Keep fighting

Chapter 3

I walked into the arena with cheers and chants behind me. I've been here before, seen all of this as a weekly event. My manager notices me and calls me over. As I join the small group of people around him I drop my duffle bag to the floor. My manager Scott has always been a slick guy, when things fall through he never seems to be anywhere to be found. But that is like the rest of us, street fighters have to learn to never be in the way when deals fall flat. In this circuit its a dog eat dog world, you show up to the fight or you are hunted down and given major consequences.

There is no just walking away from this business. As I shake hands with my manager I realize that to the fullest. I have been in the circuit for about 4 years now and I want out, the few friends that I have and that know that I do this to make money are getting worried. The only catch is I'm well known and am a good fighter compared to the rest. There is no age groupings with street fighting, you fight who they pin you against and they can either severely hurt you, or you can hurt them.

I used the motto the bigger they are, the harder they fall. That is painfully true when I am a 5'3" female, and I fight 6'+ males and the occasional female. I am very well known for that, I am small but fast which has the crowd cheering and the big pay outs because most people underestimate my strength and put it all on the line expecting a bigger pay out. They often don't get the pay out they were looking for.

As I look around the group of people Scott stands with, I notice there are a couple females that look strong and have a cold calculating glare. I internally take a step back at the intensity of one of their gazes, the head of their little group isn't looking at me as through I am their worst enemy though.

He stands at a moderate height of about 5'11" and looks on at me with an almost curiosity. When he speaks to me I almost didn't hear him amid my thoughts, there was nothing about him that seemed off or demanding of power, but it was obvious he had all the respect of the fellow people around him.

While I was sizing up the people of this group Scott began asking me questions, to which I didn't hear. "Ash, hey Ashley" he began snapping his fingers in front of my face to draw my attention back to him. "Are you ready for todays fight? I hear this guys a real bruiser." Scott said with a mischievous grin on his face, that look always meant that he set me up with a very tough opponent.

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall," I said back my catch phrase of the time in my slightly country drawl that I've always had since I was a kid. He didn't respond to that and just chuckled and lead me off to the locker rooms that are on the bottom floor of the building we are in. Its a fairly nice office building owned by a very rich entrepreneur, but we worked out an agreement to rent out the bottom basement floors to hold our fights in.

Scott left me to change in one of the smaller 'office' rooms and prep for the fight. I quickly change into shorts and a sleeveless grey hoodie. It is very worn out and faded with stains, but is comfortable to fight in and still covers all the scars that litter my torso. I put my hair up in a pony tail and begin to get myself pumped to get the blood flowing to the rest of my body.

I wrap my hands with my signature neon green wraps and experimentally form my hands into fists a couple times to make sure the wraps are perfect. Even a small detail like a wrap coming undone can catch your attention and leave you on the ground bleeding. There are no rules other than no killing your opponent and no weapons allowed. Everything else is free to do and the fight stops after your opponent is either unconscious or is pinned for more than 10 second.

I walk out of the small room and meet my manager back at the stairs to head to the arena. As I am walking up I hear a commotion start in one of the other changing rooms and I instantly freeze. I hear a man yelling at who I presume is their manager or a friend, "I wont do it, I am done with fighting. I have a family at home for fucks sake, my wife is beginning to ask questions about the occasional bruising. I'm tired of lying to them Jeff I'm going home and theirs nothing you can do to stop it."

I hear the other man speaking in hushed voices and the other man starts yelling again, my eavesdropping is stalled as Scott comes back down the stairs and smacks me upside the head, "Get your head in the game kid, there's a lot at stake with this one." We continue to walk up the stairs and as I almost get to the top I hear a gunshot fire off from the rooms at the bottom of the stairs. I keep walking and try to get my breathing under control as the guards that stand at the top of the stairs, making sure only managers and fighters go down, rush down the stairs to investigate.