear’s massive thighs. After what feels like forever, the Bear screams and wrenches himself away. He kicks out at Rig, catching him hard in the chest. But Rig springs to his feet and comes at him full force, carrying him across the circle again, men scattering to all sides. And this time Rig’s on him, pinning him to the ground. The whole crowd starts chanting as the Bear tries to roll him.