Caged: Cellar Door Series (6 page)

“One more fight for tonight. Then we are clear of here. I don’t want you going upstairs to VIP tonight JD. I got a bad feeling about it. You haven’t lost it bad in ages. Not since…. Look you  just can’t fuck it up now.”

I knew Matt was referring to when I’d had gone destructo in epic portions in the cage. It was a few months after Kylee left for college, right after I’d started to ignore her calls and texts.

Nodding, I lifted my head up. “Aight man. I got it.” Matt got busy cleaning up the gash on my cheek after I got my music restarted and leaned my head back so he had better access. I closed my eyes and tried to calm down, to prep for my final fight.

About a half hour later, Matt gave me the signal and I made the trip back to the cage. I hadn’t achieved calm status but at least I wasn’t postal anymore. I stripped off my hoodie; I wasn’t a robe wearing kind of dude and mounted the steps, striding back inside.

My final opponent of the night had won as many fights as I had; the way it worked with single elimination style; each fighter advanced in their bracket until only two remained. Only one would get the payout. The final fights were always the most brutal and the one I looked forward to the most.

The Ref did his thing and me and Ray “The Ricochet” Ramone got down to it. We’d both been around the scene for the same amount of time. Ray was only a year older than me but this was the first time we’d been synced up for a fight. He usually fought in a higher weight class. He had a younger brother that was new on the scene, Javier, but he was a much lighter weight class than me or Ray and the kid was not our caliber. He was a young buck trying to make a name off his brothers. Ray was good. He had a real shot at going pro.

Jab, kick, block. Strike, barrel into each other, round each other off the cage fencing, start again. Bell, sit, bell, meet in the middle. We were four rounds into the five round fight and were prettily evenly matched skill wise, it was going to come down to who made the most mistakes. I was enjoying the fight. Lately it’d been more of a job, less of a passion and it had become second nature to knock the shit out of someone and go home. Ray was testing me every bit as much as I was testing him.

I shot for the take down, backing Ray into the fence and using the fence’s momentum as it sprung back to take us both to the floor. Quickly mounting him, my knees on either side of Ray’s torso I began raining hammer fists down on him. Unlike before, I didn’t haze out, I clearly saw each fist land, took the time to make each one count. My face and body had taken a fair amount of abuse from Ray too, we both were going to be sore for the next few days but in that moment, I didn’t feel a fucking thing. I was at peace. Doing what I was good at. Ray stopped covering up, his eyes glazing over and a towel was tossed in. I immediately stopped much to the Ref’s surprise after my previous fight and got to my feet, reaching down to grab Ray’s arm and helping to pull him up as his team flooded in.

“Good fight man.” Ray tapped my back with a fist, shaking his head as his team escorted him to his corner and I heard him mumble. “Fuckers brutal.”

Arm up, winner announced and it was time to go. Something caused the hair on the back of my neck to rise and when I looked out into the crowd I saw why Matt had been acting odd as hell. Kylee was standing two rows back, her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. Before I could get out of the cage she was gone in a blur of movement.

I yelled, my voice booming as I called her name but it was no good. Matt grabbed me and started to pull me towards my locker room. “Dam it man, get it together. She just saw you covered in blood, bruised and battered. You got to know what that might do to her.”

I had just gone round after round after round and won each fight, I should have been feeling high as giraffe pussy and instead I felt like a prick.

Matt was right. Kylee and her family had cleaned me up time after time when my old man used me as a punching bag. Kylee had cried every fucking time, she tried to hide it but I could tell. If I tried to cover up what happened, not tell her if I was really hurt, she would be furious with me for days. It was bound to freak her the hell out to watch me willingly fighting. If I’d done a number on her at the Italian joint, I’d just sealed it when she saw me in the cage. I kept telling myself it was for the best. She needed to see it. Needed to know I wasn’t ever going to be good for her in any way. If only my fucking chest didn’t feel like someone had ripped that shit open and poured acid on it, I might could believe it.

Raising my head off my pillow, I groaned. The hammering sound that woke me not letting up in the least. It took a couple of seconds to filter into the alcohol soaked grey mass inside my skull that the horrific noise was someone pounding on the front door of the apartment.

I got to a sitting position, my feet sliding out of the bed to touch the floor and pain skittered over me, my muscles and bones protesting.  Matt and I had come home after the fights. I managed to do him a solid and not hit the VIP section of Cellar Door but we had polished off a bottle and half of bourbon between the two of us and I was feeling it…along with a bad case of dehydration.

I shook my head slowly trying to clear it of sleep and chanced a quick glance at my cell. It was 6:30 in the fucking morning. Who the hell was banging on the front door at this time of the day? And why hadn’t they fucking stopped yet?

Grunting, I got vertical, pulled on a pair of shorts to cover myself and lurched towards my bedroom door, my body stiff from the fighting the night before, my mouth dryer than the Sahara. I definitely was in need of a good stretch and so thirsty that a drought warning could be called.

 Shuffling down the hall, I got to the front door, gripped the knob and jerked it open, none too happy that someone felt the need to be beating on it right then.

“Where the fuck’s the fire!” I was tired, sore and hungry as hell and whoever disturbed me was on my shit list. In the top fucking spot no less.

It took me a moment; two slow blinks and another head shake to register who was at the door after I ripped it open.

“What the hell do you want Shag?” I leaned against the metal frame, refusing to give room for him to pass into my apartment, my sanctuary.

It figured it would be one of my pop’s friends beating down my fucking door at ass crack of dawn. “You know what, don’t answer that. Just fuck off. I don’t have a thing for him.” Only time that breeder ever reached out to me, was to try to squeeze me for some cash. He’d stopped trying lately but wasn’t above sending one of his so called friends by to give a sob story of some kind or another. Pop’s had longed passed being able to afford his alcohol habit, especially when he’d gotten fired the last time and hadn’t found a job since. The only reason he still had the house was because the damn thing was already paid for.

I was in mid swing of slamming the door shut when Shag palmed it to keep it from shutting all the way. It wasn’t that Shag was a complete douche, but he was friends with my pop. Therefore; no friend of mine and it showed in my tone. “Dude, back the fuck up off me. I told you, I got nothing for him.”

Shag’s head shook back and forth like he thought I was ignorant or he pitied me for some reason, the thought causing my teeth to clench tightly. I didn’t need this shit this early in the morning.

“Thought you’d want to know boy that your dad died last night. Ran his truck into a tree.”  With that, Shag bounded away from the door and got back in his truck, pulling out of the parking lot quick enough to catch a wheel, the tire squealing before I could speak, not that I planned too.

A sharp intake of breath was pulled in from behind me, my head swung towards the sound to see Matt standing behind me. He was gripping his temple with one hand like his melon was about to burst but the look on his face flat pissed me off. Shit happened….everyday. This day ended in y…it was no different than any other in my book.

“JD…” I finished closing the door and pushed past him not caring that my boy was nursing a wicked hangover and looked like a truck had plowed into him.

“Don’t want to talk about it.” My teeth hurt from grinding them together my jaw was clenched so tight. Seeking my room, I stormed into it and slammed my door behind me. I didn’t know what the fuck I was supposed to feel but I was getting beyond pissed; getting to that stage that I might not remember what drove me to it, what I did after it. No damn way was I going to fuck what I’d spent years trying to get under control, uh uh…fuck nah.

I don’t know how long I sat, ass to bed, my forearms leaned into my knees and stared down at my hands, tracing each abrasion, each scrape with my eyes. It had been long enough my back was getting sore from the position and my ass was starting to go numb. Pounding coming from the front door of the apartment sounded in my ears and I stayed right where I was, not caring who the hell was out there; just needing to get myself straight. Matt knew that about me, not to mention the last time I opened the front door I’d gotten the bomb about my pop being dead.

    Muffled voices rose into shouts before my door started to vibrate. Someone was banging against it and I could make out Kylee’s voice.

    “Open the door JD. I don’t care how drunk you are or hung-over. I want to talk to you.” More banging and then Matt’s voice sounding off telling Kylee it wasn’t the time, to let it go.

    Rising from the bed, I walked across my room and jerked the door open, Kylee almost falling through it.

    “JD why? Why would you do that?” Kylee’s eyes were pained as she held my gaze, pleading for some kind of response from me. Her eyes landed on the cut that was steri-stripped on my cheek.

    I glanced over her head, met Matt’s gaze as I answered her refusing to chance losing myself in her dark eyes, my own gaze telling Matt what I needed. “I can’t do this right now Kylee. Not right now.”

    Anger flared replacing the pain in her dark browns; her hands fisted to her hips. The action stretched her tight t-shirt even tighter over her breasts but even that didn’t pull me out of the head fuck I had going on.

“Oh that’s right, everything has to be on JD’s time, at his request. The rest of us just get to wait around until he’s decided to grace us with the answers. You're such an ass…” Kylee’s tirade was cut short as Matt started in on her, moving between Kylee and my door; telling her to cut it the fuck out. Normally I would have beaten him to within an inch of his life for talking to her like that, but I just didn’t have it in me, I was too far gone and didn’t trust how I would handle that shit so Mattie did what he always did; bore the brunt of it so I could get myself together. I turned around and moved back in my room, grabbing a clean pair of jeans and pulling them on while Matt and Kylee argued.

    Socks on, boots on and in process of getting a shirt on, Kylee remembered it wasn’t Matt she was angry with. When she realized I was no longer at the door but had gotten dressed and was walking back towards them, her anger ratcheted up. Her small frame trembled toe to head as she glared at me. Matt met my eyes, knew I was talking directly to him as the words slipped past my clenched teeth again. “I. Can’t. Do. This.” I was putting my boy in a bad spot but he was willing to step up for me. Knew I had to get the hell out before I lost my shit.

          Kylee was steadily spouting venom I didn’t know her mouth knew how to spew, her time spent around me and Matt showing. My t-shirt in place, I put my hands on her waist and moved her away from the doorway and set her close to Matt. “I’m out.”

Matt nodded once, his arms wrapping around Kylee’s waist as I strode towards the front door. She fought like a hell cat to break free, all kinds of insults hurled at both me and Matt. Kylee was pissed but she had no idea what all was going on and I wasn’t in the frame of mind to enlighten her, not without creating collateral damage I probably would never be able to fix.

I got out the door, hit the steps and found the pavement in a hurry, opening the door to my truck and settling in the seat as quickly as I could. The truck was started and out of the apartment complex even faster. I needed room to breathe. It felt like the entire world was wrapping around me, suffocating me.

          I drove for hours, no rhyme or reason. No set path, just drove and then drove some more. I stopped for gas and grabbed a toothbrush, felt like a caterpillar had cocooned itself on my teeth and proceeded to remove that shit, spitting in the sink of the gas station restroom before getting back in my truck and driving some more. I zigzagged across the state, got close to home twice and picked another route to take me back away again. It was fucked up; I was fucked up and couldn’t wrap my head around the reason why. He was gone. That should have been a relief. Except some part of me was...yeah fucked up…that’s what I was.

          Around noon or a little after I stopped, killed the trucks engine at some wayside joint and powered my phone back up. I had switched it off a few minutes after getting in my truck when the damn thing kept going off non-stop. I didn’t bother to look at the missed calls or messages that were waiting for me, just googled the number I needed and called the sheriff’s department. A few sentences later and I was googling the local funeral home. Never thought I would be the one taking care of my pops but there was no one else to do it and good, bad or ugly, he was my responsibility now.

          Finished with setting up the funeral, I tossed my phone to the truck console, leaned forward and crossed my arms over the steering wheel, staring out the windshield at absolutely nothing. After a while I started the truck back up. Sooner or later I would have to go home and I was a few hours from it. With nothing but time to kill I pulled back onto the highway and headed back towards Bristow.

          The ride let my mind blank out, let me get my emotions back under control and by the time I hit the town limits, I felt more like myself. Still fucked up in all my glory, but more my normal fucked up and less out of control.

          Pulling into OverTime, a local bar, not feeling the club, I parked and headed inside making my way past the pool and beer pong tables, straight to the bar that lined one side of OverTime. The place stretched out with a stage at the far end, the bar lining one side and numerous tables in between. There was a small step down to the area directly in the front the stage that defined a dancing area when it didn’t have tables filling the space. TV’s ran wall to wall showing every type of sporting event possible. There were two bartenders manning the length of the bar and the chick looked vaguely familiar. I hoped to hell it wasn’t in the drama’s about to kick off kind of way because of a one night bag and tag I may have pulled.

Her face turned towards one of the customers at the bar and it clicked. Her side profile gave away the small imperfection along the ridge of her nose that wasn’t noticeable before. She was part of the scene down at Cellar Door, matter of fact she was a fighter there.  Rowdy Ronnie Dalton also apparently tended bar at OverTime. Funny what street clothes and tape free hands could do for you and it had relief flooding through me, though her hair should have been the tip off. Ronnie wore her hair up for fights but it still was always multiple colors on any given night, but down it revealed even more color than when it was pulled back for her fights.

          The dude came down to my end and took my order, dropping off the shot and beer I asked for without bothering to try to strike up any small talk. Something I greatly appreciated. Turning to look over my shoulder, the place was picking up. I minded my business, focused on the mission at hand, a few shots and beers in and I was feeling pretty damn relaxed finally. Mission almost accomplished.

          A couple hours later, several more shots and beers down and I was in a nice dense fog. The music was pounding through the place as it filled up. It seemed to be right popular by the number of people that had filed in, some dancing, others hanging out in groups.  I had blown off a few invites for convo, dancing or as one girl had suggested whatever I might feel like getting up to, heavy emphasis on the “up”. I had said no, though unusual for me, I still wasn’t feeling up to being sociable in any form.

Two guys had taken over the seats to my left and were seriously invading my personal space which was just pissing me off, not that it would have taken much with my mood. It was the down side to sitting at the bar in a busy joint, people in your space.  Each time the guy next to me felt the need to laugh, he threw his whole body into it like it was a contact sport. About the third time he bumped into me, I gritted my fucking teeth and asked him as nicely as my temper would allow to keep his ass in his own chair and the fuck out of mine.

          Preppy didn’t like my comment too much and I was ready to lose my shit when his elbow banged into my forearm, causing my shot to slosh inside the glass. My temper was shitty to start with, add in a piss poor day and enough bourbon and beer to hydrate an entire football team and I was ready to go zero to 5000 in .05 seconds. Dude was really lucky my shot didn’t spill but that didn’t stop me from turning my entire body towards him, ready to rip him a new ass, tossing back the shot and slamming the glass on the bar before I started to get clear of the stool.

          Before I could stand up and lay into the asshole, a small body crashed into mine, arms snaking around my neck, soft full breasts rubbing against my chest through my t-shirt. I blinked a few times, reached up to unwind the unwanted arms and realized that I knew those dark eyes; knew the coconut lime scent that was stealing into my senses. My tanked brain was trying its hardest to make sense of why Kylee was there but wasn’t connecting the dots. I knew damn well I hadn’t told her where I was at. I hadn’t returned any phones calls; my cell was still in my truck.

          “What the hell are you doing here Kylee?” She didn’t get a chance to answer, I was jostled again and that was it. I was ready to take the dude’s arm off and show him just where it could be shoved; I could make it fit. I’d had efuckingnough of pretty boy, of shit in general and was straight out of any semblance of patience. My body tensed as I prepared to drop an elbow to the dude’s ribs and I was betting on myself to crack at least one of them before it got good and messy; which is what I was aiming for.