32: Tyler (1/2)

32: Tyler

”Look what the cat dragged in.”

I close the door behind me and everyone's eyes turn, staring me down. Carl sits at the far corner, surrounded by other men as bad as him. But then again, no one else in the room really is as bad as Carl. The others will hit and punch and screw over whoever they need to. But Carl doesn't care about getting an end product—he does it for fun.

Brad watches from the other side of the bar, filling up a pint glass. I catch his dark eyes and he gives me a look of concern. I turn away and walk towards Carl. The silence is tense—even the music is off—and once again everyone's eyes are trained solely on me.

”Finally come crawling back?” Carl asks with a quirk to the corner of his mouth. ”Did seeing that guy get shot in the leg change your mind? Or was it when you saw your boyfriend nearly stabbed to death?”

I clench my jaw. Ethan.

”I come back and you don't hurt them,” I say. ”That's the deal, right?”

Carl nods once. ”That's the deal. I'm a man of my word.”

I have no problem believing that Carl really does keep his word on everything, and that is equally as good as it is bad for me. I breathe in deeply through my nose and nod. Carl gives me a toothy smile and stands up, clapping a hand on my shoulder.

”I knew you'd come around with a little bit of . . . persuasion.” He grins, then suddenly punches me in the gut. I cough and double over, but his arm keeps me up, and he brings my face back up to face him. ”Welcome home, Ty.”

***

Sporting a fresh bruise on my body, I wrap the bandages around my hands, getting ready for my fight. Ethan usually sits here with me, sometimes helping me get the gauze on my hands or just talking a load of crap. Now, there is silence.

The door opens to the little prep room I'm in and I look up, frowning when I see Brad walk in. He walks over and I stand up.

”What are you doing down here?”

”What the hell are you doing, kid?” he asks. ”Do you want to get killed?”

”It's not like that,” I say. ”I know what I'm doing.”

”The plan was to get out of here,” he whispers. ”Not give in and come running back.”

”Do you trust me?” I whisper.

He frowns. ”Why?”

”Just answer the damn question,” I hiss.

”Yes, I trust you.”

”Good. Because I know what I'm doing. I'm here for a reason and I swear that by the end of this, I'm dragging Carl down to hell. Even if I have to go with him.”

The door opens again and one of the other fighters stands in the doorway. ”You're up.”

I glance back at Brad. ”Trust me.”

I walk past him and catch the eye of the other fighter. He puts his hand on my shoulder to stop me from leaving and I tense up. He leans down and I notice the scar on his eyebrow.

”Give 'em hell,” he says and moves his hand away.

I smile a little and walk out of the room. The only people in the room are other fighters, no extra viewers. And once again I feel everyone's eyes on me. I ignore them and enter the circle.

Two other men, Trigger and Blade, stand there, both with their bulky arms crossed over their chests, beady eyes watching me. Two against one. Carl really is a bastard. I walk into the circle and look at my opponents—both stare back.

”Winner gets six hundred,” Carl says, and my eyes widen. ”Fight.”

The two men go at me immediately.

And then everything slows down.