Walking Disaster

and Abby’s room, I stripped down and went into the bathroom to wash the sleaze off me.
    “What in the hell happened in there?” Shepley finally asked.
    I could hear their voices murmuring as I stood under the water, recalling the last hour. As scary as it was for Abby to be in such real danger, it felt fucking amazing to unleash on
Benny’s two goons David and Dane. It was like the best drug in existence.
    I wondered if they had come to yet, or if Benny just had them dragged outside and left in the alley.
    A strange calm came over me. Pummeling Benny’s men was an outlet for every bit of anger and frustration that had accumulated over the years, and now I almost felt normal.
    “I’m gonna kill him! I’m going to kill that sorry son of a bitch!” America shouted.
    I shut off the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist.
    “One of the guys I knocked out had a fight tomorrow night,” I said to Shepley. “I’m taking his place and in return Benny will forgive the last five K Mick
owes.”
    America stood up. “This is ridiculous! Why are we helping Mick, Abby? He threw you to the wolves! I’m going to
kill
him!”
    “Not if I kill him first,” I seethed.
    “Get in line,” Abby said.
    Shepley shifted nervously. “So you’re fighting tomorrow?”
    I nodded once. “At a place called Zero’s. Six o’clock. It’s Brock McMann, Shep.”
    Shepley shook his head. “No way. No fucking way, Trav. The guy’s a maniac!”
    “Yeah,” I said, “but he’s not fighting for his girl, is he?” I took Abby in my arms, kissing the top of her hair. She was still trembling. “You okay,
Pigeon?”
    “This is wrong. This is wrong on so many levels. I don’t know which one to talk you out of first.”
    “Did you not see me tonight? I’m going to be fine. I’ve seen Brock fight before. He’s tough, but not unbeatable.”
    “I don’t want you to do this, Trav.”
    “Well, I don’t want you to go to dinner with your ex-boyfriend tomorrow night. I guess we both have to do something unpleasant to save your good-for-nothing father.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Slow Death
    S HEPLEY SAT BESIDE ME ON A BENCH IN A SMALL BUT well-lit room. It was the first time I wouldn’t walk out into a
basement for a staged fight. The audience would consist of the shadow people of Vegas: locals, mobsters, drug dealers, and their arm candy. The crowd outside was a dark army, exponentially louder,
and far more thirsty for blood. I would be surrounded by a cage instead of people.
    “I still don’t think you should do this,” America said from the other side of the room.
    “Not now, baby,” Shepley said. He was helping me wrap tape around my hands.
    “Are you nervous?” she asked, uncharacteristically quiet.
    “No. I’d be better if Pidge was here, though. Have you heard from her?”
    “I’ll text her. She’ll be here.”
    “Did she love him?” I asked, wondering what their dinner conversation consisted of. He was obviously no preacher man now, and I wasn’t sure what he expected in return for his
favor.
    “No,” America said. “She never said so, anyway. They grew up together, Travis. He was the only person she could count on for a long time.”
    I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse. “Did she text you back yet?”
    “Hey,” Shepley said, smacking my cheek. “Hey! You have Brock McMann waiting for you. Your head needs to be in this one hundred percent. Quit being a pussy and focus!”
    I nodded, trying to remember the few times I’d seen Brock fight. He’d been banned from the UFC for sucker punches and a rumor that he’d accosted the UFC president. It had been
a while, but he was a notoriously dirty fighter and pulled blatantly illegal shit just out of sight of the ref. The key would be to not get in that position. If he locked his legs around me, it
could go downhill pretty fast.
    “You’re gonna play this safe, Trav. Let him attack first. Kind of the same way you fought the night you were trying to win your bet with Abby. You’re not fighting some varsity
wrestling reject. This isn’t the Circle, and you’re not trying to create a show for the crowd.”
    “The hell if I’m not.”
    “You’ve gotta win, Travis. You’re fighting for Abby, don’t forget that.”
    I nodded. Shepley was right. If I lost, Benny wouldn’t get his money, and Abby would still be in danger.
    A tall, large man in a suit and greasy hair walked in. “You’re up. Your trainer can join you on the