Blackness Within (32 page)

“Wanna hit Brogan’s?” Kieran asks.

Ian Brogan runs one of the oldest gyms in Chicago that holds illegal bare-knuckle fights. I’ve spent a lot of time within those cracked walls and I’m excited to get back to it. Kieran’s crew is run out of the building right next to Brogan’s so it makes sense to head there. I’m ready.

“Let’s roll,” I say, climbing to my feet.

“We’ll head over later,” Cal says stretching out on the couch for a nap.

“Later. We’re out, Kav!” I bellow, shrugging on my hoodie.

“Keep it soggy!” he bellows back.

Kieran and I plod down the stairs, chuckling at my ever-entertaining friend and go straight into the garage. I’ll see Quinn and the kids later, I’m sure. Now’s not the time, I can already feel the fighter’s focus swathing me.

We ride in silence, other than the thumping of Five Finger Death Punch, all the way to the old meatpacking district.

Exiting Kieran’s Camaro, I take a deep breath in through my nose. The air smells different even on the sidewalk. As we cross the threshold of Brogan’s, the fragrance of sweat, blood, mats and probably mold comfort me. A few fighters are already warming up around the space, but I single out the old man in the main ring in the center of the gym.

Ian Brogan is a seventy-one-year-old man that could annihilate any opponent. Not back in the day.

Today.

Today, Ian could best anyone in front of him. He made Kieran the fighter he became and made sure Kieran didn’t let me follow in his footsteps. He’s a good man. Scary, but good.

His wrinkled face pops up at my approach and I see a glimmer of pride skirt his hardened features. Ian’s mostly baldhead and perma-scowl make him ready-made for a movie about fighters and the trainer that made them what they are. He’s a badass motherfucker.

Ian moves away from Owen Doyle, a mountainous fighter, and climbs with ease from the ring. I catch Owen’s light brown eyes and offer him a chin lift, getting the same in return. Owen is Kieran’s left hand and his brother Connor is Kieran’s right. They’re giant, intimidating, never-beaten fighters. With them at my cousin’s side, I never fear for his life.

“Brian,” Ian greets in his rough gravelly voice before pulling me in for a harsh back slap.

“Ian,” I respond respectfully.

He steps back and peruses me from head to toe. No doubt amassing a list of shortcomings I have. Once he’s finished, he orders, “You beat this motherfucker’s ass or I’m kickin’ yours.”

“All right,” I agree with a grin.

He doesn’t grin back. Not a surprise.

“Get in there with Owen until Alex shows up,” he barks.

I drag my hoodie over my head and slip off my sweats, leaving me in a pair of shorts and a tank. I peel the tank over my head before Ian starts wrapping my hands. When he’s done, he slaps my tattooed shoulders and lifts his head toward my sparring partner.

“Hey, man,” I greet Owen as he jumps in the middle of the ring keeping warm.

“O’Sullivan,” he grunts.

“Quit kissin’ and get workin’!” Ian shouts.

Owen and I both smirk and then do as we’re told.

We go a few rounds pulling punches and moving each other around. While I spent years boxing and training to be a technique-driven fighter, the ease of slipping back into a bare-knuckle fighter is simple. I prefer this style of fighting and even though I was undefeated as a boxer, I’m a better brawler.

Owen brushes me back with a quick fist opening his jaw and I land a quicker cross, snapping his head to the side. I immediately drop my hands and move to apologize when Owen spits a mouthful of blood to the canvas and smiles at me.

“Nice,” he compliments.

I shake my head at him as a broad grin sweeps across my face. A kid jumps in the ring and quickly cleans up the mess just as Alex Vetrov powers into the gym. He’s a commanding presence as he moves. I’ve spent a life around fighters and criminals, but even I’m impressed with him.

There’s an air of confidence about him as he approaches Kieran. He’s proud to be associated with my cousin and my cousin is proud to have Alex in the fold. A little Russian blood in our Irish family is a good thing.

Owen and I hop down from the ring and join Kieran and Alex. Ian barks at a few fighters before sliding up to me. He slaps my tattooed sweaty shoulders before telling me, “You’re slow with your left. Relax and let that shit come outta you.”

I nod my understanding.

He slaps me again.

A relaxed fighter is a faster fighter. I know this. I’m not fucking relaxed so I’ll have to force that later tonight.

“Alex,” I say, extending my fist for a bump.

“O’Sullivan,” he responds kindly.

Alex is an inch or so taller than me and wider in the shoulders. He looks like Dolph Lundgren and he’s a better fighter. He’s been in the UFC for about eight months and is undefeated. I don’t see anyone challenging him. He’s twenty-two and on a mission to be the best so he make Kieran’s risk on him worth every life lost.

Kieran doesn’t hold Alex to that standard, but Alex does. My cousin wiped out a large portion of the Russian mob in Chicago when Alex needed some help getting free from them. Years ago, Alex saved Jack’s life and Kieran repaid the favor. Kieran considers them square and Alex feels eternally indebted. I like Alex.

“He’s got a wicked right,” Owen warns Alex before leaving the group with a two-finger wave.

“Let’s work on the slow left,” Alex suggests.

“Don’t fuck up his pretty face,” Kieran jokes.

“I’ll try not to,” I snark, knowing he was talking to Alex and not me.

Kieran chuckles and lets Alex and I get to it.

When Alex climbs in the ring, it feels different. I’m not with a sparring partner. Not that Owen’s any less of a fighter than Alex is, but he approaches it differently. Alex comes at me with a plan. Owen came at me with intent.

Alex forces me to use my left as he moves me around the ring, frustrating me. As he dictates my movement, I feel myself relaxing into my stance. My feet gain stability under me and my fists pull tighter. I’m no longer concentrating on my power and placement, instead letting my natural reactions come to the surface.

Quickly, I’m no longer being moved around. I’m pushing Alex where I want him. He’s on the defense and I’m gaining ground. I pull a few body blows before Alex takes a wide swing at my head. As I duck to avoid the contact, I strike out with my left and land a punishing blow to Alex’s chest. He stumbles back and lands on his ass with a decided thud.

“That’s it!” Ian announces from the corner. “Brian, that’s how you use your fuckin’ left!”

I help Alex up off the canvas with a cocky grin on my lips. Alex grins back before dragging me to the mat and pinning me in a chokehold. I tap quickly and bark out a laugh when he lets me go.

“Touché,” I say as he drags me up to my feet.

“Nice hit,” he retorts through a wide grin.

“You two go cool down. That’s enough for the day,” Ian instructs.

We go about cooling down together. I could get used to this life. I’m an attorney and I love the life I have in Kansas City, but the blackness within me craves a life like this. I’ll never have it, so I’ll cherish the glimpse I’m getting right now. When I go back to my normal life, I’ll feel like I’ve fed on a rare delicacy that world has yet to discover.

Fortunate.

O’Sullivan

I spent the rest of the day napping and eating. I was alone for most of the time. I prefer it that way. I need the space to clear my head before I fight. Kieran put me up in his headquarters, The Castle, in one of the studio apartments he has for his crew to use as needed.

I came down to warm up about an hour and half ago. Now I’m sweating and prepared to rip Giovanni Trevino to shreds. He doesn’t know what’s coming.

I move out of the locker room with my head bowed, hoodie pulled low. The crowd is thunderous as I make my way to the ring in the center of The Castle. The ring is simple canvas raised off the floor three feet with ropes around it. Nothing special. Just a good place to spill blood.

The room is electric with activity. People betting and arguing, sizing me up as I move through the crowd. I’m the last fight of the night, following nine others. I’m the grand finale.

My brothers are at my back, Kieran leading the way. I hear Cal and Kav screaming for me ringside as I peel out of my hoodie and climb in the ring. I’m completely focused on my opponent on the other side of the canvas.

He’s meatier than I am. Other than that, we’re evenly matched in height and wing span. His classically Italian features are masked in ominous promises that he won’t be fulfilling tonight. I won’t be beaten and he’s certain I’m easy pickings.

This is a bare-knuckle fight. No referee. No holds barred. We fight until one of us can’t anymore. At the end of five rounds if we’re both still standing, we keep going until someone isn’t. I’m not counting on that being a problem.

I meet Trevino in the middle of the ring and we touch fists. I hear a faint
ding
and everything else fades to the background. The roar of the two hundred fifty plus crowd is nothing more than a murmur. The bright lights above us dim to a soft glow, only illuminating the ring. The sweat dripping from my brow cools my face. Trevino’s movements toward me feel slow and sluggish, easy to read.

He fakes left and swings too hard with his right, trying to end the fight before it begins. I shuffle away and shake my head no at him with a cocky grin on my lips. He tips his head to the side before launching at me again. I’m faster.

I unleash a torrent of body blows, pushing him all the way to the ropes before I step back to let him catch his breath. Now he knows I’m serious. He springs forward and catches my ribs with a sturdy right cross trying to combine it with a left that I block with my forearm. That’s the only hit he’s getting.

Bare-knuckle fighting is about body shots. I’m not here for a typical fight. I want a brawl. I need the blood not the pounding of ribs.

I catch his chin with a right hook and a quick uppercut. My knuckles burn from the contact and Trevino stumbles back, stunned.

I see the realization on his face that I’m not going to be the fight he thought and he swings wildly catching my jaw. It hurts and feels amazing at the same time.

We spend the rest of the round trading blows, trying with all our might to bring the other down. My knuckles are split along with the bridge of my nose. Trevino’s spilling blood above his brow as the bell dings again signaling the end of the minute and a half round.

“That feel good?” Ian grumbles as he tends to my nose.

I don’t respond. I do feel good. I feel better than I have in months. I’m a sick fuck.

“Get this shit over with!” he screams in my face.

I nod and climb to my feet. Kieran grabs my shoulder and shakes his head no at me. He knows I’m fucking around and he’s done with it. I won’t disrespect him in his place of business. I’ll end it this round.

Trevino and I circle each other a few times, getting our legs under us. His cut is bothering him and his corner didn’t get the bleed stopped very well. He’s at a disadvantage and I pounce on it.

I fake left, land my right across his jaw and then level him with my left. His nose crumbles beneath my knuckles and sprays me with blood as his eyes roll back in his head and he falls stiffly to the canvas.

The crowd hoots and screams as I head back to my corner. Trevino’s out and his people are trying to wake him back up. I don’t panic. He’s not dead, but his head’s going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow. After some smelling salt, Trevino comes to.

Kieran drags me to the middle of the ring and raises my hand above my head as Trevino is mostly carried from the ring. That feels good. It feels better than it should. I feel a fire in my chest raging ferociously. I’m beaming a Cheshire grin at my brothers when a familiar face comes into view.

I go stiff and pause my movement, drawing Kieran’s attention to where I’m looking. His body goes rigid next to mine before he moves with determination.

I follow with fury.

“The fuck are you doin’ here?” Kieran growls at Roman Vojtech.

“I came to watch the fight,” he replies dismissively.

“Last time I saw you, there was a fuckin’ gun in my face. That’s not the case this time,” Kieran says in a menacing tone.

I can feel other people at my back, I know my brothers, Kav, Cal, Alex, Ian, and the rest of Kieran’s crew are assembling for a war.

“I need to have a discussion with your fighter,” Vojtech says coolly, unaffected by the threat surrounding him.

I begin to scan the room and recognize a few of his men in the crowd. He’s not alone and he’s not intimidated by my cousin or his crew. That’s a mistake.

“That so?” Kieran snarks.

“What do you want?” I snarl, rounding my cousin to place myself inches from the fucker that has my woman. She’s not here. I’d feel it if she were in the room with me.

“I understand you have a connection to Natasha. I’m here to let you know that connection no longer exists. She’s mine. Do not come for her again,” he says with threat lacing his voice.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding right? You kidnap a woman twice and you think that means you run shit. I’ll get her away from you, motherfucker. She’s not yours,” I growl, leaning in his face.