“How ya been, sis?” he said. He hugged me with one arm, and then playfully shoved Travis with the other.
“I’m good, Trent.”
Travis immediately relaxed, and then he led me by the hand to the back of the building.
“If the cops show and we get separated, meet me at Morgan Hall, okay?” Travis said to his brother. We stopped at an open window low to the ground, the signal that Adam was inside and waiting.
“You’re fuckin’ with me,” Trent said, staring down at the window. “Abby’s barely gonna fit through there.”
“You’ll fit,” Travis assured him, crawling down into the blackness inside. Like so many times before, I leaned down and pushed myself backward, knowing Travis would catch me.
We waited for a few moments, and then Trent grunted as he pushed off the ledge and landed on the floor, nearly losing his balance as his feet hit the concrete.
“You’re lucky I love Abby. I wouldn’t do this shit for just anyone,” Trent grumbled, brushing off his shirt.
Travis jumped up, pulling the window closed with one quick movement. “This way,” he said, leading us through the dark.
Hallway after hallway, I gripped Travis’s hand in mine, feeling Trent pinching
the fabric of my shirt. I could hear small pieces of gravel scrape the concrete as I shuffled along the floor. I felt my eyes widen, trying to adjust to the blackness of the basement, but there was no light to help them focus.
Trent sighed after the third turn. “We’re never gonna find our way out of here.”
“Just follow me out. It’ll be fine,” Travis said, irritated with Trent’s complaining.
When the hallway grew lighter, I knew we were close. When the low roar of the crowd came to a feverish pitch of numbers and names, I knew we had arrived. The room where Travis waited to be called usually had only one lantern and one chair, but with the renovations, it was full of desks and chairs and random equipment covered in white sheets.
Travis and Trent discussed strategy for the fight as I peeked outside. It was as packed and chaotic as the last fight, but with less room. Furniture covered in dusty sheets lined the edges of the walls, pushed aside to make room for the spectators.
The room was darker than usual, and I guessed that Adam wanted to be careful not to draw attention to our whereabouts. Lanterns hung from the ceilings, creating a dingy glow on the cash being held high as bets were still being called.
“Pigeon, did you hear me?” Travis said, touching my arm.
“What?” I said, blinking.
“I want you to stand by this doorway, okay? Keep hold of Trent’s arm at all times.”
“I won’t move. I promise.”
Travis smiled, his perfect dimple sinking into his cheek. “Now you look nervous.”
I glanced to the doorway and then back to him. “I don’t have a good feeling about this, Trav. Not about the fight, but … something. This place gives me the creeps.”
“We won’t be here long,” Travis assured me. Adam’s voice came over the horn, and then a pair of warm, familiar hands were on each side of my face. “I love you,” he said. He wrapped his arms around me and lifted me off the floor, squeezing me to him as he kissed me. He lowered me to the ground and then hooked my arm around Trent’s. “Don’t take your eyes off of her,” he said to his brother. “Even for a second. This place’ll get crazy once the fight starts.”
“ … so let’s welcome tonight’s contender — JOHN SAVAGE!”
“I’ll guard her with my life, little brother,” Trent said, tugging on my arm. “Now go kick this guy’s ass and let’s get out of here.”
“ … TRAVIS “MAD DOG” MADDOX!” Adam yelled through the horn.
The volume was deafening as Travis made his way through the crowd. I looked up to Trent, who had the tiniest crook of a smile on his face. Anyone else might not have noticed, but I could see the pride in his eyes.
When Travis reached the center of The Circle, I swallowed. John wasn’t much bigger, but he looked different from anyone Travis had fought before, including the man he fought in Vegas. He wasn’t trying to intimidate Travis with a severe stare like the others; he was studying him, preparing the fight in his mind. As analytical as his eyes were, they were also absent of reason. I knew before the fight began that Travis had more than a fight on his hands; he was standing in front of a demon.
Travis seemed to notice the difference as well. His usual smirk was gone, an intense stare in its place. When the horn sounded, John attacked.
“Jesus,” I said, gripping Trent’s arm.