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“Ash.” She’s looking at me, all worried-like.
Sweat sluices down my back. Okay. I’ll tell her. My heart trips, then starts again.
Then her damn cell phone buzzes. Tearing her gaze from me, she fishes it from her huge handbag and a frown draws her brows together. “Crap, I’m late. Dakota is waiting for me outside my apartment. Gotta go.”
I deflate. “Yeah.” Speaking of signs...
“Just come over. Come now, with me.”
I shake my head.
Her green eyes glimmer. “Ash... Please don’t go tonight.”
I freeze. She knows? “Why?”
“Just... stay out of fights.”
I groan, run my fingers through my hair. “I can’t.” I can’t not go. I can’t lie. I can’t hide. She’ll know the moment she sees me tomorrow that I’ve been fighting.
Her expression shutters. She moves quietly away from me. She grabs her stuff and opens the door of the apartment. Hesitates. Her slender back is tense. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I have to.”
Knowing I’m telling the truth doesn’t help one fucking bit when she leaves without saying goodbye.
***
I’m about to leave for The Bulldog, when a key turns in the lock and the door opens.
Erin. Not my biggest fan. She wrinkles her pretty nose when she sees me.
Good thing I’m dressed, I guess.
“This place smells like sex,” she spits and marches off to her room, slamming her door shut.
Ow. I go to open the window, air the room.
Fuck, the look of disappointment on Audrey’s face is branded in my memory. I don’t know what to do: Fighting is the only way I can see of getting out of the mire, and the one thing that seems to tick Audrey off.
Violence. Can’t say I blame her.
Talking to her is gonna be like pulling teeth. Shame and no small amount of panic roll around in my mind. Hey, Auds, know what? I have no place to stay, and no money, and did you know I haven’t even finished school? And right now the only way for me to get money is fighting in an underground fight club, an illegal place with drugs and betting, run by the Russian Chicago mafia?
She’ll probably run the other way. Because sex’s one thing, but she doesn’t know shit about me. To her I’m still the boy she used to play with in her neighborhood, the boy who kissed her in high school.
That boy’s gone.
I grab my things, stuff them into my duffel bag, rub a hand over my face. Time to go.
Walking through the cold, snow-covered streets, I think about the year that’s about to come to an end. Nothing’s changed. My life’s still a mess. The heavy feeling in my chest feels more like fear than fury, but I think of my dad, of my brother who left me behind, and anger comes rushing back.
By the time I reach the club, I seethe with it. I’m ready to fight.
And fight I do. They give me a different opponent this time, a huge black guy with arms like tree trunks. He comes at me like a wall, and crashes into me, throwing me down on my back. I barely have a chance to roll before he pins me, and then I scramble back to my feet. I’m quicker than he is, leading him in a deadly dance around the cage. I dodge his punches and kicks, keep my guard high. Take some pounding. My arms will be black and blue come tomorrow, and I even take a hit to my already bruised ribs.
I hold out and keep back.
Until I see my opening. I move into the guy’s guard and throw an uppercut that snaps his head back and knocks him down. Then I’m on him, on his chest, punching his face.
