Caged: Cellar Door Series (5 page)

Another forkful of Kylee’s salad was stabbed and shoved in her mouth like she was barricading her words. She chewed violently, like the salad had offended her before she swallowed. Low and behold I was saved again by the waitress as the rest of the food arrived. I dug into my cheese steak like I hadn’t eaten in days.

Honestly I hadn’t had something this unhealthy for me in ages. I drink to excess, oh yeah me and the alcohol gods had a long standing arrangement. I drank from them and they provided me the shelter I sought. But food, I actually ate fairly damn decent, a fact Matt loved to point out and laugh at. Still, I had to fuel my body in the right way to keep it primed for the attempted beatings my fights could bring.

I was just savoring my first large bite full of greasy goodness, the cheese stringing out in a line as I pulled the sub back to set it down, my jaws working overtime to chew up the big bite so I could stuff another in when Kylee found her words.

“Sometimes I hate you so much it hurts JD.” Sadness radiated from her and that was it. That was her only comment before she resumed radio silence again, her eyes finding any focus but mine and it was like a rusty blade had been stabbed into my chest.

Of all the things I expected Kylee to say to me, many insults had been considered. I’d never expected that from her and it slayed me.

With a disgusted sigh, she tossed her fork to the table and rose from the booth, reached into her purse pulling out her wallet and removed several bills; slamming them on the table. “Sorry I bothered you.” Before I could get my shit together, my head still reeling at the words she tossed at me, she left the restaurant.

I sat there too stunned to move much less finish my sub. My heart said I needed to go after her but my body stayed still as if it knew it was the best thing. At least it was still loyal to me because that fucked up beating organ in my chest definitely was not, it never had been.

I was wrecked. I kept up the same front I always had, calm, cool, angry, indifferent, and acerbic as hell; a demon training, worse than a demon would be getting in the cage. Yeah I was doing real well keeping up the I’m just the fuck fine so stay out of my fucking way or I will come down on you like a wrecking ball at a demolition site. It was no wonder Matt was sitting across the living room on the couch casting wary glances at me.

Two weeks and not a single word. I had scoured Bristow and had yet to run across Kylee. I had drawn a line in the proverbial sand about hitting up her parents house. I’d disappointed her parents enough after dropping out of college, having to admit to pissing off their daughter too was something I was willing to pass on. I had covered every other spot her feet might grace and nothing. Not a chance seeing, not a whisper of her being around and I was feeling like a douche stalker.

Matt stretched out on the sofa, his head twisting towards me. “Just call her man.”

I was tempted to throw the glass of bourbon I was holding in my hand at Matt’s head but I really needed the burn that glass would offer and his ass at my side for the fight. The bourbon was the only one I allowed myself before a fight and I wasn’t gonna waste it on Matt just because he was plucking my last nerve. It was barely a damn shot and more of a superstition than anything else. The little amount in the glass wasn’t going to do a damn thing for me but I’d been doing it since I’d been fighting at Cellar Door and I’d been winning. Even if I didn’t believe in fate, there was no sense in chancing it.

“Fuck off.” It had been my credo of late. Didn’t matter the comment or question, fuck off was the answer. What the hell had happened to me? Oh yeah that’s right…that dark haired, dark eyed nymph of a woman name Kylee Grace had come back home and handed my ass to me on a platter and shoved a hot iron through my chest while doing it. Worse….she hadn’t even warmed up yet. Yeah shit was just fine.

Matt jerked his head around at me, and scowled. “You know what, Kylee’s right. You’re an ass hole. Fuck you JD.”

“Been called worse by better. Find a new line.” I was too pissed to care what Matt thought. Was so far behind the walls I could build to give two shits what anyone else was caring about. All I wanted to do was fight. And straight fucking A I was getting ready for one finally. Tonight was going to be epic. Friday night fights, fucking loved them. I had so much energy flowing through me I thought I was going to explode.

Rising to my feet slowly, holding all the extra energy I felt burning through me tight into myself, I walked from the living room back to my bedroom. Once I got the door shut, I ripped my shirt up over my head, tossing it to a corner before unbuttoning my jeans and pushing them down over my thighs. I stepped out of them and kicked them to the same corner the shirt had ended up in, both landing in front of the hamper. I reached in my drawer and grabbed a pair of Under Armour boxer briefs and my fight shorts. Beyond that, I didn’t go to a fight with anything else but tapped knuckles. Bare fucking minimum. No flourishes and shit for me and quite frankly, mouth pieces were for pussies but we were required to wear them so that would be added right before I entered the cage.

My shorts weren’t extra long with shit on them like some fighters liked to wear.  My opponents didn’t need anything else to grab on to. Slipping a pair of sweats over my fight shorts, the elastic band snapped at my waist as I released the fabric and bent over to grab my hoodie off my bed. I pulled the cotton blend over me, the fabric bagging over my torso and pulled the hood up, all black, just like my mood. Shouldering my gym bag, I walked back towards the living room not sparing Matt a glance before I passed through our front door and got in my truck. It was fight night. Time to get serious. He would meet me there. He always did.

Parking my truck around back at Cellar Door, I slammed the door shut, my gym bag over my shoulder and moved towards the doors I’d been so damn in need of passing between two weeks ago. My head got stuck, but my body kept moving. Two weeks ago I’d been in the main club area having a drink when Kylee had showed up. Two weeks later I was where I wanted to be and pissed because of it. If I believed in it, I’d swear karma was at work. Good thing I believed in skill, not that fate driven bitch that seemed to fuck shit up.

I didn’t have to pull ID; the doors were pulled open for me by the bouncers, club regular employee’s that had been working the basement for as long as I’d been fighting down there, likely even longer. I tossed a nod to them and took a sharp right, another set of door’s opening. This set only the fighters and their crew got to enter. A chin tip towards the dudes watching those doors and I was off striding down the hall that would take me to the locker room I’d use to warm up in. Each fighter on the card had one. The basement was better built than the club floors upstairs but most folks would never know it. The real cash was made down here. Go figure, my cash flow was funded from the bottom of a pit. Yup….so my fucking scene.

I was pulling my hoodie off when the door to my room opened and shut. My back was to it but I didn’t tense. Not just anybody could get back to these rooms and I knew exactly who was at my back. It wasn’t somebody that would put a knife in it. Matthew Layne had been in my life as long as Kylee had and probably had put up with the worst in me. I tried to unload him of that burden but he just refused to be cast off. Matt had stuck around with me even on my darkest days. Fucker was a glutton for punishment. Had to be.

He didn’t speak, just grabbed the roll of tape from my bag and moved around in front of me. I automatically laid out one arm, spread my fingers apart so he could begin running the tape around my hand, my wrist, through my knuckles and start all over again until my hand was done up right.  Switching, I pulled my right arm to my side and slid out my left, letting him repeat the process on that hand. He didn’t speak, I didn’t apologize. It was fight time, I was in my zone and Matt had as much cash on the line as I did. He wasn’t about to fuck with my mojo but I knew he wasn’t done. Matt wasn’t a push over. He’d have his say but it would be on his terms, now wasn’t the time.

I locked my fingers together; flexing them against one another after Matt tore off the tape and patted the loose end down making sure it was tight. I was packing the tape down between my fingers so I would have maximum movement and grip with my hands. The fights held at the Cellar were a combination of ground game, punching, kicking, general MMA style and I excelled in it. Not that I was perfect but beyond good was a fitting description. My ground game I was still developing. It was something I would probably work on my entire life or at least as long as my body held up enough to allow me too. What most the fighters that showed didn’t do was actually study. I not only worked on keeping my body fit but I trained quietly, honing each art to develop a game that would hopefully get me the hell out of a basement and into something legit someday. That day needed to get some gasoline in its ass. I wasn’t getting any younger.

Bouncing on my toes, I shadow boxed, warming up my arms for the fight ahead, my ear buds shoved in and my music up loud enough it drowned out everything else. Matt’s hand landed on my shoulder. The signal that it was time. I left the ear buds in, always did, refusing to take them out until I was at the steps that would lead me into the cage and put my hoodie back on before heading out the door.

Matt walked beside me, blocking wayward fans that reached out to try to put their hands on me. That was my boy. Good, bad or ugly, he’d always be there. It’s also why he was one of the few that could give me a dose of shit on a shingle when my head was fucked up and I’d swallow it. Hell on a rare occasion I’d even taken his advice. Trust me; he was as shocked as I was when I did.

Stopping at the steps that led into the cage, I jerked the buds from my ears, a new set of loud noises streamed in; filling the spot my music had vacated. I shoved my mouth piece in, chewing down on it to get it settled just right. The basement was fueled tonight, the crowd in a blood lust for the fights. Spotting Stacy; one of the female contenders who was sporting a wicked shiner and a shit eating grin; I tipped my chin at her in congratulations. She’d apparently won her bout. Good on her. Chick was fierce and I respected her for it. Plus that chick had self respect, most the female fighters did. She never tried to fool around with the male fighters, would put any of us down if we’d made a move on her. She’d long ago defined her reason for being at Cellar Door......to fight. Completely understood the female’s mentality.

Passing Matt my iPod, I ripped my hoodie over my head, cranked my neck side to side and mounted the steps while shaking my arms out. Centering up to the ring, I barely paid my opponent any attention. He wasn’t from around here, I’d never seen him before but that wasn’t going to stop the fact he would be going down in a quickness. The Ref called us to center, gave the brief list of rules and told us to tap knuckles. We barely grazed tape before it was on.

The kid was fast on his feet but his striking was for shit. Sloppy at best. Whatever had gotten him this far, to get him on a card with me was sorely lacking from what I was seeing. I jabbed out my right, slapping at his face, playing with him like prey. We circled and I bounced back as he shot for a takedown, his arms outstretched while he dove to try to gather my legs. He got one wrapped up but not quick enough. I hit the cage floor on my back pulling his weight with me and maneuvered into an arm bar set up. The kid was startled and in that moment of hesitancy I struck. Pulling his grip apart, I rolled so that one leg was over his neck, the other over his chest, his arm tucked in  between both legs and I laid back. The Ref was there in a hurry, standing close enough to watch for the tap but far enough back to let us move. Laying my shoulders all the way to the mat, I bumped my hips up and could feel the tension along my opponent's outstretched arm. If he pushed me, I would break the fucking thing. He didn’t. His taped hand hit my calf, tapping three times hurriedly. The Ref pulled him from me as I stood, the kid holding onto his elbow where I’d put all the pressure. His head hung down. Poor fucker hadn’t seen what was coming. His game needed work. The crowd was cheering as my arm was raised, winner by submission.

Making my way to the cage door to exit and head back to my room to wait for the next of the three fights I had scheduled, Matt pulled it open, his face pale. I had to shout to be heard. “What the fuck gives? I catch a win and you look like I just kicked your dog.” Matt shook his head, handing me my iPod and started the walk back towards my room. Shrugging, I followed.

I shoved the door shut behind me once we entered the room and squared off with my boy. “What the fuck gives bro?”

“Nothing man. You did good.” Matt wasn’t meeting my eyes. Something had gone down while I was in the cage and he wasn’t letting me in on it. Shit.

“Just get in your zone. You got two fights left.” I went and sat in the metal chair in the corner, shoved my ear buds in and pumped my music back into my head, pushing out everything else that could distract me, even Matt.

The hand signal came after a while, I got up, stretched my arms up over my head and nodded to Matt, making my way back out to the cage, the one place I could be me. The cage understood me, welcomed me into its metal walls, cocooning me and allowed the rage that simmered deep in my soul free. There was no other feeling like it.

Another fist tap and the next fight began. This guy was taller than me and had a good arm reach on him. He managed to land a few blows with his fists and a few kicks before we hit the floor and ground and pound was on. I could have taken him on my feet with nothing but striking but I was trying to round out my game and I needed to improve in my grappling. This guy did not like the ground. He managed to get back to his feet, me gaining mine almost simultaneously and then it was a full on street brawl. He caught my cheek with a nasty right and I knew blood was mixing with sweat. I felt the liquid seeping down my face before everything went red. The next thing I knew, I was being pulled back, Matt was in the cage, his hands on my chest backing me up as he screamed in my face.

“JD! Fuck bro. Get it together.” The red haze faded back as I came back to myself and looked around. The Ref came over and hesitantly raised my arm, announcing that I was winner by TKO. I spared a glance across the ring and saw my opponent’s battered and bloody face.

“Shit.” I couldn’t recall what punches I’d thrown, no wonder the Ref looked like he wanted to run. Hammer fist, jab, uppercut, it was a blur, much like the guys face. Matt spun me around and shoved me out of the cage door.

Back in my locker room, I had both arms up, bent at the elbows up, my fingers laced at the back of my head as I paced a circle.

“You mind telling me what the hell just happened JD? You could have killed him.”

         “I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. He hit my face and that’s all I remember.” My arms slammed down to my sides, my fingers clenching into fists.

“Alright bro. Calm down. I was just asking.” Matt thrust a room temperature water bottle at me, uncapping it first. I downed it in seconds, the sides of the bottle collapsing noisily as I drained it before finding my chair. This wasn’t the first time I’d lost my shit in the cage. At Cellar Door, it was almost expected but if I ever wanted to be legit, I couldn’t go in a pro fight and lose it like that.

“Sorry Matt. I really…shit I don’t know what set me off. Just felt the blood running down my face and it was like someone pulled a trigger. I just snapped.” Matt came over and clasped his hand on my shoulder briefly and then took the empty water bottle from me.