Chapter 22
Bastien
Past
“I don't know how the hell you did it, but damn, Bash!” Abeo slapped the stack of hundreds into my hand. I was a bloody mess, but it still felt good to vent my pent-up anger.
I shrugged, counting out the money from my first fight.
I couldn't wait to get out of that grungy-ass warehouse and get something to eat. It had been a few days since I could afford any food. I had no idea how I won. My opponent was this beefy Russian guy. He had nearly a foot on me.
When things got really bad in there, I glanced at the crowd and imagined that Olivia was watching. She'd always been my good luck charm in high school, so why not now too? Even back then it wasn't luck.
I just fought harder when I knew she was watching.
I gently pulled the shoelace necklace over my head, the heart-shaped pendant was back against my own heart, where it belonged. I still wasn't sure if I had been trying to impress her, or if having her around just brought that never-give-up determination out of me. I guess it didn't really matter.
I missed her all the same.
“If that really was your first fight, then you and me are gonna make a lot of fucking money together, man!” Abeo was Nigerian with a heavy accent, in his mid forties. He had a serious limp from when he was a fighter himself. Now he was a just a promoter and negotiator, but he was the best in the underground circuit.
He knew everybody.
“Who’s that?” I asked, cocking my head up toward a private table near the back of the room. An older well-dressed, dark-skinned man sat quietly alone, drinking what looked like a glass of milk. He’d had been eyeing me ever since my match.
“People around here just call him Sir,” Abeo leaned in closer to speak quieter. “Word is that he’s that crazy billionaire John Warwick.” He stole a quick glance at the man I was looking at. “Looks like he’s taken an interest in you.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I asked, shaking the sting out of my knuckles.
“Don’t know. It’s never happened before.” Abeo slapped me on the back, then went off to set up the next fight.
What the hell could a billionaire want with me?
I was too tired to dwell on it and took the opportunity to slip out the back into the alley. The August air was bitter in Pittsburgh. I pulled my hood up to protect my bruised skin from the dirty, city rain.
Through the haze of steam and grime, I could see a poster for Olivia’s debut movie plastered on the wall. She looked so amazing that my heart began to ache. I told myself I wouldn't see it because it'd be too painful, but it was Olivia...
How could I not see it?
Making sure I was alone, I stuffed two hundred dollars of my winnings into my boxers. It was a habit I'd picked up during this last, hard year. My plan had always been the same, just 'keep going.' If I ever stopped, the way I'd been living might catch up with me.
I didn't want to be around for that.
In the dark, late night hours, my mind always drifted back to Olivia. This was the right decision, wasn't it? I hated to admit that Delvin was right about anything, but he was right about me. I looked down at my shaking, bloody bandaged hands. I was glad she couldn’t see me now.
What kind of life could I have really offered her?
Vivid flashes of her lingered in my soul. The way she used to smell, the sound of her voice, all of it hit harder than any punch. Moments like these were the worst. It was getting more and more difficult lately to fight back the tears of missing her.
“That's him,” I heard whispered behind me. I'd expected some fans or other fighters to come up and congratulate me on the win, but I was too wrapped up in my own pain to face them. Scuffling feet became a charge and before I could turn around there was a loud crack.
Then there was nothing at all.
The relentless rain woke me up sometime later.
I was soaked through, lying in a bloody puddle next to a dumpster like all the other discarded alley trash. My head rang so fucking loud that every attempt to get back on my feet ended with me crashing back down against the dumpster.
I didn't even bother checking for the cash in my pocket. I knew wasn't there. I only had one possession that mattered. I rolled onto my back and slid a filthy, shaking hand over my chest. As hungry as I was, I didn't care about the money.
It was the heart pendant that they had stolen from me that hurt the most.
Alone, and left for dead, I let unconsciousness take me.
“Get up!” I heard Olivia's voice scream in my memory. When I opened my eyes, lightning crashed overhead, and in the afterglow, I could swear I saw Olivia's icy blue eyes. I felt like I was in the ring again, getting my ass kicked. I imagined her watching me.
I couldn't give up now.
It was impossible, of course. Olivia was safely sheltered away in some multimillion dollar mansion somewhere. But that didn't stop the familiar surge of strength I felt whenever she used to watch me wrestle. I put one leg in front of the other and finally managed to get to my feet.
I survived another night because of her.
The flickering, red-neon window lights of a sketchy late-night tattoo parlor blinked a few streets over. Starving and probably in need of some real medical attention, I stumbled, almost drunkenly, toward the building. Only one thing mattered to me at that moment. I shoved open the heavy reinforced door and pulled my last two hundred dollars from my boxers.
“Jesus, kid! The fuck happened to you?” The lone tattoo artist asked me.
“Some thugs stole something very important. I need you to get it back for me.”
Present
This didn't feel good anymore. The screaming crowd and the pain that always helped me forget and escape; it no longer felt right.
The hastily rigged halogen lights and the circle drawn on the broken cement floor made the warehouse basement seem more like a construction site than any kind of boxing ring. Abeo, surrounded by two girls in bikinis, made his way through the fifty or so business men. He barked at them for last minute bets, and was eventually cut off by the air horn that signified the start of the match.
Instinctively I glanced at the back wall for Warwick, but he was dead.
It was in a place like this where he offered me a job as his personal bodyguard. Then much later, on his deathbed he offered me a chance to protect the person I love. And here I was disappointing everyone.
It was amazing just how far I’d fallen.
I shrugged off my hoodie, cracked my neck one last time and felt a calm wash over me. Balling my hands into fists, bits of broken glass flaked off my tar-covered knuckles and peppered my boots.
I was ready.
The whole place vibrated with bloodthirsty energy; if it could talk it would say, Welcome home, Bastien.
My opponent moved in on me, testing my reactions with some super quick jabs. He was a lean black kid with a long reach and he was much faster than I was. Every other strike from him connected. Most were just glancing blows at best, but the glass on his fists opened me up in a dozen spots. Blood and sweat dotted the floor.
A few seconds in, I was already bleeding up and down my arms and I had yet to even tag this kid. The old men cheered at every new cut and narrow dodge. I was stronger and thicker than he was and I could take one hell of a beating, but I wasn't going to win if I played the long game.
I stepped toward him, absorbing half a dozen blows that would have been devastating to other men. I pushed him to the edge of the chalk circle, the large men that walked on the outside of that perimeter pushed him back toward me.
I took two more hard shots to the ribs, ducked under a right cross and came up with an elbow uppercut so hard I heard two of his teeth crack. It was the sweet spot. That was all it took to knock the kid on his ass. He staggered, landing upright in a sitting, crossed-leg position.
I grabbed his tight braids with my off hand and cocked my arm to give him a final blow that would send him to the hospital. Or the morgue. There were no refs, and very few rules. You either give up or get carried out.
The payout for the winner was always much bigger if the opponent had to be carried out of the circle. The crowd lost their minds all around me, they were the Roman emperor and they just gave me the thumbs down for this kid.
I just shoved the fighter to the ground instead, he was done. The sadistic mob booed and cursed at me for the short fight, but I didn't care. I wasn't here for them or for their money.
Why was I here?
Abeo darted in and raised my arm, “Bash is your winner!”
I was here because I was the best, that's why. Playing dress up and pretending that life was different with Olivia was all a fantasy. It was time to wake up.
“What the hell was that?” Abeo leaned in, he wasn't happy. He'd gone through a lot of trouble to set this fight up on such short notice. Who the fuck knows what he promised everyone that attended.
“Double or nothing!” Someone in the back shouted. The voice sounded extremely familiar, but my ears were ringing too much to place it.
Another fight? This soon?
I'd only ever done one per night before. Back-to-back fights were unheard of!
I took a moment before answering. Olivia was off living her dream, Trish was stable and recovering and Romeo would be taken care of. All my ties had been severed. No one knew or cared what happened to me now.
Fuck it.
I spat the blood out of my mouth then nodded.
What did I really have to lose?
Abeo immediately hushed the crowd and made the announcement. The odds were announced and the bets were made. I limbered up, got a drink of water and did what I could for my wounds. I sat down on a fold out stool, and was left with a few minutes of reflection before the next fight started.
Why did I spare my opponent? The old Bastien would have seriously fucked that kid up.
Whether I wanted to admit it or not, my time with Olivia had changed me. I wasn't as angry anymore. Being around her gave me this sense of peace and acceptance that I'd never found anywhere else.
Missing her was already starting to become unbearable and it had only been a few hours. I was beginning to feel like I had made a terrible mistake. I was so mad at her, that I wasn't thinking straight.
Olivia had changed too, not just into the plastic Hollywood sensation that I first met in the lobby of her father's apartment a few months back, but back into the old Olivia. Every minute I spent with her made me remember how amazing that girl from high school was, and how she was worth risking everything for.
The air horn sounded, stealing away my introspection. I looked up to see not one, but two men take their shirts off and enter the circle.
Abeo, you bastard.
I glanced back at Abeo, narrowing my eyes in a hateful glare. I thought he simply meant a second fight, not two opponents!
He shook his and mouthed the words “double or nothing.”
It made me wonder who that familiar voice was that shouted the challenge.
I got off my little stool and stepped into the circle. Both men charged me right away, trying to get to either side of me. They didn't have glass on their knuckles, but that probably wouldn't matter.
They weren’t as fast as my last opponent, but they were definitely stockier and if one got behind me I was fucked.
I batted their strikes away, dodging and weaving around them. I got my licks in too, but it was hard going. Every time I guarded against one, I left myself open against the other. For every hit I landed against one of them, I opened myself up to take two more. The fight went on for fifteen long minutes. There were no rounds, no ref, no time limits, and no one to throw in the towel. I doubted I'd even be able to quit if I wanted to.
This fight was only going to end when someone stopped moving.
I was damn tough, but even I couldn't go on like this for long. After a while my shoulders dipped in exhaustion. My fists felt like they were encased in concrete blocks. It was hard to keep my defenses up.
Finally, a blow struck me between the shoulder blades, then another caught me in the ribs and on the side of my head. I could feel at least two cracked ribs, a concussion, heavy blood loss, and now my vision began to blur.
These guys were as ruthless as I was back in the day. They wanted blood just as bad as the crowd. I would've been able to take either of them in a straight fight, but not both at the same time.
I'd never even heard of someone winning against two guys at once in a fight like this.
A heavy blow from somewhere dropped me to a knee. My whole body was slick with blood and I had trouble breathing.
I was in really bad shape.
I might not make it out of this alive.
My time with Olivia, although wonderful, had robbed me of the anger that always kept me alive in fights like these. I slid a hand over a tattoo on my chest that always reminded me of Olivia.
I tried to at least protect that one last piece of her.
One of the men grabbed my short hair and wrenched my head up toward the crowd. I was exhausted and beat to shit. All I could do now was wait for the end. Theses bastards were going to give the audience what I wouldn’t during the last fight.
Fine. I don’t care any more. I looked out over the roaring crowd. My heart wasn't in any of this. I let the hand guarding my tattoo drop. Just do it.
“Bastien!” screamed an impossible voice from the crowd. It was the Olivia I remembered from high school. She wore her customary dark hoodie with her hair covering half of her porcelain face.
She must have gotten out of drama club early enough to catch my wrestling match, I thought, deliriously.
I was glad I got to see her one last time, even if she wasn't really here.