Page 6 of Nick

I stand and stretch to loosen my muscles with 15 minutes to go. Flashing lights begin, and bass pumps through the room so loud that I can feel it even through the concrete. When I’m announced, Patrick holds the door open for me. “Meet me here after your win,” he yells to me before disappearing into the crowd. I follow a blue runner towards the stage, my face emotionless.

Even though I'm new, the crowd is still amped up for this fight. Maybe my opponent is the cause. Climbing into the cage, I stay on this side of the ring, folding my arms across my chest to wait.

The crowd chants “Shark” as my opponent swaggers towards the ring. He looks identical to his bio pic. This guy has some training in karate and judo, but is mostly a street fighter. He's in shape and overly confident, speaking to the crowd and taking his time to get to the cage.

Once the lights and music end, the ref calls us to the center. “No weapons of any kind, no outside objects, only your body, or you’ll be shot dead right here. No time limit. Questions?”

We both shake our heads in the negative as we step back toward our corners. I’d rather not kill anyone but Patrick, so I need to immobilize or knock out my opponent. Strategizing while I waited in Artur’s office, I decided to let this fight last a short time. I don’t want to appear too good and give myself a harder time in the future. At the same time, letting it go on too long would piss Artur and Patrick off.

When the bell rings, I stay on my side to watch my opponent. My arms drop to my sides, and I stand on the balls of my feet. Shark comes rushing forward with his arms swinging. I block his fists and legs, throwing out a few punches of my own. He’s fast, able to dodge my assault.

We circle each other as Shark continues his assault. I have a feeling he won’t tap out, so I need to knock him out. His hits don’t land, but he’s still aggressive, so I allow the odd punch and kick to connect to make it realistic.

I’ve determined his pattern after only a minute. He's throwing various moves at me, but they’re basic maneuvers. He should’ve trained longer instead of turning to street fighting.

I figure we’ve been fighting for about 5 minutes when I decide to land some punches. I need to draw this out a little, so I randomly hit him with force. Once he becomes uncoordinated, I trip him towards me and punch him in the temple hard enough to knock him out. That was an entertaining fight, I think.

As I walk back to the locker room, I notice many pissed off people. Guess they lost money on the fight. One big guy steps into my path. He’s close to my height, but his bulk isn’t muscular. “You owe me two grand.”

I meet his eyes and quirk a brow. His pupils are dilated and eyes glassy, so he’s on something. I suspect drugs are flowing here tonight, although I haven't seen any. As he pulls his arm back to take a swing, a shot rings out. The big guy staggers backward, blood dripping between his fingers as he holds his shoulder. Damn, an inch lower and the bullet would've gone through me. Two navy clad security escort him away as I continue my walk to the locker room. Security's tight, and there's an expert marksman here.

Patrick is at the locker room door, looking nervous. Is he wary of the fired shot? The man has spent his life around guns; why would it make him nervous now? After we enter the room, I quickly change. “What now?” I ask him.

“Home.”

Chapter 4

Saturdays around here are not much different from weekdays. Patrick still follows the same routine, but visits more businesses. We go into the bar first, then I sit in the passenger seat as he makes the rounds. Some are the same ones he visits during the week, but others are only on weekends. I memorize names and faces as we go.

Saturdays are also the only days I actually see drugs exchanged. Two businesses he frequents on this day hand him a brown bag that he places behind his seat. I asked what was in the bag the first time it happened, and Patrick attempted to punch me but was unsuccessful, so I simply stuck my hand in the bag when he made his next stop. I felt little baggies of powder, probably coke, and cash.

We're on the road well past dinner on Saturdays, and Patrick spends the evening in the bar with his crew in the corner booth while I stand guard at the hallway door.

On Sundays, we go in at the regular time, but he only visits two businesses on that day, and we return to the condo until my shift at night. The sperm donor snorts some drugs and sleeps on Sunday afternoons. At least it's peaceful.

I get up Monday morning, grab some breakfast, and go downstairs to the gym. Admittedly, it's a nice workout area with a view of the green space behind the buildings. There are three other condo buildings surrounding the grass and trees. I go for a jog on the treadmill and lift weights before taking a walk around the main floor.

I've strolled around several times in the past few weeks and have found storage rooms, a washroom, and a control room. The front desk doesn't allow anyone inside without a key, even delivery people. They have packages placed in a two way box so no one has to enter the building. I once caught a man who lives in the building forget his front door key, and he wasn't allowed inside without being vetted first, and that took almost 15 minutes. I overheard the desk employee remind him he was only being allowed in because his name was on the lease. Insanely strict security for a regular condo building, if you ask me. It makes me wonder who else lives here and if there are other illegal business people around.

That afternoon, Artur pays me a visit while I’m in Patrick’s office with nothing to do but watch tv. He’s dressed in a grey suit and red tie. He's the only person who dresses well around here. The two idiots who held me down on my first day take up positions inside the door.

I wait quietly as Artur scrutinizes me. Is this some sort of test? Whatever, I can wait.

After 10 minutes, he finally speaks. “Your performance was lacking last night. I’m debating your punishment.”

Fucking mind games. “Let me know your decision,” I reply, focusing on the tv.

“You’re smarter than your father,” Artur comments.

I only raise a brow in response.

“Why did you play with your opponent?”

“Assumed you wanted an entertaining fight. If you want something else, then speak up. I can’t read minds.”

“I see.” He steeples his fingers under his chin while he continues to stare at me. “Perhaps I misjudged you. I will include further instructions next time. Tell me, how fast could you have ended that fight?”

“Immediately.” No sense in lying since he’s seen me fight before.