The announcer rang the bell and his opponent, Slick, grinned and charged forward. These mediocre fighters he was matched with were always the same. Their anger and greed made them sloppy. All they were thinking about was the payout. Adrian didn’t give two shits about the money he would earn tonight. Sure, it helped, but the real reason he was here was strictly personal.
Slick swung his meaty fist out and Adrian easily dodged it. He threw a right hook, landing a solid hit in Slick’s side. A deep grunt was the only response Slick made before swinging again. Moving to the left, Adrian brought his fist up and connected with his opponent’s jaw. Blood started a slow trickle out of his mouth and Adrian didn’t wait to land another one on him. Throwing a left punch, he slammed his knuckles into Slick’s nose. Blood sprayed like a fountain and bathed the unfortunate drunks watching on the sidelines. The cheers erupted as Slick weaved slightly. Adrian had to give him credit. He managed to stay on his feet.
He swung first his left arm and then his right toward Adrian. They were easy enough moves to avoid, and he knew he needed to finish this so he could move onto the next sorry fuck. Ducking to avoid getting hit in the head, Adrian slammed his shoulder in Slick’s chest and brought the guy down. They wrestled on the floor for dominance and finally, when Adrian had the upper hand and straddled the man’s chest, he started throwing fist after fist. Blood coated both of their chests, faces, and the white mats beneath them. Slick struggled at first, but soon he was lying limply beneath him. Adrian pulled himself off and took several steps back. A few medics rushed forward to make sure Slick was still breathing. Once Adrian was announced the winner, he quickly made his way toward the same back door he had come through. He needed to get cleaned up and have a few drinks before his next fight.
Sharps and Coots stopped him with large grins on their faces. “Dude, you’re a fucking monster in the cage.” Coots shoved the envelope into his hand and let Adrian push past them.. “Tate is one happy man with you right now. Keep it up, Adrian,” Coots yelled from behind him but Adrian didn’t bother responding. He didn’t like Tate. It had nothing to do with the fact the man was doing all kinds of illegal shit, the underground cage fights only a small portion of it. Tate just seemed like one bad motherfucker. Adrian tolerated him and his shit because he used these fights as an outlet and to cope, and because it saved him from getting into random ones with strangers on the street and the risk of getting thrown in jail. He also got paid to do it.
After washing up in the small bathroom reserved for such occasions, Adrian put on a pair of jeans and a black tee. He didn’t have another fight for a couple of hours and he needed to unwind a bit before he got back in the cage. Muttering his thanks to the spectators that congratulated him, he made his way toward the bar. All he wanted was a few drinks without being bugged. Maybe he shouldn’t show annoyance toward these people. If not for them he wouldn’t have a job. Despite that knowledge he still couldn’t muster enough energy to give a fuck.
“Give me a double of Crown,” he said as he leaned his elbows on the bar and breathed out roughly. The bartender poured him his drink right away and Adrian shot it back. He tapped his knuckles on the counter to gesture for anther.
“Can I get two Millers, one Corona, and a Ruby Red Slipper?”
That voice. Adrian would be able to recognize it anywhere because it haunted his dreams. Even after only hearing it once he couldn’t get it out of his mind. Cutting a glance to the side, he watched Brea. She hadn’t spotted him yet, but he knew she would. It never failed. As if she sensed his stare she always found him. Why he put himself through this shit he didn’t know. Maybe it was because he was a glutton for punishment?
She stacked her drinks on her tray and headed back into the crowd. Adrian held the shot glass to his lips and slowly let the alcohol slide down his throat, never taking his eyes off of her. Tate had since put a few tables against the walls. She stopped in front of one, deposited two beers, and made her way to the other one filled with men already three sheets to the wind drunk. It wasn’t his place to watch her, like he was some kind of fucking creep, but he couldn’t help it, damn it! He was about to turn around and mind his own damn business when he saw one of the men slap her ass. His entire body went tense and he felt his hands curl into fists. Oh hell no.
* * * *
Brea knew he was going to touch her ass before he actually did it. That was the problem with working with a bunch of inebriated customers. It never failed to result in some kind of harassment. Taking a step to the side, his hand should have slid off her ass, but instead he gripped her waist and pulled her toward him.