Chains by Kelli Maine Read Free Book Online Page A

the shiv, considering. I didn’t fight this way, but chances were Rex would. If the cops busted us, that was bad enough, but having a weapon taped to my hand was a whole new level of charges I’d face.
    “No thanks,” I said, handing the sharpened metal back.
    “You want to live, you’ll take it,” he said, shoving it back into my hand. “You want to walk out of this with the girl—tape it to your hand.”
    Fuck.
    “You can be sure he’s got one,” the dealer said, eyeing Rollo across the courtyard. “All you’re doing is evening the playing field.”
    Bass from car stereos throbbed, and spotlights shined down from the wall where they’d been rigged. Motorcycles rumbled as more spectators showed up. This was a fucking fiasco. “Come around here and tape up,” Dealer said, ushering me into a falling down carport on the far side of the apartment building.
    Bottles of booze and pipes were being passed around along with money being bet on the outcome of the fight. Things were getting out-of-hand fast. The air pulsed with the ripe, raw sense of chaos. It hung thick around my neck, like a noose. The frenzied crowd was greedy for the spill of blood, and I’d do everything I could to make sure it wasn’t mine.
    Under the carport, I leaned against the wall of the building and tore off a piece of tape. I debated using the shiv, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wouldn’t use it offensively, but I would keep it on me to defend myself if it came to it. Lifting up the side of my shorts, I taped it to my outer thigh.
    I wore no gloves for this fight, but wrapped my wrists and knuckles with gauze strips, then tape, flexing my fingers and squeezing my hands into fists. I had a routine that couldn’t be broken. Fighting was as much, if not more, mental as it was physical. I couldn’t let the place or situation throw me off tonight. More than ever, I needed to be one hundred percent present in the ring—in the courtyard—and not let my mind wander.
    The music got louder and the crowd started cheering. “What’s going on?” I asked, but before the dealer answered me I heard dogs barking and growling and knew. Before the main event, they were fighting dogs.
    “Are you fucking serious?” I said, slamming my fist into my palm. “Dog fights? What kind of sick bastard are you?”
    “Listen,” he said, stepping back with his hands held up in front of his chest trying to ward me off. “None of this was my idea. I told you, I need to double up and win the money or I’m fucking dead where I stand. Rollo’s promoter can fight fucking llamas for all I care as long as it pays out.”
    “You owe for drugs, don’t you?” I asked. I knew this level of panic and desperation. Drug dealers didn’t fuck around. I did a job for one once, but my limit was beating someone with my fists. When it came to busting heads with bricks or taking out knees with a pistol, I was out.
    “Yeah, man. I’m in deep. You gotta win tonight.”
    A man with an urban accent started talking into a bullhorn. “Get back. Stand your asses back. We got Achilles, the pit that put Bulldozer down last week, against Eight Ball.”
    I glanced out of the carport, around the corner into the courtyard. The crowd was rowdy and loud as fuck. Two guys stood inside a ring made of orange snow fencing holding on to choke chains. Their dogs were both pit bulls and to say they looked menacing was an understatement. Those dogs could tear an armored truck apart. Both stood on back legs, pulling against their chains, salivating, ears back, growling and gnashing their teeth. When they got loose and clashed together… I didn’t even want to think about it. It made me ill.
    I paced farther back into the carport and faced the side of the building, pressing my palms against the brick and closing my eyes. I should’ve brought headphones. There was no way to focus and concentrate on my upcoming fight when all I could hear were barks, snarls and whines of pain coming