Page 29 of The Cinderella Secret
Aiden flashed a grin. “Don’t worry. Nika’s his favorite. I’m probably ranking third. You’d barely get a flesh wound.”
“Ha. Ha,” said Josh sourly.
“Look,” said Aiden. “Fighting in Jersey for a bunch of mob guys and Italian Stallions isn’t my favorite plan either. But I need something and there’s no way I can get out of the country until this court case is over, so this is it. Just make sure the car is ready to go and we’ll get the hell out of here before the guy even hits the ground.”
“Yeah, OK,” said Josh, nodding. “I’ll have Donny ready with the car. But I just want it on record that I’m not happy about this.”
“The court stenographer is typing it in right now,” said Aiden.
“You’re so full of shit.”
“Dude, I’ve been talking to a ficus. I don’t know what you expect.”
Josh shook his head. “Come on, genius. Let’s run some drills. Get you warmed up.”
Aiden pulled his focus to the drills, trying to put expectations of anything else out of his head. Even the worst opponent could trip up a good fighter who wasn’t paying attention. He only had to be unlucky once and everything would come crashing in on him. Josh’s mantras echoed in his head: do the drills, do the work, do what winners do. He kept his earbuds in, trying to block out the sounds of the other fights and the crowd. It was never good to look too closely at the crowds. If he did, he’d realize how much he despised them. They weren’t fans of fighting, they were fans of violence, and he was feeding it. Aiden tried not to think about what that meant about him and what he liked.
Finally, it was his turn. Since he didn’t fight in the States very much, he was an undercard. That didn’t bother him, except that he usually didn’t get good fighters that way. And he liked good fighters. He liked to have at least the chance of losing.
Tonight’s fight was in a construction site for an unfinished office building. The wide cement columns had been strung with lights and paper lanterns. The crowd was Jersey Shore all the way and the ground was littered with red solo cups. The ring, if you could call it that, was a square of concrete that had been marked off by unpadded jersey barriers. There wouldn’t be any advantage to hitting the side of the ring tonight. He could see that several of the cement edges were already smeared with blood. Aiden started to wonder if Josh was right and maybe this wasn’t the best plan ever. But then, he thought that about every fight.
His opponent tonight was someone going by the name Teargas. He was tanned and buff in the rounded, unchiseled way that indicated steroid use. He was an inch or two taller than Aiden and probably had a good twenty pounds over him. Aiden took a long stride and hopped up on the cement barrier for a moment, looking down at his opponent and the ring before dropping inside. There was one ref—a greasy looking goomba with a pistol tucked in his waist band. That wasn’t totally uncommon, but it didn’t mean Aiden liked it.
The ref offered to let them shake hands—Teargas declined. Aiden shrugged. Shake or no shake, it was all the same to him. Then the fight started. From the roar of the crowd, Aiden could tell that his opponent was a crowd favorite. Teargas strode forward, his hands low around his middle. Aiden kept his guard where it was, high around his face. He could hear the jeers. Caution was apparently for sissies. He let Teargas swing first—a big left and a wide right as he advanced forward.
Aiden slid off to the side, ducking under the long meaty paw and drove two sharp punches into the mid-section. Teargas grunted and pivoted, swinging again. Aiden circled, stepping closer, advancing in tighter. He feinted with a jab and threw his other hand high and wide, then bringing it down hard in a ridge-hand. Teargas staggered back and Aiden kicked out in a front kick, advancing in his turn. Teargas stumbled from the impact, nearly sitting down on a jersey barrier, but he was pushed off by the crowd and shoved back toward Aiden. Teargas lunged forward and Aiden tossed out a hard cross to his jaw just for being stupid. But he’d underestimated the sheer mass of Teargas and found himself being ensnared in a tackle. Aiden went down, feeling the hard bite of concrete on his exposed back. He rolled swiftly into an upper position, and swung his legs away, then drove a quick knee into Teargas’s ribs and was quickly back on his feet.
Teargas came up fast and mad, spitting out his mouthguard and swinging for Aiden in fury. Aiden blocked and avoided, circling the ring. The music was blaring, and Aiden found himself moving in rhythm to the heavy bass. Josh always yelled at him for this. If his opponent figured it out, moving to the rhythm was too easy to predict. But Aiden had found his groove and shifted his footwork to move faster. Teargas was a bully and Aiden didn’t like bullies. He dove in, tagged Teargas in the ribs again and bounced out. Same spot. Just to piss him off. Aiden couldn’t stop himself from smiling. This was exactly what he needed.
Teargas saw the smile and roared in fury. Teargas took a step forward as the bell rang. Aiden backed up toward his corner, not taking his eyes off Teargas.
Aiden spit out his mouthguard into Josh’s hand and took a swig of water from the bottle Josh was holding in the other. “Well, now that you’ve pissed him off,” said Josh, “go finish him off and let’s get out of here.”
“I’m just starting to have fun,” said Aiden.
“When you have fun, nothing good happens,” said Josh. “Just get in there and get it done. Don’t get fancy.” He shoved the mouthguard back in and swabbed Aiden down with a towel. It was only then that Aiden felt the warm trickle of blood on his back from his early trip down to the concrete. The bruises and lumps sucked, but it was the stinging scratches and tears that hurt the most the next day.
The bell rang again. Teargas and he both advanced out into the ring, but before either could throw a move, there was a scream from the audience and a woman tumbled over the jersey barrier and into the ring. She scrambled up and attempted to run, but a man came over after her and grabbed her by the hair. Aiden took one look at her terrified eyes and did what he knew he shouldn’t—he took two swift steps and punched her attacker in the face. The guy went down like a sack of potatoes, blood gushing from his mouth and nose, but before Aiden could do anything else, he heard a roar from Teargas. Aiden managed to only half pivot and brace for impact before they went down in a wild tangle. Aiden wrapped his legs around Teargas and hugged his head, pulling the man tight to him, leaving no room for punching. Teargas struggled and above them, Aiden caught glimpses of the crowd swarming the ring. This was about to become a total shit show. The smell of Teargas—Axe body spray and tanning oil— filled his nose. His vision was now filled with dark hair, and his lungs were flattening with the pressure of the heavy weight on top of him. Aiden could feel the clock ticking. This was about to go all kinds of bad and he was on the ground.
Aiden released Teargas and the fighter sprang up, preparing to punch, but Aiden kicked out, shoving Teargas away from him. Aiden back flipped to his feet. He could hear Josh yelling. He turned, trying spot Josh. Teargas came back and Aiden completed his turn, jumping out in a side-kick. Teargas was unprepared and took the kick full in the face. There was a thud as Teargas hit the floor twitching. There was a moment of silence and then someone came charging at him out of the crowd. Aiden punched him and then ran for his corner, hoping that Josh would meet him.
Josh and Donny were both there. Aiden crashed through them and as a group they began to make their way toward the back where their car was parked. They were nearly to the car when he became aware that someone was yelling for him.
“Number Nine!”
It was a woman’s voice and he turned back toward the sound. The crowd parted for an instant and he saw Ella Zhao smash a guy in the head with a beer bottle. The blood began to pound in Aiden’s ears, and he took a step toward her. He needed to help her. She couldn’t be here. Another guy lunged at her from the crowd and Aiden snatched up a folding chair and flung it at him. It bounced off, but the man hesitated, turning toward Aiden. But Ella didn’t pause, she snatched up the chair and cracked it into the man’s skull, then she dropped it, stomped him in the gut, before turning back toward Aiden. Suddenly two guys in black appeared at her side—Aiden recognized one of them as the man whose wallet he’d left in the urinal. Josh grabbed Aiden by the arm, pulling him toward the car. Ella took a last look at Aiden and then seemed to deliberately turn her back. She pointed toward the exit and the security guards began pushing their way through the crowd, following her directions. As usual, Ella didn’t need help. She had everything under control. Aiden turned and dove into the car, Josh right behind him, Donny scrambling to hit the gas.
Ella Zhao. At a fight in Jersey. Did she know? She had to know. She couldn’t know. What the fuck had just happened?
“What the fuck just happened?” asked Josh, sitting up.
“I’m not entirely sure,” said Aiden, trying to play it cool. It was a little hard to do when his heart was hitting his ribs like a damn bongo player.
“We lost out on our prize money,” said Donny, from the driver’s seat. “That’s what happened.”
“Fucking Jersey,” said Josh.
12
