Walking Disaster

numerous times.
    The once white tape around my knuckles was now crimson, but I felt no pain, only the sheer pleasure of unleashing every negative emotion that had weighed me down for so long. I remembered how
relaxing it felt to beat the hell out of Benny’s men. Win or lose, I looked forward to what kind of person I would be after this fight.
    The referee, Shepley, and Brock’s trainer surrounded me, pulling me off of my opponent.
    “Bell, Travis! Stop!” Shepley said.
    Shepley dragged me to one corner, and Brock was pulled to the other. I turned to look at Abby. She was wringing her hands together, but her wide smile told me she was okay. I winked at her, and
she blew me a kiss. The gesture reenergized me, and I returned to the middle of the cage with renewed determination.
    Once the bell rang, I attacked again, this time taking more care to dodge just as many times as I threw a punch. Once or twice, Brock wrapped his arms around me, breathing hard, and tried to
bite me or knee me in the balls. I’d just push him off and hit him harder.
    In the third round, Brock stumbled, swung or kicked and missed. He was running out of steam fast. Feeling winded myself, I was taking more breaks between swings. The adrenaline that had once
surged through my body felt tapped out, and my head was beginning to pound.
    Brock landed a punch, and then another. I blocked a third, and then, ready for it to end, went in for the kill. With my remaining strength, I dodged Brock’s knee and then swung around,
planting my elbow straight into his nose. His head flew back, looking straight upward, he took a few steps, and then fell to the ground.
    The noise from the crowd was deafening, but I could only hear one voice.
    “Oh my God! Yes! Yay, baby!” Abby screamed.
    The referee checked Brock, and then walked over to me, lifting my hand. Shepley, America, and Abby were all let into the cage, and they swarmed me. I picked up Abby and planted my lips on
hers.
    “You did it,” she said, cupping my face in her hands.
    The celebration was cut short when Benny and a fresh batch of bodyguards entered the cage. I set Abby on her feet, and took a defensive stance in front of her.
    Benny was all smiles. “Well done, Maddox. You saved the day. If you have a minute, I’d like to talk to you.”
    I looked back at Abby, who grabbed my hand. “It’s okay. I’ll meet you at that door,” I said, nodding to the closest door, “in ten minutes.”
    “Ten?” she asked with worry in her eyes.
    “Ten,” I said, kissing her forehead. I looked to Shepley. “Keep an eye on the girls.”
    “I think maybe I should go with you.”
    I leaned into Shepley’s ear. “If they want to kill us, Shepley, there’s not much we can do about it. I think Benny has something else in mind.” I leaned back and slapped
his arm. “I’ll see you in ten.”
    “Not eleven. Not fifteen. Ten,” Shepley said, pulling a reluctant Abby away.
    I followed Benny to the same room I had waited in before the fight. To my surprise, he made his men wait outside.
    He held out his hands, gesturing to the room. “I thought this would be better. So you could see that I’m not always this . . . bad man that maybe I’m made out to be.”
    His body language and tone were relaxed, but I kept my ears and eyes open for any surprises.
    Benny smiled. “I have a proposition for you, son.”
    “I’m not your son.”
    “True,” he conceded. “But after I offer you a hundred and fifty grand a fight, I think you might want to be.”
    “What fights?” I asked. I figured he would try to say that Abby still owed him. I had no clue he’d try to offer me a job.
    “You are obviously a very vicious, very talented young man. You belong in that cage. I can make that happen . . . and I can also make you a very rich man.”
    “I’m listening.”
    Benny grinned wider. “I’ll schedule one fight a month.”
    “I’m still in college.”
    He shrugged. “We’ll schedule around it. I’ll fly you out, and Abby if you wish, first class, on weekends, if that’s what you want. Making money like this, though, you
might want to put a hold on the college education.”
    “Six figures a fight?” I did the math, trying not to let my surprise show. “To fight and what else?”
    “That’s it, kid. Just fight. Make me money.”
    “Just fight . . . and I can quit when I want.”
    He smiled. “Well, sure, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon. You love it. I saw you. You were