Fighting to Forget (3 page)

Chapter Four

It felt weird being here, seeing all these people going into this disgusting, dilapidated building, but she’d wanted to come, had to see this for herself. When she’d overheard Larson speaking with one of the fighters about doing an underground match, she’d felt like a fool for eavesdropping and deciding to do this.

She still hadn’t really spoken to Larson, not even after they’d seen each other at the park, yet he hadn’t said a word. But she’d seen him watching her, like he was curious as to what the deal with her was. Hell, maybe he thought she was a creep because she watched him all the time? She couldn’t help it though.

Tasha had never felt this kind of connection or draw to someone. Well, she had felt something, or thought she had with her chemistry teacher, but that had been different. That had been along the lines of she hadn’t known any better, fell for his charm and sweetly spoken words, and thought she was in love. She knew better now that she was older, knew that it hadn’t been love at all.

She looked around the cracked, uneven, and uprooted parking lot. The building that the fight was currently at was in the crappy part of town, right at the edge of the city limits, and where the drug deals, prostitution, and even where some murders had gone down. She grabbed her purse, had her pepper spray in her hand and ready to go, and got out of her car.

This part of town was scary, and she was stupid for coming here alone, but she really didn’t have any friends, and although she knew Sunny, the other woman wasn’t close enough that Tasha would have asked her to come, or felt okay with explaining
why
she wanted to come here.

But as the shadows crept up around her, the sound of the lone car passing by on occasion, and the knowledge that blood and gore would happen within this building, had fear and anxiety creeping up on Tasha.

The only saving grace was the fact other people were going in, too. There were younger guys with tattoos and piercings, but there were also preppy looking guys, probably from the local college. The women were scantily dressed, showing a lot of skin, and she’d heard the guys at the gym talk about certain girls like that, ones that they called Chasers because they wanted to sleep with the fighters.

  The door she now stood in front of was tattered and scarred steel, with chipped red paint, a handle that was rusted and looked to be falling off the hinges, and it looked downright nasty. She pulled open the heavy metal and stepped through. There was a long hallway, and the scent of decay, mold, and dirt filled her nose. There were people walking in front of her, some behind her as well, their voices loud, echoing off the high ceiling and walls.

A scary looking man stood in front of another door, this one at the end of the hallway. She saw some of the people in front of her giving the bouncer tickets, and she cursed. Of course she would have had to pay to see the fight. She felt even more foolish that she hadn’t even contemplated that she’d have to have some form of proof to get into the match. She only knew about this place because she’d heard the guys at the gym talking about the location and who was fighting tonight, and how it was in the seedy part of town.

She looked at the guy guarding the door again. There was no way she would be able to get by that bouncer. Hell, he looked like he was itching to beat someone’s ass, and she wasn’t going to be that someone. She also couldn’t try to squeeze her way in on her looks. Tasha knew she was on the overweight side, was a “Plain Jane” compared to a lot of women, and she wasn’t even wearing anything revealing that would have accented her large breasts. Just as she turned around to go back out the door she came through, male voices coming from behind her stopped Tasha.

“Fight. Fight. Fight.” The words came through from a group of three men standing behind her. The one in front, a guy that looked like he should be playing golf instead of seeing bare-knuckle fighting, grinned at her.

“You here for the show?”

“Um.” She didn’t know how to respond. Licking her lips, she nodded. “I was, but forgot my ticket,” she lied, finding it pretty easy. These guys seemed drunk, or maybe they were high, or maybe they were just pumped about the fight? Maybe she could get one of them to take her in? It was a total off the wall thought, but she’d give it a try. It was like she had this wish to see a bunch of guys knocking each other around, beating the shit out of the other for the sole purpose of getting a wad of cash, which was presented to the winner along with the recognition of being victorious.

“It’s your lucky day, sweetheart.” He grabbed her hand before she could agree to go with him or protest. “I happen to have an extra ticket,” he said, flashed two tickets in front of her face, then turned and looked over his shoulder at the other guys he’d come in with. “My date bitched out, so you’re the lucky one I get to watch the fight with.”

She opened her mouth, about to tell him she wasn’t his date, but she also wanted to see the fight. She felt bad for thinking about ditching him once they got inside, but he was wasted, the scent of beer on his breath nauseating, and she was here for Larson.

“You’ll hang out with me, right? Have a drink with me?” he asked, his words slurred.

“Yeah, sure.” A drink and standing by him wouldn’t be so bad. Besides, he’d probably forget about her once the fight started.

“Come on, we don’t want to miss it.” He held her hand tightly in his, gave the bouncer the tickets, and then they were making their way down the long flight of steps that would take them to the bowels of the building. The farther they descended the louder the noise became. When they reached the bottom, the guy turned to her.

“Ready?”

“Ready? For what?” she asked. The bass and thumping noise were ear-shattering. She should just run back up the stairs.

“To watch the fucking fight of the century. Get ready to get some blood splattered all over that pretty white blouse of yours.” He grinned, and then they were moving into the main floor where a cage was erected, people were shouting, music was blasting, and the smell of blood was suffocating.

****

Larson sat down in the rickety metal chair in the basement of the abandoned building where the illegal fight was being held. He thought about Tasha, about seeing her in the park, and felt like a fucking bastard for just leaving her like that. But when he’d seen her he hadn’t known what to say. He wanted to get to know her, wanted to see if what he wanted with her was just a sexual attraction, or if maybe, just maybe, she was the first person that interested him in something more meaningful.

He could hear the shouts from the crowd right outside the door, and swore the damn walls shook from how forceful it was, how excited they were because Mars, the guy that Larson was to fight tonight, was a newer fighter in the scene. He tried to focus on that, tried to get his mind in the game because that was why he was here. He’d set up this fight, needing to burn off his emotions and just feel the pain and adrenaline that it could consume him with.

He got paid for the fights, got paid enough that he could support himself. But these fights were not easy, often giving him broken bones and having him laid up when he allowed himself to throw the match.

He braced his elbows on his thighs and tapped his foot as impatience, adrenaline, and endorphins slammed into him, moved through his bloodstream, and revved him up even further. He stood, rolled his head around on his neck, cracked his knuckles, and started bouncing on the balls of his feet to get his blood pumping even further. The air in the basement of this abandoned warehouse was dank and cold, musty and smelled like mold and age, but even in only a pair of track shorts Larson was hot and sweaty. His blood was pumping something fierce through his veins.

He was alone in the room, waiting for the announcer to call his name to come into the cage. He was old, maybe far older than a fighter should be. But this wasn’t the MMA, and everything that happened at these underground fights was illegal and not set up with rules or expectations. He exhaled loudly, centered himself, and focused on only the fight. Tasha, Melanie, everything that consumed him, none of it was going to be in his mind when he did this. He knew that knocking guys out with one hit didn’t help things when it came to cashing in, but when he needed to be the one that got KO’d, he did what he had to do. But tonight he’d be the one kicking ass, because he needed to beat someone.

He needed this, needed to hurt another fighter as much as he was hurting right now. Feeling his fist slam into another asshole’s face and body would sure as hell make
him
feel better. One of the reasons Larson had decided to fight in the underground circuit was because of the lack of rules, the lack of giving a shit about anything but good old-fashioned dirty fighting. There was no tape or gloves protecting knuckles, no headgear or safety equipment.

This was raw, unhinged, and bloody as fuck. Bones broke, people could die,
did
die in fact, and there was no one to stop them. It was dangerous as hell, but everyone going into the cage knew that before they agreed to participate. The money was good for the winners. Underground fighting was also one hell of a thrill, and it allowed Larson to let out the anger and ugliness that festered inside of him on a daily basis.

Larson was all about getting paid for these fights, but tonight he couldn’t care less. He wanted to knock someone’s head off, and didn’t care if they got severely hurt in the process. But despite the fact he didn’t want to think about Tasha when he was about to use violence, he couldn’t help it. She was on his mind, had been since he’d noticed her at the gym, and knew she’d been watching him. He flexed his arms and bounced on the balls of his feet again, getting pumped up for what was to come. When he went out there he’d calm himself, center his body, and focus only on fighting.

Larson heard the announcer continuing to talk, and then he heard his name being called. A knock on the door by one of the bouncers told him he was due out there. He headed toward the scarred door, pulled it open, and took a moment to stare at the crowd. The bodies were shoulder-to-shoulder, and the scent of sweat and booze filled the air. People started going crazy in their excitement.

Tonight they were about to see a lot of blood cover the mat, and that had Larson smiling in excitement and anticipation.

Chapter Five

Tasha’s eyes widened at the mass of people pushing and shoving each other and at the scent of sweat and beer that was thick in the air. Those latter scents couldn’t mask the aroma of blood and violence, though. The guy still had a hold of her hand and started making his way through the thick sea of bodies, pulling her like she was a rag doll. She tried to get free of his hold if only to pace herself, but he tightened his hand, looked over his shoulder, and grinned.

The room was lit brightly, and the closer they got to the center the better she saw the main event arena. A crude, caged ring was constructed in the center of the basement. The people surrounded it, beers and liquor in their hands, and drunk, excited expressions covering their faces. Off to one side was a bar where the fans were buying their liquor and getting even more trashed by the second. And off to the other side seemed to be where the women—Chasers—all congregated. They were easy enough to spot, what with their barely-there clothing, their teased and styled hair, and the thick, caked on makeup they wore.

“Are you assholes ready for a grand fucking fight?” The voice that came through the loudspeaker pierced Tasha’s ears and made them ring. She looked around the room, saw the crowd going even wilder, and knew this was so not her scene, not even her element. This was why these people came here, to be shocked, devastated by the violence and bloodshed. The noise, the atmosphere, all of it got their juices flowing, got them hard and aroused, excited about what was about to go down.

Tasha looked around the packed room again, knowing she would see Larson soon, see him in the ring and not just for training. This was the real deal, and she didn’t know, now that she stood here, if she could handle it.

“We have a fight happening tonight between the one, the only, Larson ‘The Champion’ Ireland.” The crowd went wild.  “And we all know when Larson fights, he motherfucking fights to the end.” The crowd went even wilder. The guy holding Tasha’s hand hollered and lifted their conjoined hands in the air, shouting like a madman. “Let’s give some love and encouragement to Larson,” the announcer screamed out.

Finally the guy released his hold on her and started clapping his hands together, and shouting to get the “fucking fight going already”, and acting just as wild as the rest of the crowd.

Common sense told Tasha she was out of her element, and that leaving, pulling herself out of this situation and what she was about to see, was probably the right thing to do. But curiosity and a twisted desire to see what would happen next had her feet rooted to the spot. The endorphins pumped through her, making her jittery and anxious, nervous and excited.

A tall, muscular man stepped out of the back door in the corner of the dilapidated building. He was shirtless, with a lean, muscled abdomen. His head was downcast, his light brown hair hanging over his forehead and kind of blocking his eyes. He had a hoodie on, the zipper undone, and the tattoos on display. He looked calm, collected. Her heart started beating faster when he stepped into the cage and removed his hoodie. He was bigger than she gave him credit for at first glance, and although Larson was a big man, there was something about this fighter that worried her. He didn’t gloat, didn’t even show expression on his face.

A woman clad in a dress that was so short and tight it was a wonder she could even walk, climbed into the cage and proceeded to hold up a large white board. It stated the round would begin, but Tasha knew it was mainly meant to tease the crowd. The man started jumping up and down on the balls of his feet, his head still downcast and his attention on the stained mat.

“I’ve heard of that fighter before.” The guy next to her hadn’t even told her his name, but she honestly didn’t care. “He’s newer to the underground scene, but the last two fights he’s done have been total knockouts.”

Tasha stared at the guy beside her, then looked at the fighter. He had his eyes closed, still bounced on his feet, and she knew that he wasn’t like other men Larson had been in the ring with. He wasn’t cocky, or at least wasn’t acting like it. Larson was like this fighter: calm, collected, didn’t let anyone see what he thought or felt.

“He’s a new fighter, but his reputation makes it known this isn’t some novice. Mars from the West is here to fight our main man, Larson.”

The crowd screamed, some booed, and the women went wild.

“And if you haven’t heard about our man Larson, you’ve been living under a fucking rock.”

“Come on, Larson, show us what you got,” a woman called out from beside Tasha. She looked at the young girl, one that couldn’t be more than nineteen, maybe twenty at the most. She had a face full of makeup on, a shirt that showed she didn’t wear a bra, and a pair of shorts that were the size of some of Tasha’s underwear.

“And now, the unbeatable, the unstoppable, the motherfucking master of the right hook, Larson Ireland.” The announcer hung on Larson’s last name until the crowd screamed.

Roars, cheers, and curses rang throughout the room. All at once, people started pushing and shoving, trying to get closer to the cage. Tasha braced herself, but the momentum was too much and she was forced forward. Another door opened in the back, and the roar of the crowd got louder, if possible.

She stood on her toes as much as she could with the wave-like motion going on, and saw Larson. Her heart pounded harder this time as she took him in. He was shirtless, his dark hair short, and his tattoos and muscle on full display. She saw the scar on his neck and chest, knew that although it was probably a painful reminder of his past—whatever that past might be—it did make him look fiercer, scarier.

She felt the tendrils of excitement and anticipation weave through her. Sweat bloomed between her breasts and down the length of her spine. Was this the thrill everyone had, or was it just the oppressive heat in the room? Maybe it was her nerves coupled with the fact she felt something more for Larson, something deeper, even though she didn’t really know him. She felt like a stalker, like she was hunting this man down because she felt … something for him.

Looking around at the people surrounding her, seeing their flushed faces, hearing their excited phrases, and smelling the scent of arousal and sweat, Tasha knew they felt it. They were alive in this room, experiencing the violence that was soon to come, soon to make them higher, drunker.

She tried to see over the heads in front of her, but the closer Larson got to the cage the harder it was to see him over the people. Tasha looked around, saw an opening off to the side, much closer to the front of the cage, and moved away from the drunken man that had gotten her in. He didn’t even look her way. His buddies were now close to him, giving him a plastic cup filled with beer. She slipped away unnoticed, moved close to the cage, and stared up as Larson climbed in.

Tasha had no clue why she wanted such a close seat for the violence that was sure to transpire, but as her heart beat in time with the shouting in the room, and the adrenaline pumped through her veins harder than just minutes before, she knew that she couldn’t help herself.

A few people had already clambered in front of her. The gap between their bodies gave her a prime shot of Larson and Mars. Tasha had since gotten accustomed to the noise, kind of, but as the people stomped their feet in unison and clapped their hands in time to the pounding of her heart, the room seemed to vibrate and pulse around her.

Larson was now in front of the other fighter, his stance the same as his opponent’s. His back was to her now, and the dark swirls and lines of his tattoo moving along his shoulder blades and down the length of his spine made him seem even more menacing. Women beside her swooned and cheered for him, made crude, nasty remarks about wanting to fuck him, have his babies, submit to him … hell, do anything and everything he said.

“I want you, Larson,” one girl screamed. This was insane, this entire scene like something out of a movie. She couldn’t see Larson’s face, but she could tell just from his body language that he was calm, like the weather right before a storm, right before shit hit the fan.

As she watched, with rapt attention, the two men so close yet so far away, she suddenly felt very nervous, very anxious. In her heart she knew she had nothing to fear, that Larson would be victorious. Larson had proven himself an experienced fighter, had a championship title to prove it, and although she wanted to believe that everything would be okay, this wasn’t a closed circuit of experienced fighters following rules.

Larson rolled his head on his neck, cracked his knuckles, and became tenser right in front of her. How many times did he do this a week? How often did he thrust himself into this dark world? She’d never seen him outside of the gym, and this atmosphere was totally different.
He
was totally different. She should have turned and left, because heaven knew she honestly didn’t want to see this, especially if Larson got hurt, but her feet stayed cemented.

“Quiet down, you bastards,” the announcer said with amusement in his voice. “Now, for those that have been to these fights before, you know how this goes down, but for those that are new to us the rules are simple.” There was a moment of silence. “There are none.” The crowd erupted, and Tasha winced at the noise.

The two fighters stayed locked in place, not moving, not even breathing it seemed. They stared at each other, their focus like two wild animals about to pounce on the other. There was no bell being rung like in boxing to let the fighters and everyone else know it was time to start, to start killing each other.

“Now, let’s get this fucking fight going.”

While Mars bounced around, his fists up, Larson just stood there, looking calm, collected, about to attack when
he
was ready. He had since moved to other side of the cage, and now Tasha could see his face. Stone-cold concentration marred his expression, and she was taken aback by how handsome he was, how much he looked like a monster wrapped up in a beautiful, damaged, and hardened package.

Mars lunged for Larson then, his face still a mask of composure, just like Larson’s. But he was in motion now, focused on fighting. Mars brought his fist forward. But it was like Larson knew what the other man was going to do, how he was going to react. Larson moved to the side, blocked the punch with a move of his own, and stepped out of the way again. Mars turned around quickly and started swinging. Larson successfully blocked each one, and slammed his own fist into the other fighter’s face, his side, kidneys, anywhere and everywhere he could land a blow. It was like watching a choreographed ballet performance, one where the moves were articulate, precise perfection, but brutal and damaging. Blood started to pour out of Mars’s nose and mouth, drip down his chest, and land on the rust color stained mat.

Back and forth they danced a dangerous tango, and Tasha could see Mars start to waver from the exhaustion and pain he clearly felt. This was like nothing she’d ever witnessed before at the training facility, like nothing she thought she’d ever come to see. Her heart was in her throat, beating an uneven tempo.

This fighting wasn’t like the UFC she’d seen a few times on TV, obviously. This was so much more raw, unhinged, dangerous, and violent. Mars’s fists connected with the air more times than not, but he got in one hit to Larson’s face. Blood erupted from Larson’s mouth, spraying along the mat and on the people closest to the cage—meaning she got some on her. She looked down, saw her blouse had a few splatters of blood on it, and she was stunned as she lifted her gaze to the cage again.

Blood poured from Larson’s mouth, and she saw his lip was split pretty badly. He also had a black eye forming. But Mars looked like someone had beaten the shit out of him, and he was hanging on by a thread. Everything seemed to slow at what she knew were the final seconds of the fight, the final blow about to be delivered. Larson took a step back, wiped the blood from his mouth and chin, and turned his head to spit out a mouthful of blood and saliva.

He reared back his heavily muscled arm and brought his fist to the side of Mars’s face. The young fighter spun around, looked stunned for a second as he stared off into the crowd, then fell forward, slamming face-first onto the mat. Blood splattered out of his mouth and coated the mat like a grisly murder scene. But it was the tooth that came out right along with that blood and spit that had her gasping and covering her mouth.

Oh my God
.

She looked over at Larson, saw he still had no expression on his face, but that blood covered his chest and knuckles, even still came out of his mouth. She turned her attention back to Mars and saw several people checking his pulse and then rolling him over. Then they carried him off the ground, and the sound of him groaning told her she hadn’t just witnessed a murder.

Tasha let out a breath, not realizing she’d been holding it in. When her gaze went back to Larson she was startled by his expression now. Although he wasn’t looking at anyone or anything in particular, she could see the cold detachment on his face. A minute passed, and then he took the back of his hand and ran it over his check, smearing the blood that had splattered there. He moved his hand down his chest, trying to wipe off the blood, but only smearing it more.

A man called Larson off the stage, and when the man was out of the ring, the other guy handed Larson an envelope. She wasn’t a fool. She knew that was his winnings for beating the shit out of Mars. That was the point of these fights, to win money and nearly kill people.