We let Caspar know our comings and goings out of respect. Plus, Keller’s guys were sniffing around the compound and we didn’t want to leave unless Caspar had his whole force here. Once we were gone, there were low-grade CB frequencies we made use of to check in with Defiance, but that was only good if we were in the van.
Now, we parked away from the other cars and bikes. Once we got close to the field, we walked side by side with the crowds of maybe a hundred men heading out toward the open field where more had already gathered. Much like illegal rodeos and the like, these were up fast, paid cash on sight and disappeared without a trace when the law came around.
These days, the law was too chickenshit to come around, but the danger and the money made the risk substantially higher than before. We hadn’t been well known when we were enlisted because we traveled a lot. Now, we’d hung around the area long enough to garner interest.
“I don’t like that,” Bish told me now and I had to agree. Better to be a ghost in this world than well known, but I supposed that our being known was inevitable once we’d showed up at the Defiance gates.
The fact that people knew us meant more money, more problems.
We had rules—we never fought on the same night. Tonight was my turn and I had a lot of anger to bleed off, which is why Bish spent the ride here trying to talk me out of fighting.
I knew he was right, that it was never good to fight when you were angry, but I refused to listen. Being stubborn as fuck was a skill I cultivated long and hard and Bish knew it. I wasn’t sure why he still bothered to fight it, except for the fact that that’s what brothers and best friends did.
“Look who’s here—double trouble,” Randy drawled.
“Got nothing more original?” Bish asked the man who ran these events in the field. He had tables set up where men would check in and, later, where they’d get paid. There were food trucks but no alcohol allowed here, because the fighting got rough enough without adding that to the mix. And there were no women, because all this testosterone and women wasn’t a great mix. Thankfully, Randy saw it that way, even though I’m sure there were many who disagreed with him.
“Don’t go insulting the man who pays you,” Randy told him.
What’s the word?
Randy leaned in after Bish translated my question. “Keller’s out for blood—so’s the LoV. Word is, both have missing men.”
“What happened?” Bish asked and Randy shrugged, said, “Fuck if I know. But if they haven’t been seen or heard from in two days, betting they’re not living.”
Well, that was a fact. I signed in and Bish continued our walk over toward the spotlighted ring where I’d be fighting for the next several hours. We wouldn’t talk about what Randy said until we were in the safety of the van. But the whole thing still made me uneasy. No one had made us—if they had, Keller and the LoV didn’t have the patience for a drawn-out vengeance.
No, they didn’t know who’d taken out their men but it’s not like there were a lot of guys in the area who could do that.
LoV, Bish signed discreetly and I glanced into the ring. Sometimes, fate had a funny way of reminding you what was to come. So I’d fight the LoV guy in the ring, and I’d win, and then we’d get out of here before anyone questioned us.
Because, as we moved along in the crowd, we heard murmurings of various other guys being questioned by both Keller and the LoV. We’d known it was only a matter of time before someone grabbed me and Bish, but we hadn’t had to talk about it to know what story we’d use.
“Where were you two yesterday morning?” the second in command of the LoV asked roughly when we got within a foot of the ring. He was too damned close to me and I slammed my hands out to push him back. He stumbled and came toward me. I bared my teeth and Bish growled and that stopped him.
“We don’t answer to you,” Bish said calmly. “We answer to Caspar.”
Now move the fuck out of my way so I can beat the shit out of your boy, I signed, Bish translated and the LoV fisted his hands by his sides. His kind was used to getting answers—the fact that we wouldn’t give them would show that we didn’t lie about things. In the most ironic way possible, it would help our future credibility.
I climbed into the low ring that was nothing more than a couple of mats and ropes to keep others from joining in the fight too easily. Men tended to get riled up during these events.
The guy across from me was probably my age, but he was missing a couple of teeth and he was bigger. I wanted to be anywhere but here.
I wanted to be with Jessa.
The fight started as a blur of a thump of gloves, a whistle and audience yells. After I got punched in the face, narrowly avoided an elbow to the throat, I got my head out of my ass and my thoughts off Jessa and on the man in front of me. Which meant he was fucked.
These were blood fights, which meant the more bloodshed, the higher the amount of money we got.
Blood dripped from a cut above my eye. I brushed it away impatiently and charged my competitor with my head down like a bull, knocking him flat on his back. I kept punching, mainly because the LoV’s face flashed in front of my eyes and I thought about how good it would be to erase all those assholes completely.
Bish pulled me off—it was the only reason I didn’t resist. These weren’t fights to the death and I’d come close with this one. It was why, more often than not, I ended up with a ton of cash in my pocket. I was breathing hard, more from the adrenaline coursing through me than anything, and when I looked around, the crowds were a blur.
“You did it, Mathias. You’re good,” Bish said to me quietly. It took me a good five minutes to come down, to calm down, but when I did, the world returned to its normal, clear balance.
The fights were happening in earnest around us, with five smaller rings surrounding the large one I’d fought in. There were cheers and boos, and the smell of the fight was unmistakable.
We were just getting ready to head out and collect our money when Randy approached us.
“Hey, Bish, we’ve got an opening,” Randy told him, and pointed to one of the empty outer rings.
Bish froze. It was only for a split second, but I didn’t miss it. The guy he’d be fighting was a big Indian, and he looked a hell of a lot like Bish’s father.
Too many memories.
No. If I could sign loudly, that would’ve counted.
“I want to,” Bish told me.
Then roll the dice.
Bish glared at me, then took them out of his pocket. We did this sometimes, the casting of lots. It signified that nothing was random and that the lots, the dice, whatever the tell might be, reveal the true will of the universe.
The dice came back with a three. My birth month.
“Bastard,” Bish grunted, but I knew he was grateful. I looked at the big Indian and wondered if life just continued to repeat itself until you learned something. But what else was there for me to learn? I had no regrets that I’d killed Bish’s dad when I was twelve. I’d done it so my dad wouldn’t have to, but most importantly, so Bish wouldn’t have to.
Most of all, I did it to save my best friend. My brother. Because he would’ve done it—there was enough rage in his eyes that day that I knew it would happen.
Which is one reason why I fight now. I fight for redemption—redemption for my anger, redemption for everything. Even though I’m not sure I believe in Heaven, I do believe in souls, and mine has a black mark. A black mark for a damned good reason, but I’ve played judge, jury and executioner for someone.