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“Manny!” Kylie’s voice cut through the uproar.
“Holy shit! What’s up, Ky!?” They hugged, huge smiles on their faces, sparkles in their eyes. I could tell they’d grown up together, but when they got older time was limited. They were close, a knit bond. “Shit, didn’t think you’d actually come!” Manny said.
They let go of each other. “I told you I would come to one of these things.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and took a look towards the cage. “We can get to the front, right?”
“We?” Manny looked over Kylie’s shoulder at me.
“Manny, this is Jenny Roscoe. She’s my best fucking friend. I’ve told you about her before.”
“Oh.” His eyebrows lifted and he smiled. “This is the infamous Jenny Roscoe.” Manny extended his arm, giving me his hand. I stepped around Kylie and took it, shaking swiftly. “Nice to finally meet you.”
“Likewise.” I grinned.
“Well, any friend of my cousin’s is a friend of mine.” He smiled, dark eyes going soft. Yep, his cold look was definitely for show. He seemed like a big fat softy on the inside. He looked at Kylie. “Come on. I’ll show you up.” Manny stepped back, unclipping the velvet rope to allow us in. When we stepped past him, he latched it back on the hook and shouted over us to a large man by the exit door.
The man nodded, pushing off the door and tapping someone beside him before walking through the crowd.
Once someone had covered Manny’s post, he looked at us and said, “This way, ladies.” He grinned. It was wide and comforting. Manny had to have been at least five years older than us. A matureness surrounded him, one that made me question why he was working in the pit in the first place. Kylie’s family wasn’t filthy rich, but they weren’t poor either.
Manny pushed some people out of the way, shouting at a few of the doped-up or drunk ones to get the hell out of his way. One guy he literally had to snatch up by the shirt and place him by the black wall. “Fucking animals,” he grumbled, shaking his head as he continued towards the cage.
As we got closer, I stared ahead at the black fence. It was tall, the wiring thick, nearly impenetrable. The cage itself was fucking intimidating, if you ask me. A big black mat was laid inside, lifted by a wooden base. The area they fought on. The area Drake fought on.
“Grit is gonna rip Doom to fucking shreds!” I heard some drunk guy shout.
“What?!” The person he was talking to shrieked. “Are you out of your fucking mind? Don’t tell me you put your bet on that motherfucker Grit? You might as well get ready to lose your fucking money. Doomsday won’t lose. You’ve seen him! He’s a fucking beast! Grit is going the fuck down tonight! Doom never loses!”
The two drunk guys argued, and I cringed a little inside. How could they talk about him this way, like he was just some caged animal? How could they bet on this? On fights? On blood being shed and dignity being tossed in a disposal?
I swallowed thickly as we finally arrived at the front gate. It blocked off the way to get to the cage. A few more security guards stood tall and mighty behind the gate, thick arms folded, baldheads shiny.
“Should be good here,” Manny told us.
Kylie nodded, then asked him something about when ‘Wildcard’ would fight. She remembered his name. She had to use it to make it seem less personal. It seemed Manny was very protective of Kylie. If he caught on to the fact that she was interested in Oscar he most likely would have told her not to even think about it—or him.
While they made small talk, I took a thorough look around. I heard yelling on the opposite side of the cage, deep growls by the back hallway. Someone was angry. Maybe the fighters were already fighting.
Moments later, the music cut off, and two large guys came out, stomping onto the mat. One of them threw his arms in the air. He had a meaty neck and scabs on his head. His beard was thick, tattoos taking over his entire chest and stomach. He smiled like he owned the place.
“IT’S THE FUCKING MOMENT WE’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!” someone hollered into a microphone. His voice came out loud and crackly through the microphone, hurting my ears. It didn’t stop the crowd from getting rowdy. “THIS FIGHT—HELL, ALL THESE FIGHTS THAT ARE ABOUT TO GO DOWN TONIGHT ARE GOING TO BE THE TALK OF THE MOTHERFUCKING CENTURY. ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE THE DIRRTTYYY DAWG PIT’S OWN, ONE OF THE DEADLIEST FUCKERS IN THIS BITCH!!!! GIVE IT UP… FOR DRIPPER!”
The crowd went beyond wild. Girls screamed, men hollered and hooted, chanting Dripper’s name. His opponent glared at him, obviously jealous of the praise he was getting.
