A Fighting Chance (38 page)

She’s right.
The money we’re spending on gas alone is eating through our daily budget, and I haven’t sent Henry any money in a while. Even if the robbery hadn’t happened tonight, it was stupid to think gambling was even a temporary solution. I can’t let my little brother suffer or have Miguel’s death be for nothing by ending up further back in this quest than we were a few weeks ago. And if we keep gambling that’s where we’ll be.

“The only thin
g we can, Drew. I have to get back in the cage with Carlos.”

And fast.

“Come on! You’re being a complete pussy right now…” Kerr says to me from his spotting position at the bench press. “No offense, Drew,” he adds over his shoulder.

I laugh as the whirr of the treadmill cuts out suddenly, and she walks into my line of sight. “How’s this for irony?” Irritation curls into her voice. “I wasn’t offended until you told me not to be…”

We’re in a hotel just on the outskirts of Mexico City in the weight room, the place I usually am when I’m not sleeping or eating. I took my sling off the week after the robbery, much earlier than planned, and I’ve been training as much as I can for the past three weeks, as healthily as I can. Under Majandra’s orders, I should probably only just now be taking off the sling. Kerr
may be making fun of my rep count, but the financial worries on my shoulders are much heavier to lift—our expenses, paying back Sandrine’s loan to us, and paying back Henry’s loan. Plus, I have to pay Kerr for helping me prepare to face Carlos again. We’ve already told Sandrine to schedule the fight for as soon as possible.

I’m anxious enough to overexert myself between lifting, running, hitting the heavy bag at a nearby gym, and sparring with Kerr. My shoulder gets a grinding pain every once in a while
, and I’m not lifting as much as I was before I got stabbed. I know it’s not enough time or physical conditioning, so I’m just keeping it together for Drew and Kerr. If I show any sign that the upcoming fight is throwing me, they’ll freak out and then I’ll
really
freak out.

Kerr drapes his arm over Drew’s shoulders, an apologetic expression mixed in with a smirk. “I just think he could do one more set without
pussing
out like a bitch.”

“If you say
, ‘No offense, Drew’ again, I’m going to punch you,” she warns. “In the face. With a barbell.”

I chuckle.
“I’m not quitting, dude. Just can’t fuck up my shoulder while it’s fucked up. You know that.”

“And you guys have been at it for hours, for days. Give him a break,” Drew chides
him.

“Fine. But tonight we’re back in here…” Kerr says as he pulls me up to a sitting position and
then heads for the door. “Or it’s your funeral…” Drew and I both cringe at the wording.

She plops down on the edge of the bench, facing me. She’s been so supportive since I’ve started training again—getting up early for runs and hitting the weight room with me. Her workout clothes are soaked through with sweat and she looks sexy as hell, but we’re still on a no-sex diet. She squeals when I grab her and swing her up onto me. She locks her legs over my waist and squeezes me tight.
“Hey, you shouldn’t be lifting me…”

“Oh, I think I’m way passed things I should and shouldn’t be doing…”

Pressing her cheek against mine, she says, “So, how are you doing,
really
? I don’t mean that caveman crap you and Kerr do where you grunt and beat your chest and pretend not to have feelings.”

“I prefer growling, thank you very much,” I tease back before shrugging. “I’m doing okay.
Now.
I know when we get the call I’m going to be terrified my shoulder’s gonna give out, or I won’t be able to hit him like I want to.” I sigh. “Mostly, I’ve just been thinking a lot about why I needed to get in the cage with Carlos so badly in the first place, you know? Money, yeah…but I think he personifies all those things I’ve been struggling with, some of those questions I’ve had about myself—the monster that lives in my shadow. The one I was willing to become for the sake of Henry Chance loving me.”

Drew takes my face in her hands and shakes her head. “Not even close. He left a dead man in the cage, and you carried one out. You’ve given up
everything
for your little brother. You had a comfortable life. You didn’t have to do this. And I could spend the rest of the day singing your praises, but…it’s not
me
who needs to do it. People see what they want to see. I don’t just mean the people who come to the fights. I mean
you
, too, Jesse Chance. ‘Cause maybe, just maybe, that monster’s only there because
you
think
it’s there.” Drew hops off me and gives me a quick kiss. “I need a nap. Wanna come with? We’ve been up since five.”

“
Go ahead without me. I’ll be up in a sec. I’ll do that damn rep.” I squeeze her palm against mine. “Hey, you still having nightmares?”

One shoulder goes up as a soft, sad smile hits her lips. “Some nights. And then I just stay awake and think about Miguel and the others until morning.”

“You can wake me up whenever and talk about it. You know that, right, Drew?”

“Yeah and it’s not that I don’t want to talk about his murder, but really it’s that I just can’t get over my guilt from that night enough to have a conversation. It just makes me mad at
everything.
” I know exactly how that feels. Even if I win the fight, it won’t bring Miguel back. “The helplessness. It pisses me off.” She vises my hand. “It makes me want to scream.”

Taking a few steps, I fold my arms around her. “Then you scream. Scream as much as you want, baby girl.”

“I’ll definitely be doing that. Right on your side of the cage…getting you through that fight and watching you give that douchebag a taste of Glory, baby…” Drew pulls back and caresses me from waist to shoulders, smiling. “
You
.”

The call from Sandrine comes the following week, and we all head to Colonia Obrera in
Cuauhtémoc. Obrera is another area that’s plagued by violent crime. Time, graffiti and earthquakes have ravaged all the buildings but, like with every city we’ve seen, there’s beauty hidden under the notoriety, and it’s really just another slice of everyday life: sweet and spicy scents wafting from the street vendor’s cart as he shuts down for the night, loud laughter from a smoky bar, and a few graveyard shifters heading for the train station. It’s an old industrial neighborhood—the name literally means worker neighborhood—and there are still a lot of vacant industrial buildings because the government plans to demolish them to make room for low-income housing.

So, it’s the perfect place for a fight. 

I breathe a sigh of relief once we’re inside the actual fight location, and the poorly lit, brick interior brings a surprising sense of calm. I’ve never been happier to see a cage, not because I’m fighting, but because it feels like I’m so much closer to shedding this part of my life again. If I beat Carlos, with that kind of reputation, I will probably only need one or two more fights at the most to bring this nightmare to an end.

Around us, the place is alive with its usual volatile energy
, and ski mask-wearing security loaded up with automatic weapons. Two men are already tussling in the cage, but more than a few eyes turn my way as we walk by. Suddenly, the room buzzes to a peak, and I can just feel it in my bones that Cocodrilo is here. Nervousness skitters across my skin but it’s gone in a second, and my focus is tuned in to my hope for a victory. I’m wary of my shoulder but it feels
great
thanks to Majandra and her cortisone shots.

“What’s going on in that head of yours right now, Chance?” Drew asks as she wraps my wrists.

“The end of our abstinence…” I pucker my lips at her and then smile.

She tries to stay serious but I see excitement pulsing back at me in her eyes
when she rolls them. “Just get through the fight, Jesse.” She leans in and kisses me—a deep, slow kiss that elicits whistles from people nearby.
Fuck yeah, it ends.

“If this is what
old friends
are doing right now, what the hell are people who are fucking each other doing?” Sandrine asks with knowing amusement in her tone. “You two are fucking.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting out of here?” I say with playful irritation.

“I’m staying.” I glance at her suspiciously. She’s in jeans and a fitted cotton top. Sneakers, too.
“I guess I’m
invested
,” she admits, a kind look floating between Drew and me. “I really want someone to put Carlos out of business. And for Miguel. I wanted to be here for Miguel.”

“For Miguel.”
Turning to Drew, I clasp her hands together in mine.

“For Miguel,” she repeats,
her voice nearly coming apart.

There’s only one more fight before mine, and it ends fairly quickly with a crushing knockout. I think the guy lost teeth. The noise of the crowd grows and the floor shakes from the stomping.
Here we go.
An announcer shouts in Spanish into a bullhorn, and I don’t move my feet until I hear my name. The people form a tunnel around Drew, Sandrine, Kerr, and me, and it makes me really claustrophobic as we walk to one side of the cage. As soon as I’m inside, the audience starts banging on the chain-links as the announcer goes into the spirited spiel I’ve heard before. Ramón Vega’s in the audience. Dudes with really big guns flank him, and Gabe is also at his side. I greet him with a nod.

When Carlos enters the cage
, apprehension blazes into his expression, but he tries to mask it under his game face. Yeah, this motherfucker didn’t expect me to be here ever again. I shoot a smirking look at him, letting him know that I can see through to his unease. He moves to each side of the cage, like he always does, but he pauses where Drew is, just a few feet away from me.

He grabs his crotch over his shorts and licks his lips at
her. “You want to taste? Too big for your mouth,” Carlos says to her. There’s a delay between my body’s response and my brain’s awareness of what I’m doing, because I don’t even know how I manage to strike him in the face so fast. More than once. Carlos pushes me backward and I fall against the chains. The gunmen around Ramón scramble toward the cage, but I steady myself and put my hands up.
Can’t lose your cool. Not yet.

“Only time you touch me tonight,
pendejo
,” he growls, but his face lights up because he knows he got to me by messing with Drew. In spite of my lack of faith in anything, I know I’m seeing the devil’s smile. Maybe I’m looking right into the pits of hell right now. “I fuck her on your corpse. Does she scream?” he continues. His threat teases the release of my rage again, but I force it back down.

“Hey! Hey!” Drew
pounds on the cage until he turns to her. “
You
won’t be able to
scream
anything
when he punches your face in so hard it imprints onto the back of your head.
Bitch
!” I smile. That’s my girl. He must’ve really pissed her off to have her
encouraging
violence. She claps it up loudly as I move to the center of the cage.

Cocodrilo and I tap knuckles and as soon as the bell rings, we start throwing punches at each other up close. He moves like he’s going to get me in a clinch, but I block his arms so that they fall on either side of me. He takes a small step forward, baring his teeth. There’s a crunch on the side of my head as my ear folds inside Cocodrilo’s jaws
, and searing pain cuts in. I shove him away and he laughs. It’s a maniacal, guttural sound, like he’s the host to something demonic, but thank God my ear is still whole.

“You’re a sick fuck,” I shout at him
. My adrenaline gives me a second wind and I lunge. I bulldoze him straight into the side of the cage, and everyone behind him jumps back from the shock of the force. Then I hit him with a hurricane of jabs anywhere I can reach. He’s gasping and huffing and shouting out, but I don’t stop, even as the strain in my weaker shoulder makes it feel like my muscles are made of razor blades. Changing strategies, I throw in a quick kick to the side of the face that twists his head one way, and land a hook to his chin that whips it back the other way. When my strength dwindles, I push off him and back away to the other side. I roll my shoulder to alleviate the dull but growing tightness. I have to manage my energy better if I want to beat him because relying on my rage will only get me so far.

“His name was Miguel. You looked him in the eye and you killed him,” I yell
across the canvas, regaining my breath. I’m seeing for the first time how injured he is already. Blood is smeared across his forehead and around his mouth, it’s dripping from his nostrils, and a laceration runs from his hairline to his eyebrow.

Carlos spits
to the canvas before his stare pins me. I shiver, not because I’m afraid, but because I’ll never get used to the way malice lives in his eyes. “Miguel.
Dead Miguel.
Did you know he prayed for
su mamá
while I kill him? He
beg
for her.” He pretends to pout before he lets out a cruel laugh. “What you will pray for?”