Four
To get into one of Breaking Point’s fights takes a certain kind of commitment. Despite being all buddy-buddy with the police force, they still try to keep it very low key, so the only way you can be a spectator is through a recommendation from someone already affiliated with the underground. And the person who recommends you must swear in good faith that you won’t bring any unwanted attention. A permanent ban from the premises and a brutal beatdown awaits both you and your friend if you snitch.
Beth and I were recommended to be spectators about three years ago by my now ex-friend Dakota, whose brother used to fight in the underground. He doesn’t anymore because he was shit at it and got severely beaten within fifteen seconds of the fight.
It so happened to be the exact same night I first saw Jax fight in the cage. The second I watched him emerge from the shadows, clad in his signature black robe, every muscle in my body locked up. I fell so hard for him then, with his dark, unrelenting eyes and thick, loud confidence as he danced around his opponent like he’d just found the easiest prey to feast on and was going to relish ripping him apart.
Looking back at the moment, I can’t help but feel a black stain forming over the memory, along with the many others I made with Jax. Did Jax know early on he intended to cheat on me with Beth? Or was it Beth who planted the seed of doubt in him? Who came on to who first? Whose willpower was the first to break?
I guess it shouldn’t matter, as both of them are equally damned in my eyes. But still, I can’t push away all these questions floating in my head. It’s difficult not to feel this way when I feel so massively duped.
Staring up at the neon red Breaking Point sign this time around is enough to turn all my feelings about Jax into cold determination. I thought about going back to Kayden’s apartment since I know his address, but I figured since he kicked me out the other day, I might just piss him off by going there again. If I attend his fight tonight and try to find him afterward, at least we’ll be on neutral ground.
The underground is his playground, just as it is mine.
I can feel the vibrant energy thrumming from within the gym as I head toward the front doors. There are two lines to get in: one for first timers and the other for seasoned spectators. Thankfully, the latter is much shorter, so I get through within minutes. The bouncer checks my ID along with the small bag I brought with me, rummaging through my things before grunting with approval and stepping aside to let me in.
I haven’t been here since Jax won his title last year, but I know that Breaking Point runs one-off underground matches every other weekend. Most of the time, Jax is here.
And when he’s fighting, he earns bank. All good fighters here do. Apart from entry fees, they also get a cut on any bets placed. If you’re entering for the season, the farther you move up in the tournament, the more dough you rake in.
And if you’re a reputable fighter who has fought in the underground for several years, fans may even bet on you based on blind faith. Which is why fighters usually engage and connect with their fans whenever they can during these events.
Jax has a ton of fans. He has a natural charisma, so it’s no surprise he has a lot of loyalists under his spell. The income from the fights will provide him with enough financial security for the next decade.
The pungent stench of smoke and sweat hits me when I push through the doors to the basement. Rowdy patrons collide with one another, screaming final calls to place bets. A small group of people flock toward the betting table, waving their money, hungry to cash in on their favorite fighters.
It’s a struggle to push through the mammoth crowd.
Perched in the center, in all of its glory, is a raised octagonal cage, and it’s the only thing that the overhead lights are directed at. It looks like it was quickly put together and easy to disassemble if the cops were to raid the place.
I glance at the time on my phone. Five minutes until the fight begins. Good.
The quicker Kayden’s match is over, the sooner I can talk to him.
I call the bookie over and chuck one of the two remaining fifty-dollar bills I have left at him to bet on Kayden. I have a feeling I’ll double my money. I want to prove myself right in case he’s as good as I think he is.
Someone accidentally pushes against me, and I stumble back slightly.
“Sorry.” The guy’s voice is cut off when his eyes flare in recognition.
“Brent?” I shout, immediately recognizing the thick-rimmed glasses and shaggy brown hair. I didn’t think he was the type to come to these kinds of events. He always felt like a board-game-night-with-friends kind of person to me.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” He echoes the question back to me.
“I’m here for Kayden,” we say in unison. When the joint statement clangs in the air, Brent and I both make a weird face.
He expression turns quizzical. “Wait, why would you be looking for him here? Didn’t you find him at his apartment the other day?”
“I did. But he kicked me out,” I mutter.
I expect Brent’s face to fall, but the expression remains nonchalant. “I’m sorry. You’re not the only one he’s done this to so far.”
I want to press him further about Kayden’s cold behavior, but as I open my mouth, the sharp bleating of a horn pierces my ears. Brent and I turn our heads toward the cage as a thunderous roar vibrates from the crowd.
“Welcome to the Vortex, fuckers!” The announcer screams like the megaphone isn’t already helping him amplify his voice to the entire city. “THE ONLY RULE