Sweat lingered across the wide-open space almost like a heavy fog as Gunner stood in the doorway and looked out on the scene before him. Kinley had obviously put money into the old space since Gunner had seen it last. The old man seemed to have switched gears from farmer to fight promoter overnight. Gunner shook his head. It was funny what the smell of money could do to people. The barn floor was all cement now, polished to a shine that reflected the scene above it like a mirror. New, ultra-bright fluorescent lights hung above the old ring, and the ropes that used to be tied together in places had been replaced. The folding chairs sat in clean organized lines on all four sides of the ring and behind eight or ten rows of those, people still stood two or three deep. Up above their heads at about ten or twelve feet, Kinley had turned the old walk-about into a viewing balcony that now held even more bloodthirsty spectators. Gunner had never fought in front of so many people before. The whole thing felt a little surreal—that Kinley, a man he’d known half his life, had set this all up without mentioning it to him at all. These fights had been about Saturday night entertainment for the small community, and now there were real gangsters with guns in the audience, looking to make real money off his blood. The game had completely changed for Gunner. He knew now that winning the fight wouldn’t be about proving himself to anyone. If he won, it would be proof to them that they owned him, that easily. Gunner sucked in a breath and tried to still the poisonous rage that was seeping slowly through his veins.

He began making his way down the aisle that had been cleared for him and toward the ring in the center of it all. He reminded himself once more that no one would ever own him, much less the people who loved to look down on him. The people in the crowd tonight weren’t just tired farmers looking for a night of fun. Eddie had recruited the real losers, those hungry for blood and money. Gunner recognized a lot of them. For years they walked past him and either looked right through him or looked at him with pure disgust. He was treated like he was a rabid, mangy animal; most of them gave him a wide berth when they passed on the street. They didn’t look him in the eye in public, but here behind closed doors they chanted out his name and would undoubtedly cheer when he drew blood.

During the week, they dressed in their “costumes” and pretended to be good people. They were cops and lawyers, teachers and politicians. They had families, they went to church, and on the surface, everything about them looked respectable. But Gunner knew from years of neglect by society that you didn’t have to look far to find the ugly. He saw the cop who always twisted his arm harder than he had to when he arrested him, and the teacher who told him when he was just a little boy that he might as well join a gang because he’d never learn how to read anyway. There was the banker who told him he wasn’t good enough to date his daughter, and the lady who sat outside the drugstore handing out pamphlets about the impending arrival of Christ, both now sitting in the front row next to one of Eddie’s guys. They had all come to profit off the boy that had grown up without so much as a hand from any of them.

The circle of bodies cleared as he was led through by a couple of Kinley’s big boys that doubled as bouncers when they weren’t driving the tractors out on the farm. The crowd got louder when they saw him. The big Indian was already standing in the ring. He had an intense look in his eyes. Gunner wondered what he owed Eddie that he was willing to throw a fight to a nobody kid.

He stepped up under the ropes and saw Kinley in his corner. He glanced behind the old farmer and saw Eddie and a group of well-dressed people, who had probably never been this far out in the county, sitting in the front row. About six feet away Patty and Billy sat in their usual spot. Gunner smiled to himself. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he was impressed by their loyalty or appalled by their stupidity. Either way he loved them for it. They were genuinely good people and as with Gunner, people rarely looked beyond the surface to see it.

“Hey, kid, you gave us a scare,” Kinley said when he was close enough to hear. Gunner ignored him and shrugged out of his jacket. The sound of Kinley’s voice was fueling the growing fire in his veins. The crowd mumbled louder when they got a look at Gunner’s torso. It was obvious that the big Indian probably outweighed him by a hundred pounds. Gunner was cut but his muscles were lean. The Indian looked like he was chiseled out of granite. Gunner knew well that looks were deceiving and sometimes lethal didn’t always look that way. If this was a fair fight he had no doubts he would win. He was about to walk away from Kinley when he heard the old man say, “You got this…right?” Gunner felt a snap inside of his head before he spun on the old man and got into his face.

“How fucking dare you get Eddie involved in this shit without even telling me? Do you know who he is, Kinley? Do you have any idea who you’re messing with?”

“Gunner, man, I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I borrowed the money to save the farm. You know what this farm means to me. It’s been in my family forever. Once you win this fight, Eddie will take his money and he’ll go away and we can…”

“If you believe that, you’re a fucking fool. Eddie owns you now, Kinley, but make no mistake about it, nobody is going to own me.” Gunner turned away from Kinley and back toward his opponent. Kinley didn’t matter to him any longer and neither did Eddie. After this fight was over, the only people in this room that Gunner ever planned on seeing again were Patty and Billy.

Up close he could see that Red Crow had a long, jagged scar that ran from the top of his left eyebrow all the way down to the corner of his mouth. Gunner wondered if he’d gotten that before he got big enough to fight back. Maybe that was what made him want to be a fighter. Or maybe he got the scar in the accident the night he ruined his career. Maybe it was just a simple souvenir from one of his fights. Gunner was curious about what motivated people to do the things they did. He wondered what motivated the big man to put his body on the line for men the likes of Eddie Munster.

The Indian came out of his corner toward the center of the ring. His hands were wrapped up with tape and so were his feet. He was bouncing on the balls of them. He was ready to go. Gunner felt a big pair of hands on his shoulders as he was propelled out toward the center. He pulled away from Kinley again, adjusted the wraps on his hands, and stepped up to his opponent. The makeshift announcer in the middle introduced them both, and just before the crowd began to roar Eddie made eye contact with him and mouthed one word that fanned the flames already burning inside of him. “Win.”

Gunner turned back toward his opponent and a wicked right hook landed squarely on his jaw. He struggled to get his head in the fight, and as soon as he had it there, he blocked the big fist, staving off the second blow. The Indian was a lot quicker than he looked, and Gunner spent more time blocking punches than he did throwing them. He found out quickly that the professional training the Indian had made a hell of a lot of difference. Gunner’s fighting style was to stay alive and when you wore your opponent down, go in for the kill. This guy was playing with him like he was a big-ass cat and Gunner was the mouse. He blocked another punch and then finally he came up, swinging hard. He hit the big guy square in the face and blood spurted from his nose, spraying Gunner and the people in the front row with a fine spray. Gunner didn’t hesitate as the Indian looked stunned and began to stumble backward. He attacked, lunging forward and unleashing everything he had on the guy. The Indian seemed too stunned to fight back. He put his hands up in front of his face, so Gunner moved lower and threw a left and then a right into his ribs, listening to the distinct sound of more than one of them breaking as he did.

The crowd was on its feet and screaming at Red Crow to do something. Gunner went in for another strike. He got him in the throat, and that seemed to piss him off and fire him up. He threw out a hard left that landed in the soft part of Gunner’s gut. It knocked the breath out of him and he stumbled backward. While he was off balance, Red Crow threw another punch that caught him on the chin. The crowd roared as Gunner teetered back and forth, finally catching himself before he fell. He threw a left and then a right and another left, rapidly and with no mercy, connecting with the big guy’s body every time. For a few seconds he forgot what he was doing and he was fighting the way he’d always fought, to survive. But as he was about to throw the punch that would have undoubtedly taken the big man down to his knees, his eyes locked onto Eddie Martini’s again and he remembered what he was doing. Eddie’s smug, self-satisfied look made Gunner want to vault the ropes and beat the living shit out of him. He didn’t throw that next punch, and he held Martini’s gaze as the Indian’s giant fist clocked him upside the head and knocked him down to the mat. Gunner heard the buzzer. He smiled through the blood in his teeth at the scowl on Eddie’s face. He’d just lost the first round; one more and Eddie would know that not everyone could be bought.

Kinley’s boys rushed Gunner over to his corner, and as Kinley wiped the blood off Gunner’s face and chest, one of the boys poured water in his mouth and over his head. As soon as his ears stopped ringing and he could focus, Gunner sought out Billy and motioned at him to come over to the ropes. He leaned through and whispered something in Billy’s ear. What he told his friend was for no one’s ears but his, and the look Billy gave him wouldn’t have ordinarily instilled confidence in a man, but Gunner knew Billy, and he knew that his best friend…his “brother”…would never let him down.

* * *

Billy walked on shaky legs from the ropes back to where Patty was sitting. He reached for her arm and pulled her to her feet. She looked confused, but the fight was beginning again and the crowd was roaring loudly, so she didn’t even try to ask any questions. Billy led her through the crowd and out the side door, past one of Kinley’s overgrown country bouncers. The night air felt good compared to the sweat box that it had been inside, and for a few seconds they just walked and replaced the thick air in their lungs with something easier to breathe. Once they were past the cars and out in the center of the dark field between the barn and the bar, Billy stopped walking and said:

“He’s going to lose this fight.”

Patty sighed. “That stupid little shit.”

“He’s not being stupid, Patty. If he wins this fight, Eddie will own him.”

“If he loses it, Eddie will kill him.”

“We’re going to get him out of here.”

“Eddie and those boys are armed to the teeth. How do you suppose we’re gonna get him out of here without getting his pretty head blown off?”

“He wants me to make a phone call. Did you see that group of bikers sitting on the other side of the room? The Head Hunters?”

“Yeah, I saw them. They’ve been venturing out of Medina and spending a lot of time in our town lately. The two of them that snitched Gunner out about the vest are here.”

“They have some kind of alliance with the Skulls, I guess that’s why they were so pissed about the vest. But anyways, Gunner seems to think the Skulls give some kind of shit about him. He’s hoping the money Kinley brought in tonight and the lack of decent security will be like a bonus. Anyway, I need you to go get the Mustang. Wait as close to this back door as you can with the passenger door open. We’ll be out soon.” Patty rolled her eyes and shook her head, but she didn’t argue with him. Billy watched her go as he slid Gunner’s phone out of his pocket. He pressed in the number for Dax and waited. After three rings, a deep voice answered:

“Yes?”

“Hi, um…is this Dax Marshall?”

“Who wants to know?”

“My name is Bill Riley. I’m a good friend of Gunner’s.”

“Okay.”

Billy sighed. “Gunner asked me to start out by saying he’s sorry to bother you.” Dax chuckled and said:

“Go on…” Billy told him exactly what Gunner told him to say. When he finished talking there was a long pause and for a second he thought he’d lost him. At last, with what sounded like a resigned sigh Dax said, “I’ll take care of it.”

The fight was in full swing when Billy made it back to his seat. He saw Gunner hit the big guy in the belly. The Indian hunched forward and Billy saw the left hook Gunner threw at his face, and the casual right undercut that hit the big guy in the nuts. He fell to his knees and Gunner smiled at him as the crowd went wild. Most of them hadn’t seen that hit, but from the way the Indian was hunching forward it looked like the fight was over. All Gunner had to do was hit him one more time, and everyone that had bet against the Indian was telling him to do so at the top of their lungs. The Indian pulled his head up and his long brown hair fell out of the way. He was still on his knees but something had changed in his eyes. The Indian didn’t want to lose this fight any more than Gunner wanted to win. Gunner had flipped his switch. The fight was really on. Red Crow brought up his fist and connected with Gunner’s side. Gunner went down to the mat and the Indian straddled him and began to throw punch after punch to alternating sides of his face as blood, sweat, and spit sprayed everywhere. Billy was on his feet. He wanted to do something. He was desperate to help. Gunner was being killed right before his eyes and no one was going to stop it, or so he thought. The explosion that rocked the barn in the next few seconds stopped the fight. It stopped everything for a second and then utter pandemonium ensued.

* * *

Gunner’s ears were ringing. He saw Red Crow stand up, and he felt the blood from the big guy’s knuckles drip down onto his face. He rolled over onto his belly. The people in the crowd were all on their feet and looked to be trampling each other as they tried to make it to the door. Gunner couldn’t see Billy or Patty. He hoped they were okay. He couldn’t see Eddie or any of the guys in the fancy suits. He did see the bikers. Two of them stood posted at the back door with their beefy arms folded, looking like doormen as they redirected the crowd to the other side of the room. Gunner felt a hand on his shoulder and he was about to fight it off until he realized it was Billy’s. “We have to go, man, now.”

Gunner tried to push up but his arms and legs both felt like wet noodles and his head was throbbing. Billy had to pull him to his feet and practically get underneath him to hold him up. Billy dragged him toward the ropes and when they got there he pushed him through, into the arms of a burly biker with a coarse white beard that reeked of weed. The guy half-pushed/half-carried him over to the back door and propelled him out into the fresh air. It was like being drunk as soon as he hit the air. Gunner doubled over and began emptying his stomach onto the dirt.

“Jesus, man, stay back from the car.” Billy’s car was running and the door was open. As soon as Gunner stopped puking Billy pushed him into the backseat and got into the passenger seat up front. One of the bikers handed him in a phone. Gunner was in and out of it, and he felt like he was watching a play where he kept drifting off every so often and had to figure out where he was every time he woke up. He watched Billy talk on the phone but he couldn’t hear what was being said. He thought he heard gunfire and sirens. He was sure he heard the loud winding of motorcycle engines…lots of them. The motion of being in the backseat as Patty pressed the accelerator to the floor was making him sick again. He pulled himself up to see if he could find something to puke in and he looked out the car window. Thick clouds of dust swirled up around them, and between that and the darkness, the only other thing Gunner could see was the occasional flash of chrome. He smiled and dropped back down onto the seat. Dax had come through for him.