Page 60 of It Takes a Thief
“Even underground fights have rules,” I say. “The main one being no hitting below the belt.”
“No rules.”
I shake my head and frown. Fine, whatever. I’m experienced enough to handle it.
“But there is one thing you should probably know,” Jeffrey says.
I arch a brow, waiting for him to tell me and stop being so damn cryptic. But he draws it out, seemingly enjoying the suspense.
“And that would be what exactly?” I finally have to ask.
“It’s a fight to the death,” he states.
Oh, hell no.I leap up from my seat, ready to pound Jeffrey into the ground, when a hard strike smashes me upside the head.A pistol handle,I belatedly realize. I stumble, seeing stars, and another solid hit brings me to my knees. A third strike to my skull has me face-planting against the floor, and I lose consciousness.
∞∞∞
At some point, my eyelids flutter open. I have a splitting headache, and my tongue feels like it’s wearing a fuzzy sweater. It takes a second for me to remember what’s happening.
A fight to the death.
Jerking up, I realize I’m in a bed with one wrist cuffed to a brass headboard. “Fucking hell,” I growl, immediately regretting the fast movement because it’s like a jackhammer is splitting my skull apart. Christ, they hit me hard. Probably have a concussion.
That’s the least of my problems, though. Straightening up, I squint in the darkness, trying to get my bearings. A small line of light trickles through the bottom of a closed door, but there isn’t much to see. Other than the bed I’m restrained to, I can makeout a straight back wooden chair and hideous shag carpeting covers the floor. Not even a window.
I could try to pick the cuff, but with what? Reaching down, I search my pockets with my free hand and discover they’ve been emptied. Hell, I don’t even know what time it is or how long I’ve been out.
Rattling the cuff, testing its strength, I figure out pretty fast it’s not going to be easy to escape. At least, not without my lockpicking set. Leaning back against a pillow, I release a long, frustrated sigh. I’ve messed everything up in every possible way. Especially when it comes to Merritt.
I have no idea who my opponent will be, but I’m willing to bet it’ll be someone good. If Jeffrey sold out, it’s because he’s planning to give his audience a grand show. A fight to the death. I’ve heard those kinds of illegal fights exist, but I’ve never been to one. Why would I want to see two people try to kill each other? Some people think MMA fighting is barbaric, but it’s a sport of extreme skill and respect for rules. Pounding someone with my bare fists until they’re a corpse? That’s inhumane.
What choice do I have, though?
I’m not sure how much time passes before the door opens and the overhead light turns on. The bright light brings my headache raging back to life. With a curse, I pull myself up into a sitting position and see Dumas and his thugs.
“Time to go,” Dumas announces. “And I suggest you come nicely. Otherwise, Merritt is the one who will suffer.”
My only option is to go with them peacefully. I refuse to put Merritt in danger. Mercenaries are cold-blooded killers. If Dumas gives the order to take her out, it’s over. The only way I can protect her right now is to go and fight.
So, that’s what I do. Go willingly with these fools.
Once we’re outside and I’m getting into the back of an SUV, I see we’re in the woods in the middle of nowhere and the sun is setting. I glance over at the ramshackle cabin we just left, trying to remember details. My head feels a little bit better, but there’s still a dull, constant throbbing happening. Like my brain is trying to tunnel its way out of my skull.Good times.I suppose it’s better than the jackhammering from earlier.
We don’t drive far. In less than five minutes, we’re pulling up beside a barn that looks like it’s about to hit the dust.
“Out,” Dumas orders, and I open my door and slip out. He walks around the vehicle and hands me a gym bag. “Go change. Someone will be back to get you shortly.”
Dumas turns to wander off and his thugs escort me through the large barn door and then leave, locking me in. A hole in the roof provides a small shaft of light, and the scent of old hay and rotting wood fills the air. I could easily escape, but that would be signing Merritt’s death warrant. Not gonna happen.
So, instead, I unzip the gym bag and look inside. There’s a pair of shorts, a bottle of warm water, gauze and a roll of athletic tape. No mouthpiece or gloves.Peachy.Can’t say I’m surprised, though. This is going to be a brutal, no-holds barred fight until one of us stops breathing.
I have no idea how much time I have, so I strip out of my clothes and pull the shorts on. If this were a normal fight, I’d be excited. But the life-or-death bullshit puts a damper on the festivities. At least for me, anyway. Pulling in a deep breath, I take a moment to mentally and physically prepare myself to fight dirty. When no rules are involved, it’s a whole different mindset. And, in this case, it means survival.
The good thing is, I’m an expert. I fought in the underground circuit and for the UFC, and I’ve been massively successful in both worlds. I’ve never killed a man in the cage, though. Never taken anyone’s life. But if I don’t, I’ll be the one pushing up daisies. And I can’t save Mer from a shallow grave.
There’s way too much on the line right now, and the stakes are the highest they’ve ever been—in the cage or on a heist.
Ever since taking the job as Merritt’s bodyguard, my workout schedule has gone to shit. It’s imperative I get in the right mindset and prepare myself physically as much as possible. Barefoot and shirtless, I start jogging around the barn’s perimeter, focusing on my breathing. After maybe twenty times around, I start cranking out pushups. Up, down, up, down, up, down. Palms flat in the dirt, I count to fifty then jump back up and dust my hands off on the back of my shorts.
