Reckless Attraction Vol. 2 Page 10

  “Apparently,” I say. I’m not so sure it’s the best idea.

  “Good. Because I’m not liking what I’m hearing. You need to kick his ass good and solid.”

  “What are you hearing?”

  “That he would have won. That you got lucky that the lights went down.”

  “That’s bullshit!” My voice gets a little loud, and Jo glances over. I turn away.

  “It’s all good,” Parker says. “Finish it, and then we’ll get you on the real circuit. It’s time, my man.”

  “Thanks.”

  Eve calls us into the dining room. My head spins. First they say I called the police myself. Now that he would have won.

  I can’t really pull out of the fight even if I want to. The fighting world is small. Everyone scrambles for respect so they can get the good matches that will make them visible enough to be viable challengers. You have to get accepted to the leagues to work your way up.

  I sit next to Jo and go through the motions of being friendly. But I can’t get this problem out of my head. I’m in a corner. Chloe or no Chloe, I have to fight if I want to do this gig.

  I’m the same damn mess most of the week. I do my workouts, and both Colt and Jo are pleased with my progress even though my head is elsewhere.

  I text Chloe twice, and both times she writes me back. We don’t say anything important, and I don’t ask her out again. I want to get clear of this fight on Friday before I try to decide what will happen next.

  Theoretically, I’ll do this rematch with Face Wrecker, and that will be the end of my illegal fighting career. I’ll wait out my time for legitimate fights. And hopefully that sort of sports career will be acceptable to Chloe. If not, I don’t know where to go from there.

  It’s impossible to know from where I stand right now, which could be more important.

  The sport that I love.

  Or the woman I’m falling for.

  Chapter 19: Chloe

  I’m not sure if I should dress in all-black again for the new fight. On one hand, it’s a great look for escaping in the dark. On the other hand, someone might realize a tiny blond-haired girl dressed like a ninja was there both nights the fights got busted.

  In the end, I decide to go as a normal girl on the discreet side. A pair of jeans and a red tank top covered by a nondescript gray hoodie. That way I can change my look.

  I don’t go full makeup this time. I’m not going to have to rely on anyone to get in. I will have my name on the list. To help me, Declan, who does most of the graphics and permit work for Action for Action, created a fake university ID with the name Charlotte Moore, who now attends a community college in Utah.

  This should be good enough for Mama Bertie if she asks me to prove I’m the Charlotte those three guys put on the list. It’s not like this is airport security. Probably she’ll remember me anyway.

  I drive down to Manchester Square and pass the seafood market, which is closed for the night. There are a few people wandering along the sidewalks. A fistfight breaks out right as I drive by.

  I wonder if I should have brought Shelley with me.

  Unlike the warehouse, this venue is pretty obvious. I come across a mob of people standing near one corner. Quite a few of them are clearly fighters, wearing the same fitted shorts as Hudson did. A few of them have MMA gloves dangling from their hands. They’re not very subtle.

  I want to yell, “I’m right here, you idiots.” They could at least try to conceal what they’re doing.

  I drive a few more blocks until I spot a convenience store that seems to be safe enough to leave my car at. Hopefully I won’t be there long. I’ll take my pictures and video, geo-tag them, send them in to Clarissa, and get the hell out.

  Jonesie looks lonely there, a small yellow car on the gray block. I blow her a kiss and head toward the crowd.

  As I approach, the low-level anxiety I’ve felt all week rises up again. Hudson might be here. I don’t know what I’ll do if I see him. My being there will be warning enough to him about my intentions. He’ll have to make his choice.

  I shove my hands in the front pocket of my hoodie and weave through groups of friends.

  Quite a few congregate near the side door of an old building covered with chipped green paint. I assume this must be it.

  Mama Bertie isn’t anywhere to be seen. It looks like they haven’t let anyone in yet. I lean against a tree, carved up and scraggly, growing out of a crumbling median that separates the parking lot from the street behind us. All around me, people talk and tap on their cell phones. I’m the only one who’s here alone.

  I’m not sure what I’ll do if my name isn’t on the list, or if Mama Bertie doesn’t let me in. Clarissa is aware this could be a possibility. I’ll probably try my tactic of last time, and if necessary, I can whip off the hoodie and stand there in my sleazy tank top, pull my hair down, and act the part of the trampy damsel again, but it’s not my first choice.

  Last time, I didn’t arrive at the fights this early. I took a side trip with Hudson that made us a couple hours late. Maybe I should’ve done that again. Or maybe it’s good that I’m blending with the crowd. It’s possible that this location is more popular or that word got out faster. The organizers probably had to do some damage control since people were bound to be spooked about the arrests.

  Everyone seems happy, though. I pull out my own cell phone and pretend to be engrossed in it.

  I spot the texts from Hudson. We kept our comments to simple things, the speakeasy, doughnuts, the dogs on walking trails. Nothing hard. And nothing about the future. It hasn’t gotten past me that he didn’t ask me out this weekend. I don’t know for sure that it has to do with the fight tonight, but I’m not going to be surprised if I see him here.

  A murmur passes through the crowd and I look up from my phone. One of the side doors has opened, and a young Hispanic man sets up a chair and a table. People quickly press forward. The man hollers for everyone to back up.

  “Don’t crowd Mama Bertie,” he says. “She won’t let you in if you make her mad.”

  I let people pass, staying by my tree. I glance through the crowd to see if I spot the three guys who told me about the fight. They could be my insurance for getting in should Mama Bertie not want me to go.

  I don’t see them.

  Maybe I could do them a small favor by getting this thing shut down before they get here. In fact, maybe if Hudson is late, this could be over before he’s tangled up in it.

  With this idea in mind, I start pushing through the crowd to make my way closer to the front. Most of the men step aside to let me go, but a couple of the women say, “Hey!”

  I ignore them. The voice in the back of my head tells me I should be more careful and try to remain inconspicuous. But the other one tells me urgently to get inside. Take images and video of the very first fight. Call it in. Get out.

  The line isn’t as slow-going as I would’ve thought based on its size. Mama Bertie seems to be pretty lenient about who she’s letting in. Most everyone is waved through. She doesn’t glance at me. So the name on the list and the ID were for nothing.

  I head inside. There’s no hall leading to this one. The door opens straight into a big empty space. The floor bears the faint impression of old linoleum, worn down and faded.

  A man standing inside periodically shouts, “No cell phones at any time. Using a phone inside the building will get your phone crushed and your body ejected.”

  Point taken.

  The money tables are set up on the wall to the right. Pretty much everyone who was ahead of me in line is wandering the open space, some already going to the betting tables or standing in front of the fighting cage. It’s different from last time, set a little higher. The mats around the bottom are worn and ragged. I wonder if the last cage was confiscated in the bust.

  I check out the possible exits. There’s a door in each back corner, probably leading to the stocking area. There should be at least one more exit where deliveries were brought in.


  Another door in the opposite corner could lead to the bathrooms. It seems a little too far forward to go directly outside. The front glass doors are all boarded up.

  I’ll have to check out these back doors and ensure they eventually lead to the outside. I don’t want to go there only to find everything sealed.

  I cross the room to peer through. It’s another room, the full length of the main one, but narrow.

  Fighters walk in through a separate door. Several of them are already sprawled out on the floor or a few scattered benches. I take a quick glance at them, but Hudson isn’t among them. I relax my shoulders. If he is coming, it will be later. I have to make this happen before he can arrive. If it works, we never have to acknowledge each other’s cross purposes.

  A tall muscular man in black jeans and a tight black T-shirt moves near me. “You looking for somebody?” he asks, his voice gruff. It’s clear I’m not supposed to be here. There are no women in the fighter area.

  “No, no,” I say. “Sorry. I’m lost.” I walk backward to the door and retreat to the main room.

  Two refs in striped shirts talk next to the cage. The Hispanic man who opened the door for Mama Bertie messes around with an enormous portable speaker.

  I’m not sure where to stand. I don’t want to be too visible. I mingle among the crowd, trying to stand between two groups so it isn’t obvious to either one of that I don’t belong to the other.

  A girl pulls out her phone to take a selfie by the cage and is reprimanded by another man in the same black shirt as the one who questioned me. They’re definitely policing the room.

  “No cell phones,” he barks.

  The overall feel of this crowd is different from two weeks ago. Maybe the old group really did get spooked, and they had to start fresh with new fans. That explains why they didn’t check the list.

  The Hispanic man hands the microphone up to the announcer I recognize from two weeks ago. He’s dressed up for the occasion in a shiny dark gray suit.

  “Testing,” he says. “One two three. Ladies and gentlemen, the fights will begin in approximately ten minutes. Please place your bets for the first round of contenders. Lists of the fighters will be updated regularly on both ends of the betting table.”

  One of the refs steps into the cage. The groups shift around on the floor, and I try to move with them. The crowd is thick enough for me to safely be able to take a picture, but I don’t want to risk that until there are fighters in the cage.

  I’m antsy to get this done and over with. As the minutes draw out, a chant begins at the front of the crowd near the cage.

  “Fight match! Fight match!”

  I decide what the hell and start chanting with them. It gives me something to do, and makes me less conspicuous.

  Finally, two fighters come out from the back room, shirtless and in fight shorts, their hands encased in slender gloves. The crowd erupts into cheers as they enter the cage.

  The announcer flips on his mike. “We have our first match of the night!” He consults with the fighters.

  “This is Roaring Maniac!” he says, holding up the arm of a stringy man who must be in a lower weight class than Hudson.

  The announcer moves over to the other man. “And Mad Dog McGee.” He lifts his arm.

  “Place your final bets,” the announcer shouts. He flips off his mike and heads down out of the cage. The ref confers with the two fighters. I’m safely in the middle of the crowd. I look around for the men in black shirts.

  I shift to ensure that I have a good view behind a couple women rather than being blocked by the taller men. As soon as the round begins, the two men face off. I slip my cell phone from my pocket and hold it to my chest, covering as much of it as possible with my hand.

  I split my fingers to reveal the camera lens and take a few silent shots. I will have to trust that they’re good, because I definitely can’t look at them to check. I slide the phone into my pocket and move deeper into the crowd.

  My new vantage point is even better. I pull the cell phone out again and this time slide the bottom of my screen to switch it to video mode. It’s something I’ve practiced many times, but you never know if you’ve nailed it. I push in the center of the screen, which should activate the video, and let it run for several long seconds. The two men in the cage fight in close contact, alternating wrestling and punches.

  One pulls back and gets several nose crushing blows to the other’s face.

  I can’t watch anymore. I turn away, and head to where I believe the bathrooms are. Inside a stall will be the perfect place for me to check my pictures and video. If they’re good enough, I can send them off and be done.

  I push through the crowd. When I make it to the corner door, I realize that it’s locked. I guess they don’t provide bathrooms at these fights. Shoot.

  I turn away. It’s probably safe enough to look at my screen briefly over here. This place isn’t as dark as the last one, so the light shouldn’t be obvious.

  I’ve just activated the screen when one of the men in black appears from nowhere. “No cell phones.” He holds out his hand as if he expects me to hand it over. Maybe they really will crush them.

  I quickly slip it in my pocket. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Where’s your man?” he booms.

  I guess women don’t come here alone.

  “He’s a fighter,” I say quickly. “He’s in the back. He’ll probably be up soon.”

  “If your man is a fighter, why don’t you know the rules?”

  My heart beats a hundred miles an hour. I can’t surrender my phone. I won’t be able to send in the footage. And I definitely can’t let them find out they have the enemy right in front of them. I’m sure I’ll get more than ejected.

  I have to think fast. “I just met him last week. This is all new to me.”

  “Which fighter did you say he was? Your boyfriend?”

  I only know two names. Hudson, who is Reckless. And Face Wrecker. I feel pretty certain that this guy will know the names. I can’t make one up.

  “Reckless,” I say. “I’m here for his rematch with a guy named Face Fighter or something.”

  The guy grunts. “Everybody’s here for that fight. It won’t happen until the end. You’ll have a long time to wait. Keep your cell phone in your pocket.”

  “I will.”

  I let out a long shuddering breath as he walks away. I have to be smarter. Maybe the thing to do is to take a bunch of photos and a bunch of video, and then walk out. I can stay close enough to geo-tag outside, not inside were I can be seen.

  I head into the crowd. My phone buzzes, but I know better than to look at it. I feel pretty sure it’s going to be Clarissa, asking if I’ve gotten in. I kick myself for not telling her I was here before I entered the door. I definitely can’t say anything now. At least two of the security detail have already taken note of me.

  I really need to bust this thing and get the hell out.

  Chapter 20: Hudson

  Mike and Josh are fired up, constantly slapping my back and making cutting remarks about Face Wrecker as we enter the rear of the building where the fights are now being held.

  Mike shows me the bracket for the evening. They include the favorites and the odds on each of the fighters. Face Wrecker seems to have rallied some of his support since we last looked at it. He must have convinced quite a lot of people that he was about to take me down when the police came. Because we’re almost at one-to-one odds when he was way down a week ago.

  None of that matters to me. That’s for the money people to sort. All I care about is that I get in there, take the guy down, and have the decisive first win of my MMA career.

  From here on out, it’s only legitimate fights for me. Above ground stuff. The ones that matter. This one is just for my ego. The rest will be for my future.

  I haven’t told Mike and Josh about Chloe. But still, as we drop my gear on a bench, I head to the door to the main room and
scan to see if I can spot her. The fights have been going on for at least an hour, and there are no police yet. I almost expected for the whole thing to be busted before I arrived.

  But maybe she isn’t coming. It’s possible she doesn’t know where they moved. We certainly didn’t talk about her source. But looking at the size of the crowd, nobody seems to care that the last fight ended in a ton of arrests.

  I can only see the people who are closest to the door. Everything else is a mass of bodies. I turn back into the fighter area so that I can warm up.

  A youngish guy approaches me with a clipboard. “You’re Reckless, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ll be the final fight of the night,” he says.

  I run the odds through my head that Chloe will be here and bust the fight before this. I could be arrested again.

  “What if I want to be done before then?”

  “Then you gotta talk to the boss.”

  “Who’s the boss?”

  “The General. Large guy with all the girls behind the betting tables.” He walks away.

  “Why don’t you want to be the headliner?” Mike asks.

  “Because there’s no such thing as a headliner in fights like this,” I say. “Besides, the longer we’re here, the more likely it is that the whole night will end up in a cop car.”

  “It’s not going to happen again,” Josh says. “That stuff happens every once in a while. The cops get their big pat on the back that they’re busting up the fighting rings, and then they move on to other stuff.”

  I’m not so sure. Chloe would have been a lot more relaxed if her job didn’t have more fighter work planned.

  “I’m going to go find this General guy,” I say.

  “All right,” Mike says. “Just know that being the final fight does carry some weight around here. You’re the new guy. That’s huge.”

  “Point taken.” I leave them behind in the room. There are at least forty fighters back there, which means it could be hours before my match.