One for the Money

“It’s a fight to the death, Eva. And the clock is ticking.”

“Wagner,” she says on a hard exhale.

Of course. It’s very much like Eva Morelli to go for the underdog.

Does she even realize how rare that is? Especially for people from our sphere. We understand the privilege of money, how having some leads to having more. We understand the power of the incumbent. Eva knows it, too, but she has something else. She has hope.

Charles enters the bet and turns to the next person in line.

With a light touch at the small of her back, I point Eva toward the seats.

“I still have your quarter,” she says. “From before.”

“Keep it,” I tell her, rubbing my hand over the small of her back. Even this small touch feels important to me, almost vital. “Double or nothing.”

“They aren’t really going to hurt each other, are they?”

“Maybe.” Our relationship is fake, but when it’s just the two of us? I’m going to be real with her. Honest with her. “Maybe not. But either way they chose to be in that ring. You don’t stumble into it. You work your way there for years.”

“Why?” she asks, sounding genuinely curious.

I shrug. “Some of them like to fight. Anger in physical form. Some of them are focused on power. A few look at it like an art form. Technique and form and even elegance.”

“Is that why you come here? For the elegance?”

There’s an open spot on the steel bleachers, and I guide her there. We’re definitely well dressed for the event, but we’re not the only ones in evening wear. We’re not the only ones who ditched comfort for excitement. “I come here to entertain beautiful women.”

“And that works for you, does it?”

“Absolutely. Something about watching two men beat each other into a pulp makes women hot. It’s positively bloodthirsty.”

“Don’t get your hopes up that it’ll work this time. I’m expecting to be horrified.”

A cry goes up from the crowd as Thorn is introduced. He enters the room with all the swagger and pride of a born performer. The fact that he performs with his fists is beside the point. Another roar as Wagner enters the building. He looks fierce and determined.

He knows he’s expected to lose tonight.

I don’t make my living by throwing punches, but I know something about facing long odds. I know about hurtling toward pain and humiliation with no way to stop. You face it with your head held high, because that’s all you have left.

“Thorn looks… mad.”

He does look mad. Even more than the usual posturing. I wonder if there’s some personal beef between them. That doesn’t bode well for that ten thousand dollars. Thorn already has the advantage, and if he brings his A game, Wagner will go down.

The bell rings.

Nervousness races through her body. I feel it like electricity where I touch her skin. The first punch is thrown, and she burrows close to my body. I’m an opportunistic bastard, so I tuck her tight against my side, her soft breasts lush against my hard chest, her hair like sleek night.

The boxers dance around each other.

A punch. A dodge. They circle each other again.

They’re learning each other, the same way Eva and I learn each other, our bodies in constant conversation. Do you like that? Yes, more. I stroke her hip with my thumb.

Thorn rushes in, secure in his past victories.

Wagner was clearly prepared and fights back with vicious precision.

The long, powerful exchange brings the entire warehouse to its feet. Even Eva jumps up, stepping onto the rattling metal bleacher in order to see over the tall men in front of us.

“Is he hurt?” she demands as Wagner staggers back. He touches one knee to the ground, but he’s standing again, back in fighting stance before Thorn can advance.

It’s a solid match, but Thorn clearly has the advantage. He has more weight, more muscle, more experience. He’s not as fast, but the blows he lands send Wagner reeling.

In a burst of speed, Wagner strikes, throwing Thorn against the ropes.

The crowd erupts.

“Yes,” Eva shouts, jumping and clapping.

Her hesitation about the brutality evaporates in the face of excitement. She’s one with the crowd now, cheering for her favorite, shouting encouragement when he’s hit.

A one-two punch, and then Wagner is on the ground.

The ref steps in to start counting, but the fighter staggers to his feet. He’s not looking steady, though. The fighters dance around each other, but it’s clear one is fading.

Thorn pummels Wagner, relentless, stone-cold.

There’s a reason he’s the returning champion.

Eva tightens her grip on my arm so hard her knuckles turn white. “Finn?”

“Yeah?” I ask, my lips on her temple.

We have to be this close because it’s loud in here. She won’t hear me otherwise. And we have to be this close because she’s clinging to me in both excitement and fear.