Page 115 of Guitars and Cages

Chapter Thirty-Eight

I’d insisted on driving me and Conner to the fight on my Harley, knowing that he still wasn’t comfortable on it and wouldn’t be able to pay attention to the twists and turns we took. He held on a little tighter than the first time, and I was so nervous about what might happen to him at the warehouse that him clinging to me had absolutely no effect. When we got there, I parked and turned so I could talk to him for a minute after he’d taken the helmet off.

“Remember what I told you. Don’t make eye contact with anyone, don’t talk to anyone, and don’t move from the spot I leave you in when I’m in the cage fighting. You moving around the cage would call attention to yourself. If the fight ends up in a corner and the crowd follows, then you follow, but don’t do anything to stand out.”

“I got it, Asher, it’ll be fine.”

“Now who’s forgetting to worry about their safety?”

He grinned and got off the bike, so I did, too, rolling my eyes in frustration at his stubbornness. When we stepped into the dimly lit warehouse, with its loud voices and its smoke and the smell of sweat, I felt him tense.

“Relax, it’s always like this.”

I’m not sure if that had a calming effect, but he kept up with me as I went to find the guy in charge; I was glad to see it was someone I’d dealt with many times before. We tossed a few insults at one another before he told me to go on down to the cage and wait. He hardly batted an eye at Conner, and Conner, for his part, kept his mouth shut.

“So now what?” he whispered as we stood beside the cage. There was one guy waiting inside, and another taunting him and playing it up to the crowd.

“This is where the fighters wait to be called to the cage. You just start doing your thing; it may be awhile before I get in there.”

He nodded, slipping his hands into the pockets of his coat. I wasn’t gonna look and see what he was doing, ’cause I didn’t wanna call attention to whatever it was. Instead, I got ready to fight. Looking at the guys around the cage, I was starting to feel a bit of dread creeping into my belly. I’d fought the blond before and lost; he was trained in a few different styles and knew far more counters and techniques than I could claim. The black-haired guy looked like a fuckin’ mountain; I mean, seriously, this guy looked like he could tear down the cage. If nothing else, he was gonna be packin’ a ton of power.

There were four other guys around the cage that I didn’t know, so I didn’t give too much thought to them. I just stayed close to Conner and tried to get my thoughts focused on getting through the fight in one piece. We watched the first fight, which ended pretty fast, and then the second, which dragged on and on. I would have loved to have ended up in there with either of those guys, because neither one of them seemed to have a clue how to do anything but stand there and throw jabs and haymakers. One dude finally got in a lucky punch and dropped the other, but it was pretty bad.

The third fight determined who I’d be facing, and, just my luck, it was the King Kong-looking bastard. He turned and glared, and I glared right back at him.

“Holy shit, that fucker is big,” Conner whispered.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Not to be an ass, but can you beat someone that size?”

I stared the guy up and down, trying to remember the last time I’d had to deal with someone that built inside a cage. Taking him to the ground was gonna be a bitch, and I wasn’t sure I could do it. “Yeah,” I told Conner, knowing I’d need to add yet another lie to my journal later.

He didn’t say anything more while we waited, but when the fight ended he wished me luck before I stepped into the cage. Holy shit, I was gonna need it. The big guy was every bit as powerful as I’d thought he would be. At one point he threw me into the side of the cage, and I heard some of the link ties break and the metal rattle as he pounded on me. I managed to catch him around the head and drive a couple knees into his midsection, and then his face when he doubled over. That bought me breathing room and little else.

I shot for the legs and tried to take him down, and he hammered his fists down on the middle of my back, stopping me cold before doing it again, driving me to the mat, and then kicking me in the ribs. I rolled with it even as he drove his foot back to kick again. That time I was able to catch it and twist, putting him off balance enough for me to roll to my feet. We slugged it out for a while, with me on the losing end of that exchange, so I did something I rarely did, but at that point I was getting desperate.

I started using the cage.

I used it for leverage. I climbed it enough to give me the height to kick him in the face. I rubbed his face against it, and rammed his knee into it when I finally got him down. The way he was clutching his knee I decided to focus on that, driving it into the planks that made up the base of the cage, stomping and kicking it while trying to avoid getting kicked by his other foot. I still wasn’t fast enough to avoid it all. He caught me in the stomach and I curled up in a ball in the corner, waiting for the pain to subside. The only saving grace was that he was clutching his knee and writhing, rather than coming after me.

It took me a while to get back up and go after his knee, and somehow I remembered one of the leg locks Cole had taught me when we’d first started cage fighting years ago. I hadn’t needed to use one in years, but I used it then, and he screamed and slapped the mat furiously until someone beat on the bell, which meant I could let go. I did, and slowly moved away, leaning against the side of the cage as my whole body throbbed. It took me a while to climb out, and by then some guy had climbed into the cage to check on my opponent.

Conner caught my arm when I stepped down from the cage, his face pale, his eyes wide, like the day I’d suggested he ride on the back of the Harley with me.

“Holy shit, Asher, are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

I grimaced and turned my head, cracking my neck and rolling my shoulder until it popped. “No, I’m fine.”

It was a blatant lie, but what the hell else was I supposed to say?

“Dude, you don’t look fine.”

“I’m standing, so I’m fine,” I pointed out as I headed to get my money. My stomach hurt and my chest hurt and breathing hurt and I was pretty sure even my hair hurt, but I wasn’t gonna take the time to figure it all out right now. I got paid for the fight, separated Catfish’s cut out, and then stuffed the rest in my wallet before leading Conner out the door. When we got to the bike I straddled it, warily leaning forward over the handlebars. I felt Conner slide on behind me; the next thing I knew he was sliding a hand up my back.

“Asher, talk to me.”

“I’m okay,” I muttered, my voice muffled.

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