Ethan took care of me. He set up the fights, always seeming to know just when I needed them. He was careful, though, about whom he selected. It was a paid gig for the fighters, a flat fee no matter the outcome. It kept the extreme competitors away. They had too much emotion when fighting; and, often, I ended up worse off than when I started. I needed people who let out very little emotion. Not calm people. Cold people. Emotionless. They weren’t always easy to find.
“Hope it’s better than the last guy.” I slopped some cheap booze into a glass and pushed it at a guy holding out a five. I took the money and slid it into the waistband of my pants.
Ethan laughed as he stole the money back out and put it in the register. He kept talking as we continued filling drink orders.
“He’s a brick wall. He fried his brain on home-stewed goods years ago. If he’s got any emotion to steal, it’s nothing you’d want in you.”
“Sounds interesting. If he doesn’t do it, it’s you and me again, babe.”
We didn’t fight; it was like we danced, but with fists and kicks.
With my help, Ethan had learned to block his emotions from me—to a certain degree anyway—at an early age. After all, he was my sparring partner; I couldn’t have him flopping to the ground after two minutes in my presence. When we were younger, he’d radiated so much anger the possibility of draining him had been slim, unless I would have purposely tried to. But as we grew closer, some of his anger had faded. At least, when we were together.
He grinned at me, winked, then turned to fill the next drink order.
We worked side by side for an hour. He filled most of the orders while I shouted insults at the patrons. They laughed, Ethan made money, and I struggled to hold myself together.
“E, if he’s not here soon…” I shoved crumpled bills in the cash drawer.
Hands settled on my shoulders as I slammed the drawer shut. How many cash registers had I broken that way?
Ethan spun me away from the register, probably to save it, and planted a kiss on my forehead. Then, he pulled back with a grin and nodded to the stage. I turned to look.
The floor-to-ceiling chain-link fence had converted the stage into a fight cage. Mats lined the floors to protect anyone slow enough to get knocked down. A bag hung from the ceiling for warm-up; and, on occasion, it provided a place for my opponent to hide from me. A door led to a back hall restricted to employees and my guest fighters.
As I studied my sanctuary, the door to the cage opened, and a big brick of a man walked onto the mats.
Cheers erupted in the bar, and he raised his gloved hands over his head. Then, he did a few warm-up jabs.
Emotions soaked the room, and I could pinpoint where each one stemmed. But very little seeped from the man on the stage. It meant I wouldn’t drain him as I fought. It meant Ethan had found me a real challenge. It meant I’d finally feel some peace.
I turned back to grin at Ethan.
“I love you.”
He laughed.
“Now you feel love. Wait until after.”
He swatted my butt as I turned away. The distraction broke the weak hold I had on my control. Emotions flooded me. The elation of the band when the crowd cheered, the lust from the dancers as they bumped and rubbed against each other, and the anticipation from those who turned to face the cage.
I pushed past people and made my way toward the employee door that opened to a crowded, dirty hall. Ethan’s business wasn’t legitimate enough for a cleaning crew. Which meant it was perfect for me and the fights. With a smile, I turned right and walked toward the door marked “Z’s Play Room.”
The big man turned when I opened the door, but he didn’t approach. My gloves waited for me on the floor. They were clean and dust free as promised.
I looked through the cage, across the bar, and met Ethan’s eyes. His smile was gone. He nodded at my opponent as if to say, “Get to it.”
Tightening my gloves, I turned from Ethan and eyed the fighter with pity. I hated my need to fight. I hated that I would hurt him. I hated that I would never grow close to another person because of the drain I put on them. Most days I hated just about everything.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
The man turned to look at me.
“He said you would ask. Call me Brick.”
Ethan’s idea of a name, no doubt. I studied the man a moment before stepping closer. Ethan was right. Very little spilled from Brick. I tasted a hint of contentment and nothing more, though the scent of stale cigarettes and old booze hung around him like a cloud. I gave Ethan one last look, then focused on Brick.
“Tell me when you want to stop.”
The big man raised his fists and beckoned me.
All right, then. I swung first, relishing the feel of my shoulder muscles stretching and my stomach tightening. I connected, and a tiny bit of pent-up frustration burst from me like air set free from an overfilled balloon.
I ducked under his counterswing and swung again. Each time I connected, I released more of the pent-up emotion I’d siphoned. The crowd shouted encouragement to Brick, and their excitement refilled the depleting emotion before I could enjoy any relief. I picked up the pace.
Jab after jab, Brick stayed with me. He rarely landed a blow, but took plenty. Sweat trickled down my back and beaded on my upper lip. I danced around him, ducking and weaving. I kicked the back of his knee and brought him down but only for a heartbeat. He laughed and surged to his feet with an uppercut that almost connected. A quick twist saved me, and a glint of annoyance flickered in Brick’s eyes. The emotions of the crowd still touched me, but Brick and I were moving fast enough now that I continued to drain myself faster than I could siphon.
Then, I felt a change in the room. A black hole, a vast, emotional nothingness approached. The unusual phenomenon momentarily distracted me.
Brick saw an opening and swung. The force behind his jab caused a breeze along my cheek as I dodged to the right. A reminder to stay focused.
Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling of that black hole and the sudden belief that something really bad was coming my way. Maybe it was the letter still on my fridge. Maybe it was because I was once again jobless. Maybe it was because I knew Ethan planned to talk to me again. Whatever it was, it filled me with dread, an emotion created by me alone.
I ducked under Brick’s next swing and came back with a punch to his jaw. Something crunched, and I wanted to cringe for him. Brick staggered back a step and shook his head. I didn’t press him. Instead, I gave him a moment to clear the hit.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed the repetitious movement of a dark-haired man near the fence, but I didn’t look away from Brick. His gaze looked a little unfocused, and I hoped I hadn’t done any real damage. I still had a lot to drain. Sometimes, if a single fight wasn’t enough to empty everything, I called out to the crowd for another contender. I might need to do that with Brick. He’d taken enough of a beating. The guy pacing beside the cage might be up for a round or two.
Brick brought his gloves back up and stepped toward me. A low growl, barely loud enough to hear over the noise, reached me. I turned to look and met the deep brown eyes of the tall, dark-haired man. My stomach dipped at the sight of him.
Just as I was registering the details of the stranger’s strong, clean-shaven jaw, Brick swung and knocked my lights loose.
Time slowed as my head snapped back. Something crashed against the fence. I barely heard it over the ringing in my ears. I widened my stance to stay upright and saw one of the brackets pull from the ceiling before I straightened. Stunned, my gaze followed the dust down as I automatically brought my fists up.
I expected more from Brick, but he wasn’t moving toward me. He wasn’t looking at me, either. Something crashed against the cage again. Then, I saw it.
The metal of the cage bent inward as a huge dog crashed against the fence again and again. It didn’t look at me. It only looked at Brick, who stared back at it blankly. I’d hit him too hard. I must have. Maybe Brick had hit me too hard, too.
Ethan shouted my name as a few more of the brackets tore from the ceiling. A memory surfaced of a video I’d seen earlier that year. A man had been attacked by a dog, just about the same size as the one that crashed against the cage. When the dog had fled, there’d been little left of the man. The memory shook me free.
“Brick, move!” I yelled, trying to jar him from his stupor.
I gave the man a shove toward the door, then ran past him when he showed no interest in saving himself. People in the main bar were screaming and running for the exit. Chaos reigned beyond the cage—every man for himself. Worried for Ethan, I pushed through the door to the hall so hard that it bounced back on me and banged my left shoulder.
The rhythmic slamming of the cage stopped as I stumbled out into the service hall and eyed my options. The employee entrance was too close to the dog. I’d need to go out to the alley, then circle around to the front to get Ethan.
Claws screeched on the employee door, and I almost tripped over myself in my rush toward the back exit.