Ryder
Atlanta, GA
Saturday night
The grand finale fight was the premiere event in underground fighting. All of the crowd’s favorites would be present tonight, and it promised to be brutal. Even I had acquired a few followers and fans, as indicated by the cheers of “Sasha! Sasha!” that erupted when I walked onto the rooftop that night.
The assembled observers were vicious, an air of menace hovering over the atmosphere. They wanted blood and death and would settle for nothing less. The fans were known to get into brawls of their own, and several had lost their lives just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was the price you were willing to pay if you attended. There was no one to sue, no one to blame, no one to complain to. We were all there, on our own, staking our lives.
Two fights would be held before mine, a welterweight and a middleweight class. Igor and I were not an even match, but since Igor was the one pulling the strings and orchestrating the events, I was of course matched with him. It was no surprise and was exactly what we’d expected.
Levi, Cruz, and Oscar were moving about the crowd searching for any signs of The Vicar and his posse or Nikolai and his goons. The place was crawling with people, though, so finding and nailing down any potential threats would be difficult. Not to mention, the crowd didn’t take lightly to anyone interfering with their savage game. I’d be on my own tonight. Chances were slim that any of the guys could get to me in time if Igor were to get the upper hand, a possibility I wouldn’t contemplate seriously.
I found Jolie standing on the outskirts of the pack, her arms crossed tightly around her body, as if she were hugging herself. Comforting herself. I wanted to offer her that comfort, but I couldn’t. Not until this was over. Then, we’d see what kind of future we could make. If she’d even have me.
She turned as I approached, and tears swam in her eyes.
“Shh,” I murmured as I caught the back of her head in my hand and dragged her forehead to mine. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
Jolie swatted lightly at my chest. “You can’t make that kind of promise.” Her words hitched as she tried to breathe through the emotion in her voice.
“I can. I promise it will be fine. You’re going to be okay.”
“And what about you?”
I sighed, holding her there, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine. Savoring it, in case it was the last time. She pulled away, and instantly I felt the chill.
“Promise me, Ryder.”
I nodded.
“I want to hear you say it. Promise me you’ll come back to me after this.” She grabbed my hoodie and shook me. “Promise me!”
Her voice had risen, and she was attracting an audience. I pulled her tightly into my arms, wrapping them all the way around her body. I kissed the top of her head and held her close. “I promise. I will come back to you.”
A sob shook her body, and I didn’t let go. I could hear a guy on the PA announcing the first fight. The ring girls weren’t needed tonight since there were no rounds. It was a fight to the knockout. No rest. No break. Street fighting. Pummeling each other until someone didn’t get up. Barbaric. Brutal. Deadly.
When Jolie had control, she lifted her head from my shoulder and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’ve never had anyone cry over me.” I winked, and she laughed, as I’d hoped she would.
She brushed her hands down the front of my sweatshirt as if smoothing out wrinkles. There were none, but it must have helped her to feel like she was doing something.
The first fight began as the crowd moved to keep the barriers up. There was no mat. No ropes. No cage. The spectators were the cage, and it was their job to keep the two men in close proximity. When things started to lag, they’d tighten the circle. They were also known to shove one man into the other to create tension and build hostility.
I hooked my arm over Jolie’s shoulder as we watched the two men go at it. It was hard to see over the throngs of people. Just two heads bobbing up and down. Several minutes had passed, longer than the typical five-minute rounds, and I could see the crowd backing up sharply as one of the men staggered towards them.
And then there was only one head and then none. The spectators bent over at the waist as they shouted “Finish him! Finish him! Finish him!” They thirsted for blood and gore, their chantings mirroring a Satanic ritual, a plea for a sacrifice to their feral bloodlust.
A shout erupted as a man stood up in victory. The people picked him up and hoisted him on their shoulders, cheering and applauding. A gap opened, and I got my first glimpse of the other fighter.
The rooftop underneath him was covered in blood. So much blood. His face was unrecognizable. Was he human? Animal? Monster? It was impossible to tell. Mangled and battered, there was little chance the man was still alive.
A man walked over and glanced down at the tortured body, then picked up his feet and dragged him away. He deserved better than that. All humans did. And yet, there was nothing I could do. Not this night.
I caught Levi’s glance over the crowd. He shook his head. He was closer than I was to the fight, and it appeared he knew the outcome. The man was dead.
Sure, he’d signed up for it, known it was a possibility. But no man went in thinking they’d really be the one to die. The mind wouldn’t allow that possibility. Even mine shouted at me that I would win over Igor that night. I’d come out the victor, the bad guy would be dead, and I’d get the girl.
It was a fantasy. A trick the brain played to ensure the hunter took the proper risks to bring home game to feed his family. Primal. Necessary.
The second fight went down much like the first. Two men pounded each other until one man no longer could stand upright. The audience had grown unruly, several brawls already taking place. Blood covered the rooftop, splattered over its canvas as a macabre version of art.
Cheers and taunts roared in the night as the frenzy grew to epic proportions. The next fight was the one they wanted to see. The one that promised to be the experience of a lifetime. Two champion fighters. Unevenly matched in size, but equally mated in skill.
As the second loser was dragged away by his ankles, I pulled myself from the safety and comfort of Jolie’s arms.
It was time to face my demon.
Jolie gasped in horror and grabbed at my arm, unwilling to let me go. The desperation in her eyes was almost my undoing. It would be so easy to walk away. Just throw her over my shoulder and run away from it all. But if we were to have a future, if I was going to live without looking over my shoulder every waking moment, it had to end tonight.
“Don’t! Don’t do this, Ryder. There has to be another way.”
I removed her hand from my arm, covering it with my own. Then I pulled her close, my lips crushing down on hers with a longing I’d never felt before. I wouldn’t tell her. Not like this. But suddenly, it all felt so stupid.
Why had I waited so long to say the words? I loved Jolie Phillips with all of my heart. And I wouldn’t leave that with her in case I didn’t make it out of this alive. I wouldn’t tell her, when I might leave her. It would only hurt her worse. I’d hold those words close to my heart—and if I came out of this alive, I’d shout them from the rooftop.
“I’ll be right back.”
Her body shook with sobs as she crumpled to the ground. When I saw Oscar, I pointed to where I’d left her, hoping he’d take the hint. He did and rushed over, scooping her up off the ground and holding her close.
The crowd opened for me as I whipped off my hoodie, popping the joints in my neck as I loosened up for the fight. No gloves. No mat. No ring. None of the frills of fighting in the MMA or boxing. The fights were short and brutal. I planned to make this one just as short and just as deadly. Only, I planned to be the last man standing.
I had a life waiting for me on the other side of this fight. And I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything before.
Igor entered the circle with fanfare, his arms held high, his muscles rippling. Two women hung around his waist, half-dressed in thong bikinis. He smacked them both on the rear and sent them on their way. Finally, after his theatrics were over, he turned his attention to me.
The referee, if you could call him that—his only purpose was to start the fight and declare the winner when the final man was standing—stood to the side, waiting on us to let him know we were ready. He’d escape to the perimeter once it started, but there was no whistle to stop things if they got out of hand.
The audience had moved closer to the edge, as if there had been some unspoken command, and I wondered briefly if there had been. I was reminded that this entire scene was a setup, a ruse to kill me. A way for Igor to play with me before he ended my life. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
“Ah, Sasha. I wondered if you’d show. Or should I call you Ryder?”
“You can call me anything you want, Igor.”
“I’m going to make your death as painful as possible. You will pay for my brother’s death.”
“Your brother was a lousy shot. He deserved what he got.”
Igor lunged, and the ref held up his hands. “Fight hasn’t started yet.”
With a growl, Igor stepped back, his finger pointed at me. “I heard Nina’s throat was cut so thoroughly, Ivan almost decapitated her.” I blanched, remembering the night I found her. “She was a whore. Just like her mother. We should have made her suffer for her betrayal.”
“Your brother begged for his life before I shot him. Did I tell you that? He crawled on his belly like the dog he is and begged me not to kill him. I shot him anyway.” It was all a lie, but it had the effect I’d hoped for.
Igor charged, the ref unable to keep him away, so he blew the whistle to indicate the beginning of the fight. The spectators screamed with barbaric cries, murderous and bloodthirsty.
The mob at my back shoved me forward just as Igor reached me. I lowered my shoulder and drove into him. He was much larger than me, outweighed me by a good forty or fifty pounds. And he was all muscle. A trained warrior and killer in Russia’s notorious army. It was like hitting a brick wall.
I struggled to keep my footing as Igor landed a blow to my ribs and kidneys. Pain lanced through my body, but I stayed upright, retaliating with a blow to his stomach and an uppercut to his chin. His head snapped back, and I took advantage and aimed low, raining down several punches to his midsection.
Igor swung, and I ducked, his fist missing my head by millimeters. With another upper cut, I caught Igor in the mouth, his lip splitting and blood spurting out in an arc from the impact of the strike. The crowd roared as the crimson gore flowed freely. They loved it—craved it. They were vampires looking for their next fix.
Igor’s gruesome smile stretched across his face. He roared and charged again. This time the spectators behind me pushed harder, and I was unable to keep my footing. As the impact of Igor’s body met mine, I slipped on the blood covering the ground and fell.
Igor followed me, straddling me as his fists showered down on my face. I had seconds to get out of this, or I was dead. With practiced precision, I lifted my hips and twisted, launching Igor backwards and freeing myself from his grasp. I stood, spitting out the blood from my split lip. I could feel my eye swelling where the cut that had mostly healed popped open again. Jolie would need to glue that shut. She’d be upset about it, but she would still use her hands full of comfort and love to heal me. My small sun. My life.
I wanted to look for her. To see if she was watching. To try and comfort her and tell her I was okay, but there was no time for distraction. Igor was back on his feet, his eyes full of fury.
It was clear he’d hoped the fight would be over by this time. Although he was strong, he had little endurance. My only hope was to wear him down. The eight-mile runs I went on weekly were paying off. I could dance around all day. I just had to keep his big meaty paws off my face and body.
I bounced on my toes, shaking out my limbs, trying to keep myself relaxed and ready for his advance. I didn’t have to wait long. Igor roared again, a tactic I figured he used to scare his opponent, and attacked.
I saw the intent before he swung, and went to dodge his blow, but someone behind me pushed me, sending me right into the path of his fist. It caught the side of my head, and I knew it was a game-changing blow. I staggered slightly, blinking my eyes to clear my vision. When I stepped backwards, the crowd pushed me back into the center of the circle.
Igor swung again, this time hitting my ribs. I heard the crack and couldn’t help the shout that left my throat. The pain was excruciating. Every breath, every movement felt like knives stabbing my insides.
Igor lifted his fist, and I drove my shoulder into his stomach, sending him backwards. The pain was otherworldly, almost blinding in its intensity, but it was life-or-death. The adrenaline coursing through my body gave me the ability to overcome the pain and keep fighting.
Igor fell to the ground, and I lifted my foot to kick him, but he grabbed it, twisting my leg and bringing me down next to him. I kicked out as he rolled on top of me, trying to get him off. His fists fell hard and heavy against my face, and I found a tiny shred of strength to roll out of the hold. I crawled forward on hands and knees trying to escape his reach, scrambling for a small window of relief.
The crowd parted as Igor stood to his full height. He grabbed my foot and dragged me to the side of the building. He picked me up, the pain in my ribs bursting through my body with white-hot heat, and held me over his head.
I was a goner, unless I found a way out of this. It wasn’t a typical fight move or one I’d practiced getting out of. The excruciating torment my body was feeling, the fatigue from the repeated head blows were too much. If he threw me over the ledge, would I even feel it when I hit the ground? Maybe it would be a blessed relief.
“Ryder!” Jolie’s scream pierced through the agony and the fog in my brain. I saw her, running through the crowd, Oscar running after her. Levi and Cruz trying to break through the throngs of people that kept them from getting to me. And I fought.
Igor had thought he’d won, letting his guard down. I shifted my weight to one side, grabbing his hair as I fell forward over his head. He let go with a cry, as we both fell to the ground. Unfortunately, we were too close to the edge for my comfort. I started to scramble away, but Igor held on, rolling on top of me and straddling my midsection, pinning me to the ground. He threw several punches, then wrapped his hands around my neck and squeezed.
“This is for my brother, Ivan. And for my niece, Nina. If it wasn’t for you and your damned CIA, she’d still be with us. A good Russian girl, married to a good Russian man.”
I twisted and turned, clawing at his hands to let go. But he just kept squeezing. Spots danced before my eyes. I vaguely heard the sound of the crowd cheering, crying out for my death. It was surreal that people who didn’t know me or have any feelings about me at all would want me to die just for their entertainment.
The world was a messed-up place.
I bucked and fought, until the voice of the angel called out to me.
“Ryder! You promised me! Ryder!”
“Ah, that whore you call your girl. When I’m done with you, I’ll make sure she pays.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw her running closer, then hands reached out and grabbed her, dragging her away.
“No! Jolie, no!” But no sound came from my throat. The blackness was settling in. I searched the crowd for my team. They were all being held back by someone, unable to get to me. Unable to get to her.
It wasn’t going to happen this way. I would not die without saving her first.
The black spots grew larger, blocking out the stars in the sky. My ears rang with the sound of my own blood and the last remains of oxygen forcing its way into my lungs, the whistling sound not a comfort to me, as there wasn’t enough to keep me alive.
I would not die without telling her I loved her.