Strike (Sphere of Irony 2)

Shaun grins from his corner, smacking a fist into an open palm. “Sure you’re up for this? Your fight is in what… a week?”

“Nine days,” I snap. Not that I’m counting.

“Hold up!” Shaun laughs. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Dad’ll murder me if I injure you so you can’t fight. I’m just wondering how hard I can hit your tender face, that’s all.”

“Fuck off, Shaun. Are we going to have a chat over tea or are we going to fight?” I move towards the center of the ring with my fists up.

Shaun shakes his head, smiling. “Always a glutton for punishment, aren’t you? Fine, on three…two…one.”

We both come out swinging.

It’s the shortest fight either one of us has ever had.

Kate

“Where is this place?”

This is so cocked up. I have no idea what I’m even doing here. I’m so frightened, I can’t even answer Tasha’s question. A quick glance around at the neighborhood that surrounds us has me shivering in fear. Each street is getting scarier than the last.

I feel exposed and vulnerable in this part of Hackney. It’s not known for its friendly atmosphere, that’s for sure, and after dark isn’t the time for a couple of girls to be wandering the streets. We’re actually disturbingly close to the street known as Murder Mile.

Briefly, the image of Dax holding me close and keeping me safe while he fights off criminals flashes though my head. Another shiver wracks my body, but I’m certain this time it isn’t from fear. No, it’s definitely desire that has me shaking. That and my superhero fantasies.

Even though he’s walked me home every day for the last week, Dax hasn’t tried for another kiss or anything else. Honestly, I wish he would. All that talk of him being such a big ladies’ man must be just that—talk. Otherwise, he would certainly have made a move on me by now. Unless… maybe he isn’t interested in me in that way.

Maybe he was in an experimental mood that night. The thought is damn depressing. Or maybe the massive split lip and bruised chin he was sporting earlier this week kept him in check. Who knows?

Reaching into my pocket, I fish out the scrap of paper with the directions scribbled out. Directions. Ha! It’s a bloody illegal f

ight club. You’re not supposed to know where it is. There’s not exactly going to be a big sign out front now, is there?

“Second building after Parson’s Laundrette,” I mutter, feeling significantly less confident about this plan than I was a few minutes ago. One kiss and I’m bloody stalking a bloke in the worst part of town. Hell, he probably kissed me out of pity—threw me a proverbial bone.

“This is so crazy, Kate. I can’t believe we’re doing this!” Tasha glances around nervously as we walk, but I can hear the excitement in her voice, feel it in her step. She always wanted to be the rebel, the bad girl. Now she’s getting her chance. I’ve given her the perfect excuse to let loose and embrace her inner wild side by mentioning the club. Hell, she’s the one who suggested we find it.

We come to a stop in front of a large, abandoned brick structure. It’s completely dark, not a single light is on inside.

My head swivels around, looking for any signs of humanity. Nothing. Just the eerily silent night, mocking my desperation with its darkness. “This can’t be it.”

“Maybe—” Tasha’s thought is cut short by a man’s voice. We quickly huddle behind an overturned rubbish bin.

“Oi! Joe! Get yer arse in ‘ere!”

I whip around just in time to see a bright light shine out of a crack on the bottom level of the building. A man ducks inside what appears to be the outline of a door then it closes behind him, plunging us back into blackness. Fear grips me—hard—slithering down my spine in icy, probing tentacles.

We should not be here.

“Why did I let you talk me into this, Tash?”

As much as try, I can’t blame Tasha for our situation. After spending the last few weeks getting to know Dax, as Ellie’s best friend of course, I want the chance to see him one on one, without Adam and Ellie around making me feel like I’m on a supervised non-date. Naturally, when I confessed my thoughts to Tasha, she came up with this brilliant plan.

Tasha and I had heard the rumors of Dax’s involvement in illegal fighting over the years—and on more than one occasion seen the bruises on his face and hands. So she persuaded one of our less upstanding classmates to tell us how to get to the fight club and what nights we could find Dax there.

“Do we just—knock?”

Tasha shrugs. She doesn’t know any more than I do. She just knows how to act the part. Bolder than I could ever be, her arm thrusts out past my shoulder to bang on the metal door, the loud clanging piercing the silence.

“Bloody hell, Tash. What the—”