Page 103 of Cruel Legacy

If you can’t handle crossing lines and getting your hands dirty, you’ll never be more than a grunt. A foot soldier. That’s a life I’d never want.

I’ve heard people whisper about it over the years. How I was supposed to be my family’s ticket back into the fold. I was supposed to be the one to get us out of banishment and reassigned to a high level legacy line. I refuse to do what it takes for that to happen, choosing to earn the council’s scorn and derision every chance I get.

At any rate, I owe them names and I’ve been dragging my feet about providing them. I know I can’t keep putting it off. They’ve been hearing rumors, just as I have, about this new fighter everyone’s obsessed with. I can’t keep telling them, “I don’t know who it is,” because it’s my job to know.

The thing is, I’ve been trying to get answers, but every time I ask someone in the fight circuit if they know who he is, they clam up. It’s more than them not wanting to admit they go to underground fights. It’s like Syl’s got a gag order on them that surpasses her usual NDA.

I open my anonymous account on a social media site I rarely use. Syl doesn’t allow cameras and recordings at her fights, but I know a guy that always seems to sneak a device in. He’s uploaded a clip of a fight last month, but he’s sitting too far away to really show who’s fighting.

I can make out enough to see it’s a woman going up against Big Jim. She’s fast, but speed won’t be enough. Jim’s a beast. One blow at half power will send that girl flying. This must’ve been some kind of promo thing Syl had going. I wonder how much it cost the girl to get five minutes in the ring with him.

The swing of her ponytail niggles at me. Like it’s tickling a memory, but I’m not sure why. I click out of the video, because I don’t need to see the fight to know how it ends, and pull up another one. I watch this one all the way through as well as the next two, jotting down the names of the fighters I want to do more research on.

Big Jim would be an ideal guardian candidate, but he’s already made a name for himself in the underground fight club and is gaining traction on the amateur circuit. He’ll never be able to blend in on a guardian detail.

* * *

I bang twice on the back door of the warehouse. The minutes tick by while I wait for someone to answer. The camera mounted in the doorway will let them know I’m authorized access. My picture should already be in an envelope on the table inside the door, since I’m on the ticket to fight.

Syl doesn’t trust IDs because they can be faked. She has current pictures of her fighters, taken within forty-eight hours of their fight night. When Syl says you need to look the way you’ll look the day of your fight, she means it. I’ve seen the guards turn someone away because they cut and dyed their hair to match their fighting shorts the day of the match-up.

The door opens, and I walk through the X-ray scanner to make sure there’s nothing that can be considered a weapon on me. With the increased use of polymer and ceramic knives and 3D printing, Syl takes no chances.

The final security check-point is for surveillance devices, and a doctor checks my teeth, under my tongue and between my nails for razor blades, stick pins, and pills that can be discreetly hidden and used on an opponent.

I don’t take offense to the invasive checks. I might not be desperate enough to cheat, but that doesn’t mean no one else would. The amount of money you can make here is insane and egos are fragile. Some people will do whatever it takes to win the cash or protect the latter.

I’m one of the last fights of the evening. I drop my stuff in the locker room, securing my bag in a locker with the lock I brought, then head out to the main area.

I stop in front of the betting table, even though I’m not wagering money, but I like to see the point spreads. I don’t recognize any of the names on the lower end of the board. They have the smallest bets assigned to their fights. They must be newcomers. “Looks like the fourth fight’s gonna be cancelled, huh?”

The guy clicks his mouse as he studies something on his computer screen. “Nope. Both fighters for the fourth bout are here.”

“You don’t have a name in the opponent section.”

He shrugs. “That’s how they want it and Syl said it’s fine.”

“So how do people know who they’re betting for?”

“As you can see, most of them bet on the name that’s posted. They know him, and his stats. They just have to hope they picked the right fighter when it’s over with.”

I move out of the way so the people behind me can place their bets. I find a seat close enough to the ring to watch the fight and far enough away to blend into the crowd to avoid being spotted by any fans.

Right now, I’d be miserable company. Thea’s still showing up to class with bruises. I’ve been following her around campus, trying to see who she meets up with. So far, the only guy I’ve seen her with is Austin Kincaid. His face is just as annoyingly chiseled and clean as it’s always been, and I’ve seen him shirtless in the gym. He’s not the guy knocking her around.

I also called around to see if she’s joined any of the local gyms, thinking maybe the boyfriend is a muscle head at one of them, but she’s not. None of the owners have gone against school policy and signed her up, and I sure as hell haven’t signed a permission slip. They could be lying, but if they are and I find out, that’ll be the end of them running a gym in Canyon Falls.

They know what’s at stake and it’s not worth the lie or the hassle to try to get around me.

I switch my mind to scouting mode and tune out the people around me. I’ll be in a better headspace to deal with socializing after my fight. Then, I’ll be ready for the smiles and compliments. The attention from willing women who can’t wait to congratulate me on my win.

We’re coming up on the third round of the third fight, and I’ve seen enough. Both fighters are untrained, and taking sloppy shots at each other. Whoever comes out as the winner will literally have lucked out on this win, because there’s no skill or fight plan involved.

The lights in the building flash twice, then plunge us into darkness. I know what that means. I jump out of my seat, making my way to the floor. When the lights come back on, I’m in front of the ring, facing the locker room. I stop dead in my tracks, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.

People cross in front of me, running for the exit. When there’s finally a gap, the person I was staring at is gone. I look around and spot a swinging ponytail with purple fucking tips. I ignore the screams and yells from everyone trying to get out of the building before the cops descend. The problem is, they’re running towards the door the police are probably coming thru. I run back up the bleachers and run along the length of it, since everyone else is heading towards the floor.

I jump down when I get to the end and cut Thea off at the betting table. I grab her arm and drag her into the locker room. The lights are still off, but it’s fine. I know this place like the back of my hand and always use the same locker. I have my lock undone and my gym bag in my hand, in under a minute, then I’m dragging her back out the door and deeper into the building.

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