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“I’m not getting it.” I cup my hands around my mouth to yell over the music. “He saysyupa lot.”
“It’s all about choices, Haven. We all have to make them.”
“I don’t,” I argue, but he either doesn’t acknowledge, doesn’t hear me, or just doesn’t care. He knows all the decisions are made for me and are fed to me like they are my choices, but in hindsight and growth of maturity, I have come to recognize they’re not. Like when it was time for me to go to secondary school. I was tutored at home from a very young age. I started at four years old, if I remember correctly. I couldn’t wait and wanted to go to primary school, but that wasn’t until I became older and realized I was being held back from being educated alongside my peers. Then it came time for me to go to secondary school. I misleadingly had my hopes up that when it came time, I would be allowed to attend the local facility. That wasn’t the outcome. I was fed the glitz and glamour of a private school. A school I later found out my brother generously donated large funds to. That didn’t bother me so much until the day I realized I had guards watching my every move. It’s when I put two and two together that the funds Cillian donated were a bribe, green blinders to my security detail being stationed throughout campus. I wondered where Finn was at times. He seemed to show his presence at the most opportune moments. It wasn’t until I saw him slip into the room across from mine that really made me angry. I had no space. No time to grow on my own. It was then that I moved out of the dorm and demanded an off-campus apartment.
I had only just finished my courses when I was told I was going on a vacation to America as a congratulations for achieving the highest ranks in grades trip. I knew as soon as it was revealed over dinner that it was a lie. It’s why I questioned Cillian this morning at breakfast.
Ciarán continues to pull me through the crowded space. It’s packed with bodies, men, and scantily dressed women at every step. Money is exchanged and wagers are heard from all directions.
My surveying gaze goes to the roped off area. A ring with high walls as if it is a cage. Not as sophisticated as the fighting ring I watched on TV, but this place doesn’t call for that amount of attention. This place… it drips in ruthless, menacing entertainment. The undertone screams destruction and death.
In my next breath, I realize something. How did my cousin know about this place?
“Ciarán?” I tug at his shirt, my only form of getting his attention because the music has now changed to a song I know. My brother’s guards played the song all the time while they sat by the bonfire behind their quarters.Soldierby Eminem plays throughout the concrete building as Ciarán weaves us through the space, getting us closer to the shabby ring. When we reach the front row of standing-room-only gamblers, Ciarán pulls me in front of him. I turn back and finally ask my question. “How did you know about this place?”
“I’ve been here before.”
“When?” I question, shocked.
“A few times,” he pacifies, vaguely answering my question. “The two guys in front of us are lightweights. Chumps that are just brought in before a main fight. You want to bet on the next one?” He leans in, shouting next to my ear.
So out of my element, I hesitate to answer. I glance around the room. Ciarán’s quiet while waiting for my answer. My fingers tremble alongside my thighs. “How many fights are there tonight?”
“A few. You okay?”
“Aye.” I jerk my chin with a short nod. “Just rattled.”
“Don’t be nervous. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you, cuz.” He rubs my shoulders to reassure me.
We stand in silence, watching blow for blow being connected against the two opponents facing off. Shouts, screams of encouragement, and disheartened curses fill the air. There’s a feeling of savageness, a merciless heaviness that spreads throughout the atmosphere as the night progresses.
Midway through the night, I get the ill sense that I’m being watched. Without alerting Ciarán, I survey the area around us. When I don’t see anything unusual, I go about my business, enjoying the fights. I have come to realize I love the bloodthirsty sport, but the nagging feeling that caused my hair to stand at attention won’t leave me. It feels like electricity is buzzing close to my body.
“Who runs this place?” I turn to my cousin and ask as he shouts out obscenities to the fighter who just got knocked out.
“An associate.”
“Are we safe here?”
His full attention immediately comes to me. “Trust me, you are well protected here. Besides, you are always safe with me.”
I leave it at that because I know my cousin will never let anything happen to me. Standing here, though, in this rough, bloodthirsty crowd, I don’t think I am one hundred percent safe.
I blow it off and yell, “I want to bet,” over the cheering of the crowd, pushing away the uneasiness I feel. “I want to make a bet,” I repeat. As I stand there and wait for Ciarán, there is a sudden sensitivity, a feeling that comes over me, a heightened sense emerging that I don’t recognize. My insides curl with danger, but it’s almost as if it’s a wanted threat. “I have to pee too.”
“Tell me who you want, and I’ll place the bet after I walk you to a bathroom.”
“Are there bathrooms down here?” I glance around the dark area. “I don’t think there is.” I survey the massive space. “I’ll hold it.” I speak up too soon. I see a handful of tunnels on the other side through the throng of people. “Is that pot? I smell pot. I’m going to get a contact high.” I laugh.
“Lucky you,” he chirps, smiling. “There’s a first time for everything, cuz.”
“I’ll have you know; I took a hit off a joint while I was attending secondary.”
“And that’s also when the joint giver lost a finger.”
I gasp, twisting in my spot, shocked, knowing I heard him correctly but wishing I didn’t. I think back and reflect on that time. “Oh my God! Ciarán, you didn’t!”
He shakes his head slowly but proudly confirming who did. “Finn.”
