Playing for keeps

19. Instagram stories

K A L E B

"I-... I'm sorry."

Easton's torn face. Easton's retreating figure. Easton, Easton, Easton.

It's been a week since I dropped Easton home and confessed to her what I feel and it's been replaying in my brain like a broken record.

And every time I cringe without fail.

Sweat covers my skin as I dodge another blow from the guy in tonight's fight, drifting towards the other side of the ring.

My muscles throb from the other four fights I've competed in this week, but my frustration overrides my need to take a break.

"Come here you little shit!" My opponent growls, lunging for me with his teeth bared, a few of them missing.

Dodging to the side, I spin and lodge the bottom of my shoe into his back so he goes flying into the concrete wall. He falls to the floor, holding his bleeding nose.

The underground fighting arena lives in the basement of a club called 'The Cage.' I've been coming here for a few years, only once or twice a week, but recently it's got a lot more frequent. The bruises and cuts covering my knuckles have become a permanent thing.

The underground of the club, where the fighting and most of the illegal shit goes on, is the clubs old underground parking lot, big enough for a couple hundred people and only accessible if you know the right people.

The lighting is dim, LED lights creating the most light, and a DJ platform off towards the back. It's one of the best illegal fighting rings that I've been to.

As my opponent is halfway to his feet, I lunge and tackle him back down, straddling him as I plummet my fists into his face, blood flying everywhere - a mixture of mine and his.

I only stop when he goes limp on the floor. Breathing hard, I rise to my feet, the sound of the crowd filtering back in.

Over the years, fighting has been the only escape I could find, since I can't actually punch the people I want to, strangers make for a more interesting game.

Reality seems to filter back in when the fight finishes, Aiden coming up behind me and gripping my shoulders.

"You deadly bastard," he's grinning like an idiot out for blood.

Griffin, who handles the money part of the fights, is already off and talking to the guy who arranges all of this, securing my winnings.

But I can't think anything else other than getting the fuck out of here.

My high from the fight is already gone, my reason for letting steam off in the first place surrounding my brain.

I start to head for the exit that leads up to the main club as they drag my passed out opponent off the floor. 

Natalie is beside me in an instant, handing me back my shirt. I slip it on over my head, the fabric clinging to my body from the sweat coating my skin.

"Some fight," she muses, typing something out on her phone. "Looks like you really wanted to kill that guy. Haven't seen you that wound up in a while." She glances at me with raised eyebrows.

"Leave it, Nat," I snap out, climbing the stairs to the club upstairs.

Thankfully, she does, changing the subject. "Me and the guys are staying in the club for a while. You staying with us?" 

"No," I deadpan, the music from the club becoming louder. I don't say much else as I make my way through the club, my long strides leaving Nat behind.