His Identity

30

|Aveline's POV|

I have no idea where the hell I am and I know that should scare the fuck out of me but for some reason, I'm not. And I think it has something to do with the fact that both Nick and Zale are here.

I've always known that these two are involved in some shit together but I never could figure out what. I have a feeling that today I'm about to find out.

"Come on then," Zale's voice breaks me out from my thoughts. I raise my brows at him, "come where?"

"Out," he jerks his head towards the opened door, "Nick wants you settled so settled you shall be."

Without bothering to say anything or ask another question because I'm both mentally and physically exhausted, I follow him.

He leads me out of the room, back downstairs. My eyes take in the now almost space, it's no longer as crowded as it was when I had walked in earlier.

"Where did everyone go?"

"You're about to find out," is all Zale gives me. He places a hand on my lower back and begins to walk us towards a door. Opening it, he reveals a dingy, dimly–lit room, where the air is thick with the smell of sweat, adrenaline, and desperation. The place is packed with people— mostly men.

The noise level is deafening as people shout and cheer, eager for whatever the fuck is about to happen. Deep down, I know.

I'm not stupid. I've seen movies before, I've read books and I do watch the news on rare occasions. And this is Chicago. I know all too well what this place is. It just doesn't feel real. There's no way I'm about to witches some illegal fighting shit.

I drag my eyes around the place. In the middle of the room is the fight ring, a square platform made of wood and metal that sits several feet off the ground. The surface is slick with blood and sweat from previous bouts, and the ropes that encircle it are frayed and worn.

The crowd is packed in tightly around the ring, jostling for position. A few of them have bets riding on the outcome of the match. I glance at Zale, "I didn't think you'd be involved into something like this. Nick, yes. You, no."

"Well," he throws an arm around my shoulder, "it's fun."

"What about Rhys?"

"God, no." Zale shakes his head as if the thought is absurd, "this isn't his kind of thing."

"And it's yours?"

"It's Nick's," he corrects, "I'm just looking out for him— the way he allows me to."

"By being there for him?" I furrow my brows and he nods, pursing his lips. "Yeah. It's not like I can get him to change his mind on anything, you know how stubborn he is. So, the only way I can help him is by being here. You know what I mean?"

"Maybe," I shrug. The tension in the room is palpable, and as the a tall bald man walks up, he looks down at the crowd. I stay near the door with Zale beside me. He doesn't say a word and neither do I.

"Are we ready for the last fight of the night?" The bald man asks, his voice rough and loud as he speaks into the mic. The crowd erupts in a frenzy of noise and excitement.