Looking up, I stop on a man behind a glass wall. A powerful man.
A man I’ve been studying for months right alongside Kane.
This is the first time I’ve ever seen Abel Hayes in the flesh.
He doesn’t notice me here. He has no clue of my existence. He simply watches the fighters like it was the most important thing happening in his life right now. With broad chests, angry features, and hands on their hips, half a dozen men in suits surround him. They’re all easily more than two-hundred pounds each, but none of them are fat. Almost every inch of skin visible above their collars and at the ends of the sleeves is covered in tattoos.
Abel isn’t scared to be surrounded by these men.
He’s not under their control. They’re under his.
Like a wave against the rocks, the spectators scream at the ring and jockey to get closer. They push and shove as the excitement notches up in the main room and the men in the ring fight for victory.
It’s ridiculously inappropriate to even consider betting on the fight, and yet, my fingers itch to show my support, to show the criminal – themurdererwho took such gentle care of me – that I believe in him.
I can’t bet on him. I shouldn’t be here at all, let alone watching the fight like a common groupie. But I can’t walk away, either. I can’t move and leave him up there with the giant fighter. I can’t walk away and not know the outcome of the fight he’s winning.
Sweaty fists slide along sweaty skin. Deep booming thuds of the man’s fist against Kane’s chest make me grit my teeth.
How do they do that and not have injuries? How do their hearts take it?
Like he knows he’s being watched by the all-mighty Abel Hayes, Kane shoots a fast glance up at the window. Swearing –I know he’s swearing –he turns back to his opponent with resolve in his eyes.
From chest thumping fists, to a slippery slide over sweat, his fist glides off the side of the other man’s face, then the men switch position as Kane is flipped to his back and the concrete foundations shake beneath my feet.
I see it coming before Kane does.
I see the man’s heavy fist coming down on Kane’s face. But my knowledge helps no one, least of all Kane; I couldn’t shout loud enough even if I tried. There’s no way in a million years he’d hear me, so instead, I stand thirty feet from the ring and watch on helplessly as, no more than three seconds after the men switched places and Kane’s head slammed against the floor, the man’s fist swings down and snaps Kane’s head to the side.
Legs that were strong and braced a second ago now turn floppy. Hands that were up to protect his face now drop like dead weight. The crowd’s cheers turn wild; some with elation, others with disbelief.
A few with rage.
The crowd floods toward the ring, but I remain in place and try not to regurgitate last night’s pizza as my mind replays that final second over and over and over.
Fist, meet head.
Head, snap to the side.
Dead.
Moving forward at the sight of muscled men picking Kane up off the floor, my stomach rolls at the sight of the blood dripping from his face, leaving a trail on the dirty floor as they move.
Rushing to keep him in my sight, my cute wedges slide in the puddles of blood they leave behind. And though the crowd converge to get a closer look at the wounded, though they cut me off and make it so I can no longer see him, I follow the spotted dots beneath my feet.
Rushing through tiny gaps, elbowing men aside, evading ass grabs and hungry hands, I follow the men into a hall different to the one I came in, and past a billion new doors.
The space turns darker the further away from the main room we go. The people, creepier. Their smiles, scarier.
I follow the muscled men all the way to a heavy security door, and as he pushes it open, the one on the left – the one with Kane’s top end in his arms – brings a hand up to his ear. “Yes, sir.”
He looks to his compatriot – to the man holding Kane’s legs – and with a single nod, they swing Kane’s lifeless body between them and let go.
He flings through the air to loud cheers and whoops of pleasure from the still watching crowd, until he lands outside with a heavy thud, rolling lifelessly as his skull bounces off the concrete and his limbs tangle.
Sprinting forward without thought, I push past the distracted men and skid down by Kane’s side as the security door closes.
“Oh my God, Kane.” Brushing a shaking hand over his face, I pull him back until his head rests on my bent legs.