He dug in and pulled out the wraps while Noah emptied the contents of his pants pockets and handed my phone to Finn. Noah held out his hands, and Bo wrapped him. “I saw Rickers earlier. He looks like he has trimmed down some, off the ‘roids.”

Noah gave a short nod. “Have you heard where he’s been training?”

“No. Maybe out of town.”

“Strategy?”

“Don’t let him punch you in the face. He was weak in the stomach before. A good kick should level him. I don’t think he’s a good grappler, but you’re on sand and cement here, not the Octagon, so you don’t want to spend too much time on the floor. If I think the fight is getting out of hand, I’m throwing in the towel,” Bo said.

“I don’t need a motherfucking babysitter,” Noah snarled.

“Yes, you do,” Bo shot back, “or you wouldn’t even be here.”

Noah didn’t respond to this taunt. After Bo finished wrapping his hands, we went back into the hallway, and as we got close to the entrance, I saw another door that I had missed when I first walked into the building. Bo threw it open. The warehouse smelled of old wood and dust. A cluster of people maybe five or six deep stood in the center. Many held bottles or cans of beer. As we approached, the sea of people parted, and I realized it was more like ten deep.

The center wasn’t a boxing ring at all, just a crudely chalked out square. Whether from the traffic of feet or the oppression of machinery that once stood here, there was slight bowl in the dirt floor of the warehouse, creating a miniature amphitheater. It was a good setting for a fight—there were no chairs and the dip in the floor made it easier for the people in the rear to see the action.

The sea of people closed in behind us. A barrel-chested man covered in tattoos stood to one side inside the square, shifting from foot to foot and lightly punching one side of his chest and then the other with alternating hands. He looked huge. If this was trimmed down some, I wouldn’t want to see him all ‘roided up.

I stood at the very edge of the square. Noah turned and said, “Don’t move from here. Finn,” he directed, “take care of her.” Noah moved down to the corner with Bo.

A tall, gangly guy came out to the center and told the crowd they had five minutes to finish up their bets. Five minutes crawled by. Noah pulled off his sweatshirt and sweatpants. He stood with his arms crossed, staring impassively at Rickers. The gangly guy came up to Noah and handed him a white towel. Noah balled it up and threw into the middle.

“Fuck,” I heard Finn say softly.

“What’s wrong now?” I whispered to Finn.

“Rickers is a masochist. Totally gets off on getting hit and won’t stop even if he is seriously injured. He refuses to tap out, and now Noah has rejected the towel,” Finn explained. Fuck, indeed.

“This isn’t going to end well, is it,” I said. It was a statement, not a question.

Finn shook his head, “No, probably not.”

The gangly guy went to Ricker’s side and talked to him for a minute. Ricker shook his head and seemed to refuse the white towel. Finally, he turned to someone in the crowd, a woman, and gestured for her to take the towel. Part of the crowd groaned at this but most seemed to swell with excitement. From what Noah had said earlier, seeing a fight where no one tapped out was what wet dreams were made of for some of these attendees.

I felt so nervous that I wondered if I should bite my nails to alleviate my anxiety. Instead, I just shifted from side to side so much that Finn finally put both hands on my shoulders.

“Stand still,” he warned, “or I’ll tie your shoelaces together.”

Noah bent his head down slightly so his and Bo’s foreheads were almost touching. They exchanged words, serious looks on both their faces, and then Noah held out both wrapped fists. Bo crashed his hands down on top. He slapped Noah on the back and went to the corner.

The skinny guy came out and gestured for the fight to begin.

Noah

The plan was to knock Rickers down and get the hell out of there. I didn’t want Grace to see us grappling like animals, further cementing the idea that I wasn’t right for her, but damn I needed this money.

Rickers could take a punch and, despite his size, he was fairly light on his feet. But, his short arms were always going to prevent him from moving forward. No amount of steroids was going to change that.

I didn’t want to get punched in the face, so I danced backward as he advanced. I had plans with Grace later, and a broken lip would put a serious dent in them.

I could hear the crowd groaning as I ducked and weaved away, wanting more action. Few fighters enjoyed fighting backwards. I figured I’d move around for a minute, catch Rickers off balance, and then attack.

He advanced wildly, eager to make contact. Eager to show me my place. His eagerness played right into my hands. On his next advance, I shot my leg out and round-housed him in the gut. His fist caught me on the top of my head, but I barely noticed. The kick caused him to bend over slightly, and I clipped him with an uppercut. He fell like a shorn log to the ground.

I straddled his body and struck him twice more in the head. I waited for him to tap out, but he struggled upward, trying to throw me off. I held my forearm against his windpipe and waited. Nothing. Fuck this.

I pressed my forearm harder into his neck. Sweat and blood rolled down my forehead, obscuring my vision. I pretended not to notice. “Tap out,” I growled. All my energy was focused into my arm at Ricker’s windpipe.

He grunted. “Can’t. Won’t.”

This was insane. I’d never choked someone into submission before. I had knocked people out with a fist or a kick, but never deliberately choked the air out of someone’s lungs, and I didn’t want to this time. This was the motherfucking problem with unsanctioned fighting. There wasn’t a referee who would jump in and call a halt to the stupid shit we fighters do. Left to our own devices, we’d choke each until we were all brain damaged.

“You aren’t goddamned Helios. There isn’t any honor here. This is a fucking warehouse,” I ground out, but still he refused. His eyes stared up at me, unblinking.

“I’d take honor wherever you can get it, brother.” He raised up slightly, as if he wanted my face near his. I should’ve drawn back. A head butt would hurt like a son of a bitch. Instead, I leaned forward and heard him whisper. “It’s all good.” He cracked his head against mine and at the same time his hands on my forearm reversed pressure slightly. I don’t think anyone around us could see but he was almost pulling my arm into his throat.

Gritting my teeth, I acquiesced to his unspoken command and pressed harder. His grip went limp and the light in his eyes dimmed until they were blank and his eyelids rolled shut like a garage door. I felt his entire body go lax beneath mine. I sat up on my haunches and looked down at Ricker’s body underneath mine, laid out like a corpse on a slab.

This was the last time, I thought. The last time I’d ever do this. I had left the Marines because I was tired of the dirt and the death, and here I was, voluntarily rolling around in the dirt in a warehouse fighting some guy practically to the death. I pushed up to my feet and looked for Grace. She was what had brought me out of the war, took me away from my past. My future was with her, if she’d still have me.

Our angry words hung over me, weighing me down like a fighter on my back. I stood up, dizzy from the blow and the head butt, and stumbled toward her. I guess that was all the encouragement she needed, because I could see her run to me, her hand slightly covering her mouth. My vision was clouded, and I felt weak. I stumbled again and before I could fall, she was there, holding me up, pressing her pristine shirt into my chest and getting my blood and sweat mixed up. If I was any kind of decent human being, I’d push her away, but I couldn’t. I could never push her away again.

Chapter Thirteen

Dear Grace,

We have been moved to a tiny forward operating base near the base of some mountains in eastern A’stan. A patrol went out in the morning and was hit with small arms fire, mortars, and RPGs. One of the sergeants was shot and killed. The entire FOB felt the blow. Everyone liked this guy. I can’t even write his name down. Too painful.

An older NCO who has been on several tours said that the patrols are nowhere near as dangerous as they were even six months ago, and that deaths are becoming rarer. But no one believes him, not when your buddy’s corpse is lying in a tent, waiting be flown back to Dover.

I probably shouldn’t even write this to you. Now I really do feel like I’m contaminating you, like the dust on the letters is carrying all the ill feeling to you. Maybe the ocean can cleanse it.

Yours,

Noah

Noah

I wanted to take Grace home. I was pumped full of adrenaline and flush with cash. There was only one thing that would make this night better, but everyone wanted to celebrate.

Grace had promised her cousin earlier that she would go hunt down some frat boy and no amount of wheedling would get her to change her mind.

“Why not The Circus?” Grace told me Lana was down there, waiting for her.

“That’s a dance club,” I shook my head no. I didn’t want to dance. I wanted to go have one drink and then go home or to Grace’s apartment. I didn’t care which one.

“There’s a dance floor and music, so if that constitutes a dance club, then, yes, it is,” My victory had made her sassy. I liked it. Of course, there was little I didn’t like about Grace. Even her earlier worry made me feel good, but I didn’t tell her that.

“Grace,” I drew her name out slowly. “That’s like the seven circles of hell for me.”

“What’re you talking about? I saw your moves inside the circle.” Apparently now that the fight was over, it was okay to refer to it.

“I told you before that dancing isn’t my thing.”

“I’ll ask them to play a marching song,” she reassured me, laughing.

“You know why dance clubs are the worst?” I said.

“No, why?” Her giggling made me smile, but I wasn’t going to back down.

“Because you girls love to dance, which attracts all kinds of fools, and then I’ll be forced to beat them all up.” I needed to unwind, not get all worked up again. I might attack Grace on the dance floor, and I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t be down with that.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t come to the bar with us.”

“That’s a negative.” I shook my head to emphasize my words.

“Oh come on, Noah. It won’t be that bad,” she wheedled.

“It will be.”

“Don’t you dance in the ring?”

“It’s called the Octagon. And only because I’m trying to avoid being punched in the face. That’s not the right attitude to have on the dance floor,” I said, impatiently. I wanted to get Grace alone and ask her a very important question about her past experience with other guys. My desire for her coupled with the post-fight adrenaline made me restless and uneasy. I’d settle down once I had her in my bed, and could show her how little any guys she’d had in her past mattered.

“You aren’t going to talk me out of this, because I already abandoned Lana earlier tonight,” Grace insisted.

“Why don’t we go to the Americana? They have bands. I’m sure there is a dance floor there, because that’s where my roommate Adam broke his leg,” I offered.

“You know, when you are upset, your accent becomes more pronounced.”

“We don’t have accents, sugar,” I laid it on thick. “It’s you Yanks that have foreshortened all the good words, so they aren’t even any fun to say anymore.”

“Well, cowboy, are you going to meet us out or are you gonna wait with your horses at the campfire?”

“You have a terrible drawl, but don’t worry, I’ll give you all the tutoring you need.” This tutoring would require for us to both be naked and my tongue all over her body, but I kept that to myself.

After a bunch of texting with Lana, it was agreed. She’d meet us at the Americana.

***

Grace wanted to go home to change. Given that she had a mixture of my blood and sweat all over her, I didn’t argue. I drove her home, and she said she’d meet us at the bar.

Bo taped a small cut above my eye that must have come from the weak, late head butt, and I pulled out a T-shirt and jeans that I had thrown in the bag.

While the Americana wasn’t a bevy of hot chicks like a college party, there usually were plenty of women here. But tonight it was like a 10 to 1 ratio of guys to girls. Our group, composed of the five roommates and three guys from the Spartan gym, wasn’t helping much.

We were all relieved that Grace and her friends were coming.

“Is the band like a bunch of rapists or something?” I asked Adam, who was slumped sullenly in his chair.

“Nah, screamers though. Kind of like Slipknot wannabes.” That explained it. Few women were going to want to sit through a bunch of bad headbangers.