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Two of the event runners nod up at me from the bottom of the bleachers, and I return the greeting by tipping my chin toward them. They split after a few minutes, breaking off in separate directions to set up for taking bets from people scattered around.
Lights flood the arena below, leaving the bleachers in semidarkness, and for that, I’m grateful. I’d rather be anywhere else but here. This is where everything changed for me. Where I killed my best friend.
“It’s okay. You made it quick,”Francis whispers.
I don’t shift in my seat but grit my teeth. I had tried to make the kill as painless as possible for him, but the damage it caused me is something I will never be able to erase.
The crowd around the cage stands with the dull roar of mumbled chatter. Bets haven’t been placed yet, as everyone waits to see who is fighting. They don’t have to wait long before two fighters enter the Pits, and the crowd below goes wild. The runners take bets within seconds, the odds drawn against each man. The hair rises on the back of my neck as the crowd chants for blood.
Flashes of broken skulls and screaming opponents slam into me—screams for me to stop. But they knew when they stepped into the Pits that stopping wasn’t an option. The gates would not be reopened until only one person was left standing. The lights shine on the two fighters, who pace around each other in a wide circle, insulting the other in unheard words. But each growls as the other speaks. The taunting makes the kill easier. Nothing like slamming your fist into someone’s face when they insult your mother.
“On the left, we have ‘The Bull,’” the announcer roars into the mic, and the crowd rises with their chants.
The man is built well, and the ring in his nose reminds me of a bull. I can see where he got his name. He smashes his fist into his open palm. His wide back is coated in a black dragon tattoo. He looks Bratva to me, but I could be wrong.
“On the right, we have ‘The Cannibal.’”
The roars aren’t as intense. The man is built slightly, but that shouldn’t have men placing their money on The Bull. Size doesn’t matter in the ring; it’s about stealth and that final blow that not all men have in them to make. We can easily put a bullet in someone, but killing a man for sport with your bare hands takes a different kind of beast. Everyone here had to sign up willingly. Each one was handpicked and pitted against someone who represents another Mafia faction or gang. This is a battle for a show of strength.
A battle to the death.
The roars start up again as The Bull strikes first, sending The Cannibal to the ground quickly.
From the corner of my eye, I see a man approaching me. He doesn’t make it far before my security team surrounds him and pats him down for weapons. I keep my focus on the fight but watch without turning my head as a gun is removed from the band of the man’s pants. My men keep him in place as they wait for my approval. I give the order with a wave of my hand to allow him to leave the circle they made around him. His gun will be returned when this is over.
The man approaches but doesn’t sit down beside me, instead sitting in the row just in front of mine.
“Were you followed?” I ask.
The fight has escalated. The Cannibal takes a chunk of The Bull’s face and spits the flesh onto the white sand, a string of saliva and blood following in its wake. He roars at the crowd in victory, each of his silver teeth catching the light. I see why he’s called The Cannibal.
“At this point, if I’m being followed, I’m fucking doing it on purpose, all right?” The man’s gravelly voice doesn’t hide his irritation. His Brooklyn accent is thick and grating, dropping everyRsound. The man’s an undercover federal agent, one who’s worked with me for a long time and who’s also done work for the Valachi family. But he might as well be a gutter rat for the way he acts sometimes.
I don’t fully trust him. I don’t really trust anyone. But, we have to work together.
“My assignment may be ending soon. My superior officer is considering pulling me.” He keeps facing forward, so I can’t catch his expression, but from his tone, he isn’t happy about being taken off this particular assignment.
The Cannibal is tearing into The Bull’s neck, the fight growing vicious.
“Why?” I ask. I lean forward and place my elbows on my knees. It appears that I’m focused on the fight, but it’s his next words that I don’t want to miss.
“How the fuck should I know?” he growls. “That’s all I got. I’m being pulled. They make the rules, and I follow.”
I get it to some degree. His life undercover has him cut off from his own reality. These men are playing thugs, and to do so, their own lives must be left behind. He’s been with us for nearly two years, so to be pulled so easily after giving so much of his life would piss anyone off. But that doesn’t help me.
The crowd grows wild as the fight shifts, and The Bull slams his fist repeatedly into the Cannibal’s mouth. Silver teeth fly across the arena. The Bull is wise to remove the one weapon The Cannibal seems to have.
“I’ve been hearing things, a lot of things. It seems like something big is coming, and my superior officer feels the same way. Truces are being formed between gangs that normally have nothing to do with each other. I don’t know anything about it, so they want me out.”
I rise to get a better look at the fighters. The Bull isn’t stopping. The Cannibal appears dead, or he could be dazed. The agent in front of me rises, too.
“I think they’re going to make a raid soon on the Pits,” he says.
I curse under my breath. It’s too soon, and that won’t do any good.
“Closing this place down won’t work,” I say. “They’ll just reopen somewhere else. You can’t take a snake down without cutting off its head.”
“I know. I said that,” the agent mumbles.
