Page 18 of Dare to Dance
Pain exploded. Okay, maybe it hurt more to be hit. I shook my head as I winced and wobbled.
The crowd began to chant. “Hit her again, Mel, before she recovers.”
As I blinked, her fist came around and rammed square into my jaw. I stumbled backward. Before I could center myself, she kicked me in the gut. The air left my lungs. My vision blurred as I held my stomach.
“Come on, Ruby,” Norma yelled. “Win this fight.”
“Nine hundred dollars,” I muttered as I shook off the dizziness.
“You can always walk away,” Mel said in a snarky tone.
I punched out, hitting her just above her left eye, drawing blood. I swung repeatedly, connecting with her jaw, her head, and her face. She returned jab after jab to my nose and anywhere on my face she could get to. The pain ricocheted as though I’d touched a live wire of electricity. Blood trickled down my upper lip. My right eye was cloudy, or maybe it was swollen. I tried to open it as I continued to exchange blows with Mel.
I stepped back to catch my breath and regroup. I used the sleeve of my T-shirt to clear the blood from my face. Mel rolled her neck one way then the other.
The voices in the room droned.
Then she dove at me. Before I had a chance to move, she plunged her fist into my stomach in the same spot she’d landed a kick earlier. I dropped to my knees, blowing out air. Pain or no pain, I had to win the nine hundred dollars. So, I planted two hands on the floor and pushed upright. My adrenaline burned through me at the sight of her bloody grin. I sneered, swore, and went at her, wailing my fists like a madwoman, hitting at nothing but air.
“Damn it, Ruby,” a familiar voice shouted. “Put her lights out already.” His voice was whiskey smooth—a voice that brought back memories of rolling green lawns, cozy bonfires, and dancing under the stars.
I whipped my head in all directions, searching every face in the crowd. I settled my gaze on Norma, who was wide-eyed. As I did, Mel’s fist caught my temple. The room began to darken, and the voices dimmed. I crumpled to the dirt floor. Then blackness.
5
Kross
My mouth was permanently openedas I watched a waif of a girl run to Ruby’s side and tap on her face. I wasn’t sure I could move. I hadn’t seen Ruby since the tenth grade, and I wasn’t sure the girl in this dingy, disgusting dive was even her. Her auburn hair was darker than I remembered. She looked as though she hadn’t eaten in months or years. Her features were drawn and hollow, and her clothes were ratty as if she’d lived in them for weeks.
“Is that your Ruby?” Dillon asked.
My Ruby was supposed to be in some posh ballet school in New York. “Pretty sure.”What the fuck was she doing in an underground fight?
Dillon’s friend Tommy spoke to the crowd. “Make sure you collect your winnings.” Then he doted on Mel as she smiled, wiping her swollen face with her tank top.
The room began to clear. Some stragglers hung back, talking, cutting up, and laughing. I wasn’t laughing. In fact, I’d been on edge for two days. It seemed everywhere I turned, I hit a wall. Mark Rayburn hadn’t called me back. Kelton had struck out on all counts in trying to obtain information about a drug bust four years ago up in the Berkshires, and Dillon’s contact, whom we’d spoken to only two hours ago, hadn’t been any help. So we’d ended up in this dive. Dillon had wanted to chat with Tommy about money that Tommy owed him. I’d wanted to start visiting prisons to find Ruby’s old man. I was glad I’d stuck with Dillon. Never in a million years would I have thought Ruby would be fighting. Maybe it was fate. Whatever the fuck it was, I wasn’t complaining. It was time to get answers.
The blond girl at Ruby’s side was petting Ruby’s hair, much like one would do with a cat or dog.
Dillon slapped me on the back, jarring me from my zombie state. “Let’s check things out.”
We brushed past two men dressed in tailored suits. Both reminded me of high-powered businessmen on Wall Street. The one with a bulbous nose said, “I’ll check with her pimp.”
Dillon came to an abrupt halt, fisting his hands at his sides. The word “pimp” was vile in his book. He believed a pimp had lured his baby sister into a world where she didn’t belong.
I wrapped a hand around his tense bicep. “Let it go, man.” We weren’t there to get into brawls or start trouble. I couldn’t afford trouble. I was under a magnifying glass by Coach Jay and the media.
There had been an article in the Boston Herald recently about me taking a dive in my last fight. The sports columnist had torn me apart in his recent write-up. “How does a fighter go from a practically perfect record to giving away the fight? Kross Maxwell wasn’t in it to win. I would suspect he was paid to throw the fight.”
I growled. I’d never take money to lose in boxing or any game. Since then, Coach had counseled me to walk the straight line, especially when he found out that I’d ended up at the police station back in March with Dillon, Kelton, and Lizzie. Coach had overheard a conversation between Mark and me when Mark was working out at the gym. I wished Coach had dismissed the incident, but with Gail Freeman’s potential contract hanging in the balance, he’d ridden my ass every day for the last two months. He was making me train as though I would never be good enough to win a fight again.
Dillon trudged up to Tommy, who was standing outside the taped ring, messing with his phone. The room had cleared of people, including Mel. She’d darted out of the place like lightning.
The blond girl was on her knees, still tapping on Ruby’s face. “Wake up.” Then she peered up at Tommy. “Do something or I’ll have your ass on a cutting board.” She bared her teeth at the man.
“She’ll wake up, Norma,” he said. Then his eyes went wide as he noticed Dillon.
“Why does the guy shit his pants every time he sees you?” I couldn’t figure out the relationship. Sure, Tommy owed Dillon money, but I got the feeling the tension went deeper.
