“Never?”
“You think race car drivers think about crashing?”
I nod my head. “I would bet all my money that they think about it all the time.”
“Pen, you’re not going to make me second-guess myself.”
“I’m not trying to,” I tell him truthfully. “I’m just trying to understand you.”
“What’s so hard to understand? I’m good at fighting. I like fighting. I like underground fighting. I do what I like. It’s simple.”
“You like risking your life?”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“Fine, but what about permanent injury? Brain damage?”
“Like I said,” he says, looking away. “I don’t think about it. I’ve got a fight to prepare for. If you came here to bullshit me, you can leave.”
I’m stung by it… and even though I try not to show it, I’m certain he can tell.
“Have you ever thought,” I ask, raising my voice. “About the people you beat up? What if they have families? What about their parents?”
He doesn’t reply.
“Or what about some kid who thinks he can fight to make a bit of money, and doesn’t know what it takes? You ever fight someone like that? Someone inexperienced?”
“Of course I have.”
“And let me guess: You messed him up bad, right?”
“He shouldn’t have gotten in the cage.”
“So, what, you beat up some eighteen year old kid, where do you think he goes? He goes back to his mother, that’s where.”
“I don’t give a fuck about them once they leave the cage.”
“Is that all it is to you, Pierce? What goes on in the cage? You think the consequences of what you do don’t extend outside of it? What about me? Do they extend to me?”
“Like I said, Pen, if you came here to bullshit me, you can fucking leave.”
“You really never think about the people you beat up? What happens to them after you snap their arm or pull their shoulder out? It never occurs to—”
“Hey!” he barks, jabbing a finger into the air. “I step into that fucking cage, and I fight. And I win. I get the fucking win, I get my fucking money, and then I leave. It’s what I do.”
“Yeah, you get your money and then you fuck some girl and leave before she wakes up, right? Yeah, Pierce, playboy badass. You’re just a big fucking man, aren’t you?”
A stony silence settles between us. I sigh.
“Pierce,” I say, and I make sure my voice is gentle. “I really don’t think you should do this fight for the mob. You and I both know that if you win, they’ll want you back for another fight because you’ll become an investment. If you lose, they’ll want you to pay them back for their losses. It’s not like the movies, Pierce. These guys don’t honor agreements… not if they can make money from it.”
He grits his teeth together. I can hear the enamel grinding through his jaw.
“Fine,” I say. “I can tell you’re getting mad.”
“I have to fight this fight, Pen,” he says. “No matter what you say, I have to fight it. You’re only going to make things worse if you’re here to shake my confidence.”
“Shake your confidence?” I scoff. “Well, you’ve definitely got enough of that to go around for two or ten.”
“You think so?” he asks. His eyes are wolf-like, savage.
“Yeah. As if I could shake your confidence. Get real.”
But he doesn’t reply. He just gets up, picks up the bright blue medicine ball, and begins bouncing it against the wall near the front door. He catches and throws, catches and throws, rapidly, while dropped down into a half-squat. It’s some kind of total body exercise.
The muscles on his back bulge each time he catches the ball. Beads of sweat glisten on his skin. He continues the same exercise, but now balancing only on his right foot. He throws and catches ten times, then switches to his left.
I watch him repeat the whole process six times, and still he hasn’t turned around, hasn’t talked to me. I can hear him breathing hard from the exertion, and now those beads of sweat are dripping, leaving shiny tracks down his back.
“Screw it,” I say, getting my stuff and walking to the door.
But as I’m about to open it he rings my wrist with his fingers, yanks me around. The medicine ball drops to the floor with a thud, and then he’s on me, lips against mine, his hand guiding my fingers down to his crotch.
I feel his hot hardness through his compression shorts. His cock is like a curled bar of steel. Frantically, I pull him out, can smell his musk, and then he’s undoing my jeans. It’s all so quick, a heady rush. I step out of the puddled denim, and he lifts me up, turns me around and presses me against the wall. I curl my legs around him, at his waist.