Page 52 of If You Fight

“Good. Ready?”

I was anything but ready for what lay beyond that sliding metal door. All I could think about was how much this place felt like a real-life horror story and that the man I loved had actually lived here at one point and now was forced to return to fight because my own father wanted to punish him.

Why I still had no real idea. It could have been one of a hundred reasons. With Robert Erickson, you never knew exactly why he wanted to see you suffer. Sort of like that monster in that horror movie.

The door lurched open and on the other side sat a huge empty room. Dimly lit, it looked far less ominous than the hallway we just left. Chunks of concrete and metal lay scattered around the floor so I had to navigate a path behind my father, who seemed to know exactly where to walk. People milled about along the walls talking like they were in a bar or a restaurant and not some abandoned warehouse with the remnants of what the building used to be scattered around them.

In the distance, I heard the sound of a crowd yelling and cheering. My heart skipped a beat, and I suddenly found it hard to breathe. I knew this would be difficult for me after reading about what Ryder and fighters like him did in their matches, but being there and hearing those people screaming while two men beat up on one another felt too real and I stopped, unable to go on.

My father realized I’d fallen behind after a few steps and turned around to glare at me. “I told you to stay close. Come on. If you don’t hurry, you’re going to miss it.”

I struggled to get my feet to move, but I caught up to him, even though I honestly didn’t know if I wanted to see Ryder fight anymore. When it was some abstract idea I could read about and be horrified by, I thought I might be able to handle it, but now that I’d actually see him hurt another person, or even worse, be hurt, I didn’t know if I could do it.

The lights in front of us flickered again as we left that big empty room and walked into a cavernous area of the warehouse. We passed a tiny walled-off area, and as I walked by, I saw some men waiting around for their fights and others bloodied and bruised who had obviously finished their matches.

But I didn’t see Ryder anywhere.

The crowd grew quiet for a moment, and we drew closer to where it looked like over a hundred people stood watching. I couldn’t see what they were looking at because I wasn’t tall enough, though. Then I heard a man’s voice announce the names of the fighters up next.

“Ryder Rhodes and Jake Turner. You’re up!”

As I anxiously waited to see what this Jake person looked like, silently pleading with God to not let him be too big, the pounding of a drum beat and some song I’d never heard before boomed in the air around me to introduce him before it changed to a different song and a male singer’s voice screamed, “I’m back!” and the crowd went wild again.

“You know the rules, so get out there and first one to give the signal loses!” the man shouted.

My heart slammed against my chest as I remembered reading these fights had no real rules like boxing or even MMA fights. I stood on my toes to see, but it was no use. The men around me were too tall.

As if my father had anticipated this, he waved someone over and instantly a man set a wooden bench down beside me and held his hand out to help me up onto it. The crowd began to holler and cheer as I tried to thank him, and when I looked out over the sea of people at the empty space in front of us, my breath caught in my chest.

Facing one another were Ryder and a man with a shaved head no less than six inches taller than him both dressed only in shorts and barefoot. Hulking and vicious looking with tribal tattoos all around his neck and up the back of his head, the guy looked like the kind of monster who belonged in a place like this.

Ryder stood looking at his opponent, sizing him up as the man walked around like he was stalking him. My heart clenched at the mere thought that in seconds I’d helplessly watch the man I loved be attacked by this beast. I wanted to scream out for him to get away and come home with me before he got hurt by the animal in front of him.

Afraid of what would happen next, I turned to see my father grinning like all of this pleased him to no end. He practically licked his chops at the possibility that Ryder would be injured right there in front of his eyes.

A greasy-looking man yelled something and the fight began. The giant who looked like a Skinhead charged at Ryder aggressively, like he wanted to end the fight in one swift attack. Ryder barely got out of the way of the man’s fist, but after it missed his face it landed on his left shoulder with a loud thud of his knuckles against Ryder’s muscle.

I knew it hurt by the look of pain that instantly covered his face, but I was thankful that he hadn’t gotten hit in the other shoulder I knew had been injured before. The crowd around me booed loudly and screamed for the two of them to hit each other. The heartlessness in their voices chilled me to the bone. They didn’t care who got hurt or how bad. They simply wanted their lust for pain to be sated.

The giant lunged at Ryder again, this time landing his fist squarely on his jaw. His head flew back and he stumbled away looking stunned by the shot. I held my breath while I watched the man chase after Ryder, not letting up his attack and hitting him twice more with punches to his face.

Why wasn’t he hitting back? Was the guy too big or was Ryder too surprised to retaliate?

I screamed for him to hit him hard, as bad as the raving fans around me. “Get him, Ryder!”

But the guy kept coming, landing shots to his face and his chest, while Ryder continued to be on the defensive. Within the first few minutes, he’d already taken more blows than I suspected my father’s goons had given him, but he still remained on his feet.

“Put him away!” screamed a drunken man in a denim jacket next to me, practically frothing at the mouth at the promise of a man being beaten for his entertainment.

My stomach roiled at the sight of such unhinged desire to see someone suffer. With every punch and every scream, I felt sick. My head began to pound, and finally, I couldn’t hold back anymore and I jumped off the bench down to the ground, doubling over as I vomited onto that filthy floor.

Behind me, the crowd screamed for Ryder and the man to beat the hell out of one another, but I couldn’t watch anymore. I threw up until there was nothing more in my stomach, and then I dry heaved until my sides hurt so badly I wanted to cry.

I couldn’t stay there and watch the man I loved be attacked, so as soon as my body stopped trying to purge itself, I ran away. Ignoring the shards of glass and concrete, I hurried to that room I saw on my way in, praying I wouldn’t be able to hear the horrible sounds of the crowd telling me Ryder had been beaten.

Two fighters stood talking in the middle of the room and turned to look at me when I entered. I didn’t belong there, but I didn’t care. I found the nearest seat, a metal folding chair that looked like it had seen better days, and tried to put all that ugliness going on just a few yards away out of my mind. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, thankfully blocking out the sounds of the crowd and the fight. Covering my face, I closed my eyes as tears began to flow down my cheeks.

“Are you okay?”

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