Chapter 23
Xan
I dodged my trainer’s fist before jabbing my fist into his ribs, which he’d left open for a split second. But it was long enough for me to move quickly and get my hit in. Dancing back on the balls of my feet, I rolled my shoulders, tracking every move he made.
Denzel had been my trainer since I was sixteen. He gave me the training I needed to survive in the ring and in the underground world, and he also made sure to get my pockets lined up so I could get the fuck out of foster care, which had never been much of a better situation than living with my father had been.
I’d been loyal to Denzel from day one. Other trainers had tried picking me up, some even offering better fights and more money, but I never took them up on it. Never even entertained their offers. Denzel kept me in check, understood my diagnosis, probably even before Preston had gotten me officially tested. He knew when enough was enough and when to pull me back and get me in check once more.
“That was good,” he told me, nodding in approval. “Keep that focus for Friday night. You’re going to need it. Some new guy has shown up, and he wants a taste of what you can offer.”
“New guy?” I frowned. We didn’t typically allow newbies into the circuit if they didn’t come vetted by one of the other trainers or the owners themselves. “Who is he?”
Denzel shrugged. “I don’t know. Calls himself Anaw.” I was reaching for my water bottle when Denzel said his name, and I paused, something about the way it was pronounced making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Slowly, I focused back on Denzel, inhaling every word he said. “He came with his own trainer from another state. They’re just visiting, apparently. Owners are cool with it, as far as I know.”
“Anaw,” I repeated, letting the name roll off my tongue. Ansel Shaw. Remove sel and sh and Anaw is born.
Fuck.
“I need to make a phone call,” I told Denzel. “Meet you in the weight room?”
He nodded. “Sure thing, kid.” With that, he smacked me with his towel, then slipped out of the ring. I headed for the locker room, guzzling water as I went. After yanking open my locker, I grabbed my phone and called Shane. I knew he had an appointment this morning with a client, but I also knew he’d answer if he saw my name on the screen, regardless of how busy he was.
Every moment right now was crucial, and every phone call was just as important. None of us ever knew when something might be happening or when new information might be coming available.
“What’s going on?” Shane asked when he answered.
“I think this mother fucker has set up a fight between us on Friday night,” I informed him. “Denzel, my trainer, just informed me a new guy from out of state is interested. Goes by the name Anaw.”
“Mmm,” Shane hummed. I heard a door shut a moment later, and then, he asked, “What are the repercussions if he somehow dies during the match?”
I smirked and leaned a shoulder against the locker next to mine. Now Shane was talking my language. “Just a scolding from the owners. Everyone knows the risks involved in fighting. As long as no weapons are used in the unaliving, I walk free and get to prepare for the next fight.” I’d never killed someone in the ring, but I’d seen it happen numerous times. It was a risk we all lived with and agreed to before stepping inside the ropes. The owners just made the dead ones silently disappear.
“If it’s him, get rid of him come Friday night,” Shane ordered. “Make this go away for Preston, understand?”
“Crystal clear,” I assured him. “How is he?”
“He’s working on patient files downstairs, and Miranda is keeping him stocked with snacks and drinks. He’s fine, and he’s distracted.”
“Good. Stay safe,” I told him.
He hummed. “You too, X.”
After ending the call, I shoved my phone back into my locker, then headed for the weight room, where Denzel was probably already waiting for me. I was only a few feet from the room, the sound of weights clanging reaching my ears, when a shadow appeared at the end of the hall. I paused, cocking my head to the side the slightest bit.
It wasn’t until they stepped more into the light that I realized it was Ansel fucking Shaw wearing the usual hood and black clothes. That asshole had some fucking balls showing up here. Clearly, he’d moved on from Preston and was now going after the prize he truly wanted.
And I was all fucking game. I’d been waiting for this moment. Salivating for it, honestly.
I took off after him, chasing him through the halls of the building until I emerged into the alley, where he disappeared. I cursed, the fingers of my right hand curling into a fist. How the fuck had he disappeared just like that? I’d been mere fucking feet from him?—
Something hard hit me in the head, and I stumbled, my vision wavering. Blood immediately slid down my temple and began to pool in my collar bone. I turned, coming face to face with Ansel. He was holding a metal pipe in his hand, his eyes cold and empty.
“I’m going to fucking make you regret ever meeting me,” he hissed.
I reached for the pole to yank it from his hand so I could shove the fucking thing down his throat and attempt to make it come out his ass for daring to fucking hit me with it, but my head was already too scrambled. I missed grabbing the fucking thing, and my vision went double.
Ansel laughed, the sound taunting and grating on my nerves. “You shouldn’t have fucking left us, Xan.”