The warm up will do me some good and also help to dispel some of my mood, which is surprisingly dark for a guy who’s about to cash in, winning everything including the woman of his dreams.
I just wish everything didn’t have to be so fucking hard, so dangerous for her.
I just wish…
Stop wishing Romeo and start fighting. You want her? You want the life that goes with it? Then fight!
I jog, then I run and finally I sprint to the warehouse, trying to lose this feeling that I have, that I can’t control everything all the time. Only wanting it all to be over so I can hold Roxy again and know that she’s finally safe.
I pound on the rusty door at the side of the warehouse, and am let in by one of Marconi’s sneering goons, his lip curled to one side as he looks me up and down.
“You’re late… Almost thought you’d be a no show.” He produces something from his pocket, my wallet and starts to thumb the few bills left inside.
“Ah ah, Dillon,” he warns me, holding it higher and shielding himself from me with his elbow, making sure I catch the butt of his gun through his jacket.
“Just do your job and we’ll see about getting you all your nice things back… Mr. Marconi is particularly sad you chose not to honor your contract last night.”
I scowl at the man, my hands already fists, primed to fight. “What d’you mean?” I ask, but I don’t have a chance to answer.
The sharp, searing pain at the back of my head makes me see black and I fall unconscious.
The sound of jeering, cheering and shouts hits my ears right before a foot connects with my gut.
My hands, acting on instinct, grab the foot and twist hard and I hear the sickening snap and crunch of bone and tendon in tune with a high pitched scream before someone joins me on the floor.
Opening my eyes wide, I can only see blurry shapes. None of them coming at me for now, so I just stand up, shake myself off and assume a defensive pose as a hush goes over the crowd as whoever just tried to kick me is dragged away.
With each pulse of my quickening heartbeat, I can see clearer. The dried blood on my face cracks as I strain to see better. I was king hit at the door, and I can only guess they just tossed me into the ring when it was time to fight, some of the pre-fight entertainment already trying to have a piece of me.
Too bad for him, he should know better than to try kicking a man when he’s down.
Especially me.
Two familiar shapes come out of the semi-darkness, and a slightly less than enthusiastic voice over the bad P.A announces the main event, me and my two Russians.
Both of them?
It looks like Marconi means to finish me off in the ring, make it look like a fight induced death instead of his usual tactics.
I crack my neck again, which gives me some relief from my headache as I trot on the spot, limbering up my arms and legs by swinging my fists and pumping my legs.
I hope the Russians bet on the right man… My memory's a little hazy now. I’m not sure if I was supposed to go down or…?
Before I know it, both men are lurching towards me, and I realize too, they both know how to fight.
One pushes while the other tries to trip me up and before long I find myself in a retreating set of moves, practically having them chase me around the ring to the hissing sound of boos and shouts.
Sounds familiar… I usually know what comes next but I’m really not sure what the fight plan was again. That knockout blow as soon as I got here has made my mind all fuzzy.
Until I see her.
Roxy.
And I know my mind’s made up. The real reason, the only reason I draw breath in this life.
Fight be damned. Money be damned.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Roxy
Getting to the fight’s easy. I don’t have a choice. This guy Jake who Dillon’s trusted to arrange everything has made sure I’m going to be there with my Marconi money too. It’s like he wants as much money in the building, on the fight as possible.
But it’s who he sends to take me to the fight that has me more confused than ever.
“Dad?”
I can see through the disguise, if you could call it that. A hat and sunglasses, and what must be a fake mustache. But I know my own father when I see him.
He only lifts up his sunglasses long enough to give me a wink.
“Let’s go, honey,” he says, sounding more excited than I think I’ve ever heard him before, “I’m supposed to be Russian… does it show?”
I look at him sidelong, trying not to laugh and grab my bag from behind the door, worrying about Baxter as I leave.
“Don’t kiss me, people might see,” he panics, when I go to hug him.
“And don’t worry about the house, the dog… it’s all been arranged…” he says, lowering his voice as if the trees and bushes have eyes and ears.
I’m struck with guilt about what happened last night. How I gambled and lost all our money, but dad seems to know a lot more than I do right now, he even looks happy.
“Just play along, darlin’ and everything will be fine,” he says, getting in front of a big car out front while I climb in the back, looking back at the neat looking house in the neater still looking suburb. Wishing Dillon and I could’ve stayed there forever.
It's past dark by the time the car stops, I’ve spent the whole ride reliving every second I’ve had with Dillon in my mind, once dad’s gone over what he understands to
