Whiplash: A Sports Romance (57 page)

I quickly hit the gas and turn the truck to follow them. My gut tells me they’re here for the same reason I am. I come within distance of their license plate and spot the words St. Louis County. I’m guessing people from St. Louis don’t make it a habit of traveling out to towns in the middle of nowhere unless they have a good — and fun — reason for it.

I follow them through town and just as I suspected, they lead me to Third Street. A few miles later, we reach an abandoned school just outside the city limits, just like Amy described earlier. It’s old, unkempt, and surrounded by other cars. I park in the back and watch as three people tumble out of the car I followed here. They’re laughing, obviously inebriated, but they head towards the back entrance like they’ve been here a hundred times before. I climb out of the truck and follow them up the stairs.

Their voices echo through the halls. I keep my distance and follow them, trying to act as inconspicuous as possible. They don’t seem to notice me, but if they have, they don’t care. They pull open a door marked basement and it falls closed behind them.

I pick up my pace and pull it open.

Follow the noise.

By the time I’ve reached the bottom of the stairs, I’ve lost the travelers from St. Louis, but I can hear the screams and shouts of voices echoing through the dark hallways. I make my way through the black, relying on my ears to guide me until I finally come to a set of double doors with a bright light shining out from beneath them.

I push the door open and my jaw drops.

It’s an old basketball court, disheveled from years of abandonment and disuse. A circular stage, shaped like an octagon, sits in the center of the arena, surrounded by a chain-link fence — obviously tossed together with whatever pieces they could find at the local junkyard. The lights flicker above it, just barely hanging on with what little electricity it still pumping into this place.

Two fighters stand in the center with their fists engaged in fighting stances. As my eyes land on them, one takes a firm punch to the jaw and falls flat to the floor. I flinch and my own hands fly to my mouth as I watch the blood spill off his teeth.

“Hey, Claire!”

I look up to find Amy stepping into my view. She appears entirely different than before, sporting a tight tank top and denim shorts. I blink, noticing her tight and toned body, which was well-hidden before behind long sleeves and pants. “Amy…?” I greet, shouting about the roaring crowd. “Hi.” I look around. There has to be at least fifty people cramped together in this makeshift arena.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t show,” she says.

“I almost wish I hadn’t…” I say.

“Entrance fee is ten dollars,” she says, holding out her hand. “But for you, I’ll take five. It’s your first time, after all. I like to be gentle.”

A body slams into the fence and the crowd goes wild. I reach into my pocket and pull out the wad of cash I brought with me. I give her the money and look back to the ring as the same fighter takes another fist to the jaw. “What is this?” I ask her.

“It’s an illegal MMA fighting ring, obviously,” she jokes as she stuffs my money into a large, glass jar. She twists the lid back on and holds onto it tightly against her breast. A metal whistle hangs down from a chain around her neck. I say nothing in response and stare back at her with confusion.
“Mixed martial arts,”
she explains.

“I see…” I look at the ring, unable to take my eyes off it. “Are there any rules?”

She shakes her head. “No — well, no weapons. Fists and skin only. The fight goes until someone is knocked unconscious or taps out.”

The crowd lets out another scream as one fighter lands a serious jab against the other’s throat.

“Are these
locals
?” I ask, scanning their wild faces.

“Oh, hell no,” she answers with a giggle. “Well, a few, like myself. The others come from all over the state just to bare witness to the best fighters in the whole Midwest.”

I blink, feeling queasy, as the same fighter takes another bloody punch. “What do they get out of this?” I ask.

“Underground fame and glory, baby!” she smirks. “And this.” She holds up the glass jar.

“The winner gets the entrance fees?”

“I take a bit off the top for organizing the event,” she says. “Then the local on-duty cop takes a bit for his silence. The rest gets stashed away for the final tournament fight and the winner of that takes home everything.”

“You pay off the cops?”

“We used to host these fights in Rolla, but the cops there were
total
pricks. The ones here in our tiny town are a bit more… persuasive.”

I scan her face again, staring directly at her big, bruised eye. “Do you fight, too?” I ask in surprise.

“I like to hit the gym with the guys every now and then,” she says, nodding her head. “I’m not super competitive about it though. I just think it’s fun. You should try it sometime. There’s nothing like it.”

“I think I’ll pass,” I say, staring at the purple ring around her eye.

“Suit yourself.” She looks back to the fight in progress. “Excuse me. It looks like he’s gonna tap out…”

My eyes fall back to the ring and sure enough, the fighter on the floor taps furiously against his opponent’s knee. The opponent, clad in white, blood-splattered shorts, has him pinned to the floor with his knee pressed against his throat. Silence falls on everyone, leaving the sound of gurgling in the air.

Amy enters the ring and shoots a warning glance at the fighter on top. He lingers on the other fighter’s throat, seemingly disinterested in his plight, and puts a little more force on his body before bouncing off of him.

I inhale deep, not realizing that I was holding my breath the entire time. A few guys enter the ring to the help the beaten boy off the floor while the winner in blood-splattered shorts walks around the ring with his red fists held high, drawing the shouts of the satisfied crowd.

“That’s another win for
Pike the Punisher
, last year’s reigning Alpha from St. Louis!” Amy shouts, gesturing towards the fighter as he steps off the stage. I watch with wild adrenaline, sliding further into the crowd, closing in on the stage with a morbid curiosity.

Amy signals to the crowd to silence them. “It’s the final fight of the night, folks,” she begins. The crowds goes wild, firing off shouts of excitement and disappointment at the idea of their fun ending so soon. “But it’s the one you’ve all been waiting for!” She points to the left as a fighter enters the ring. He’s as short as I am, but built like a truck from head to toe.

“In this corner, we have
Burt the Brute
from Jefferson City!”

This fighter is obviously popular, as the crowd begins a loud and slow chant of his name as he paces around the stage.

“And in this corner,” Amy continues, pointing to the right. She waits a moment and the crowd goes silent again. “We have our very own,
Tobias the Untouchable
!”

I freeze and my eyes fall on him as he steps into the ring. The piercing shouts for him rattle my ears, far louder than any other fighter so far.

Tobias stands still, wearing nothing but a pair of tight, black shorts. My eyes once again take in his body. The bruises have faded to a subtle blue, but I can’t say the same about his thick muscles. I bite my inner cheek, completely entranced by him. He doesn’t pace back and forth like the others to draw the crowd’s attentions. He lets them come to him, his face frozen solid like a marble statue, and the crowd adores him for it.

Amy backs out of the ring and closes the cage behind her. She grabs a whistle hidden on a chain around her neck and brings it to her lips.

A sudden wave of fear trembles me. Blood still lies splattered beneath their feet inside the cage. I look up at Tobias again, remembering the mess of a fight I witnessed just moments before. I want to shout out and stop him, but it wouldn’t do any good in a crowd as loud as this.

Amy blows the whistle and the fight begins.

Burt moves in fast, his fists knocking blows at Tobias with hard precision. Tobias stands his ground, blocking each one of them, keeping his hands in front of his face at all times.

“Come on, pretty boy!” Burt cries out above the crowd. “Let me mark up that handsome face!” He lands a punch against Tobias’ already bruised ribs. Then another. And another. I see Tobias pushing out his hips, allowing for
the Brute
’s fists to rough him up.

He doesn’t even flinch. He waits with wide eyes until Burt drops his form. It’s only for a brief moment, but it’s long enough for Tobias to strike. His bare fist connects with Burt’s jaw, sending him backward into the fence. He hits him again with a flurry of moves, almost moving fast enough to be a human blur.

Burt stumbles forward and shoves Tobias backward. Tobias moves out of the way, but keeps a tight grip on
the Brute
’s arm. He swings him around and slams his knee into Burt’s stomach, sending him toppling to the floor.

I stand on my tippy-toes, begging to get a closer look at them both, but I can barely see what’s happening. The next thing I know, Tobias is on his knees, somehow knocked down by a sneak attack from Burt. I cringe as Burt digs his sharp nails into Tobias’ back. Tobias twists around to break free of him and slams Burt backward against the cage again. His fists collide with Burt’s face and a red mist spills into the air.

The crowd screams for him and chant’s Tobias’ name over and over again until Burt tumbles to the mat in a silent clump.

I stand still with shaking knees, watching Tobias’ dark face. His eyes twitch back and forth behind his fists, still raised in a fighting stance, waiting for Burt to get back up. But Burt doesn’t move.

Amy climbs into the ring and taps Burt’s cheek. “Aye, Burt!” she shouts.

A few seconds pass and finally, Burt’s eyes flutter open. He raises his fist, but it quickly drops back down and he taps against the mat.

Amy jumps back to her feet. “And we have a winner!”

The room crashes with excitement. They reach out and grip the cage, shaking it back and forth so much it may collapse. Tobias drops his fists and steps out of the ring without saying a word.

I look for him, but somehow, I lose track of him as he drifts off into the roaring crowd.

***

I step outside and take a long, deep breath. I’ve lived in the city my entire life. I like to consider myself pretty well-versed with the world, but I’ve never seen anything quite as brutal as that before. My fingers shake. My teeth chatter. Part of me wants to run away and never look back, but another part of me wants to see it all over again. I can’t help myself. Adrenaline rocks my nerves, reacting to the frightening display of power I just witnessed.

I look around the parking lot and watch as the excited people climb into their cars and race away. My eyes fall on a motorbike near the back of the building and I wonder how I didn’t notice it when I first came in.

Tobias’ bike.

I walk over to it and reach out to run my quivering fingers along the handlebars. The cool metal touch shoots through my skin, traveling up my fingers to ignite my digits.

“So, what are you in for?”

I look up to see Amy standing in front of me wearing a long, black coat to cover her exposed skin. “What?” I ask.

“What are you in for?” she asks again.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

She rolls her eyes and steps forward. “Oh, come on. Everyone knows Charlie takes in troubled strays,” she says. “Is it booze? You seem like a booze girl. No offense. Or drugs? Weed? Heroine?” She gasps. “
Meth?
This is Missouri, we’re kinda known for that here.”

I shake my head. “No,” I say. “I’m just visiting my uncle for the summer.”

“Bullshit,” she smiles and raises her hands, “but I won’t press it.”

I clear my throat. “So, you
run
this stuff?” I ask, shifting the focus.

She grins and performs an exaggerated curtsy. “Guilty.”

“No offense, but…
how
?”

Amy licks her lips and stands up a little taller. “It’s my birthright,” she says. “My mother founded this branch of the Midwest Alphas nearly fifteen years ago and now, it’s mine.”

“The Midwest Alphas?” I ask.

“There are four branches in the state; St. Louis, Jefferson City, Springfield, and here,” she explains. “Each year, we stage an underground tournament for local fighters to show their stuff. The fighters travel around between branches and participate in fights chosen at random. They get defeated once, and they’re out for good until the next year. Eventually, only two remain and the winner becomes the Alpha. It’s a fun tradition — one that brings me lots
and lots
of cold, hard cash. The final battle is in two weeks in St. Louis. You should come. The more people that do, the merrier my wallet is.”