Everything with you

Part 47

Justin

The warehouse near the old train yard buzzed with electric anticipation, its cavernous interior illuminated by dim, flickering lights. The crowd pressed close to the makeshift ring in the center, shouting and jeering as two fighters grappled inside. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, old metal, and the faint tang of blood.

I stood near the back, my hoodie pulled low over my face as I watched the chaos unfold. I hadn't come here to fight tonight, just to lose myself in the noise and adrenaline of the crowd. This had become a regular for me the past couple of weeks. My hands were stuffed into my pockets, my stance relaxed, but my jaw was tight, my mind racing with thoughts I couldn't quite shake.

The fight in the ring ended with a brutal knockout, the victor throwing his arms into the air as the crowd roared. I recognized the winner immediately-Marco "The Mauler," a local favorite with a penchant for taunting his opponents. As Marco's arm was raised by the ref, his sharp eyes scanned the crowd, and then, they landed on me. Shit.

A slow, predatory grin spread across Marco's face. He grabbed the microphone from the announcer and pointed directly at me.

"Well, well, look who decided to show up tonight!" Marco's voice boomed, silencing the crowd. Heads turned to follow his gaze, and I felt the weight of a hundred stares on him.

I tensed, my fingers curling into fists in my pockets.

"Justin, the 'legendary ghost,'" Marco taunted, stepping closer to the edge of the ring. "You think you can just show up and hide in the back like some spectator? How about you stop lurking in the shadows and show everyone what you're really made of? Or..." He smirked. "...are you scared you've lost your edge?"

The crowd erupted in cheers and jeers, egging me on. Marco leaned on the ropes, his grin widening.

"C'mon, man! One fight. Tonight. Let's see if you still have what it takes-or if all those stories about you were just that: stories."

My heart pounded, a mix of anger and adrenaline surging through me. I hadn't fought in weeks, hadn't planned to fight again, but Marco's challenge burned in my ears. The crowd's chants grew louder, and I felt the familiar itch-the one that craved the clarity and release of the ring.

For a moment, he hesitated, his mind flashing to his father's words, to Emma's face, to all the reasons he'd tried to leave this life behind. But the noise around him drowned out those thoughts, and his pride screamed louder.

I pushed through the crowd, shrugging off my hoodie as I stepped into the clearing around the ring. The crowd parted, their cheers deafening now. Marco's grin stretched wider, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

I climbed into the ring, my gaze locked on Marco's. I rolled my shoulders, loosening up as the announcer called for the next fight.

"You asked for it," I said, my voice low and steady, though my heart hammered in my chest.

Marco chuckled, cracking his knuckles. "Let's give 'em a show, then."

As the bell rang and the crowd roared, Justin braced himself, every nerve in his body alive with the promise of the fight.

The bell echoed through the warehouse, cutting through the deafening roar of the crowd. I squared off against Marco, my fists raised, my mind snapping into focus. I could feel the pressure in the air, the weight of every stare, every cheer, every taunt.

Marco came at him fast, throwing a barrage of punches with the brute force he was known for. I ducked and weaved, my reflexes sharp but not as quick as they used to be. A heavy right hook clipped my jaw, and I stumbled back, my vision momentarily blurred.