Torn - Part Two (The Torn Series) by Ellen Callahan

Prologue
     
    June
     
    The night that I met Alexa Riley was the first night I’d ever had to fight someone I was positive was outside of my weight class. I hoped at the time that it would be my last as well - assuming I survived it.
     
    "I'm not ready." I stared across the ring at the man - nay, the behemoth - I was matched up against and felt my guts sink into my shoes and hide there, quivering like a frightened dog.
     
    The crowd around the ratty, worn ring was small but rowdy. It was a late afternoon Saturday fight in the basement of Lee's Gym out in Woodside - convenient for me, being a longtime Queens resident. Annoying for the less dedicated fans coming in from Brooklyn and the Bronx.
     
    My opponent dragged his finger across his throat and pointed at me. I tried to reply with a defiant glare but I was thinking, You're right, you're probably going to kill me .
     
    I wasn't a small guy, myself. I was over six feet and I worked out every damn day. Not to brag, but I was fucking solid. That guy? Could've been in a freak show.
     
    But this was the risk of these unsanctioned fights. Who the hell knew what broken-ass scale they'd let that beast step on. I'd signed up in the first place looking for a fair match. Maybe even an easy one. One where I could show off, catch a few eyes, a little attention, a little buzz. But my original opponent had backed out at the last minute, and now I'd have to fight this walking steroid.
     
    "You can do it, Mal. Just dance around him until you wear him out."
     
    My best and oldest friend Surly stood at my side. Neither of us had coaches or managers, so we managed and coached each other. His dark eyes assessed the guy and I could tell by the thin line of his mouth that he didn't like what he saw.
     
    He had his arm around his girl, a tall blond who called herself Dee. "You're faster for sure," she said, "Just look at him. I'll bet he can't even turn his head." She had a point. The man did have no neck.
     
    Why Surly was spending so much time and attention on that girl, I didn’t understand. I liked Dee well enough, sure, but Surly made almost as little money as I did, shared a shitty run-down apartment with me and another fighter, and had no "real job" or any intention of finding one. It was only a matter of time before she made it her personal mission in life to change him.
     
    As if guys like us could ever clean up our acts, hold regular jobs with normal hours, be respectable. It was a laughable image. We could never be respectable. We wore too many scars.
     
    The monster across the ring pounded his fists together and I wondered if I’d be able to get out of this without brain damage.
     
    The announcer called my name. With no speakers in that basement, no microphone, he simply bellowed over the noise of the audience. "Michael 'the Mallet' Catone!" Their applause was raucous; they were there for blood and they could smell it on the air. I could smell it, too.
     
    My own.
     
    Everywhere.
     
    "Kill him, Mal!" Dee screamed after me. Surly shouted a few more instructions but it was too late for that.
     
    All my idiot animal instincts told me not to, but I stepped into the center of the ring. What can I say? I never claimed to be a smart man. I’d agreed to the fight and I sure as hell wasn’t about to back out over the risk of little things like “losing” or “permanent physical alterations to my person.” I had a reputation to uphold - I was the mouthy motherfucker with no restraint and no fear.
     
    I had to tilt my damn head up to look into the pair of dark and beady eyes. “I’m gonna bite your ankles like a chihuahua,” I taunted. “Gonna chew you down like a beaver.” He scowled. Chet the Crusher. Last name? Nosebreaker.
     
    This was gonna hurt.
     
    ○●○●○●○●○
     
    I felt a little ill. Surly was helping me walk but I’d momentarily forgotten where I was. I didn’t understand what I was hearing - was it bees? Cheering? A parade of air