Page 18 of My Fixation

My palms are damp against the leather steering wheel, slipping just enough that I have to readjust my grip every few minutes. The tension sitting heavy in my chest and refusing to ease no matter how many times I tell myself to calm down.

I’m driving myself straight into Manny’s world, and I have no control over how this is going to play out. Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. But it doesn’t feel like it. Not when my stomach is tight, not when my thoughts keep circling back to every possible outcome, none of them ending in anything good. I have no idea what they’re going to demand or what this is going to cost me.

There are already three dark-colored sedans sitting in the parking lot when I pull in, all lined up waiting for my arrival. My grip tightens on the wheel as I slow the truck, my eyes tracking over them automatically, cataloging without thinking.

I should turn around. Just throw the truck in reverse, get the hell out of here, and don’t look back. Maybe I should have done that days or even months ago. Maybe I should have packed a bag, driven until the roads ran out, found some off-grid cabin in the middle of nowhere, and just disappeared. Lived out whatever’s left of my life alone and untouched by all of this.

It’s tempting, but it’s not realistic. Because I don’t know how far Manny’s reach goes. Everything I’ve managed to dig up on him points to connections that stretch beyond this city, beyond this state, ties in places I can’t track, people I can’t see. Running might buy me time, but it wouldn’t end it, if he decides I’m worth the effort, he’ll find me.

Resigned to my fate, I get out of my truck and head for the door. I clock the guard at the far end of the building and the one closing in on my left. This is not going to fucking go my way at all.

Opening the door, I pause just inside the threshold, letting it fall shut behind me as I stand there for a moment, giving my eyes time to adjust to the dim, uneven lighting before stepping fully into the space. The warehouse feels different without the crowd. If anything, it’s worse.

I can make out four men standing near the cage in the center of the open floor, their silhouettes sharp against the low light, their attention already angled in my direction like they’ve been expecting me. Waiting. The air is still thick with the lingering smells of blood and sweat. That sickly sweet perfume that clings to everything, even now, even without bodies packed in shoulder to shoulder. It lingers in the back of my throat, familiar and wrong all at once.

My boots scrape lightly against the concrete as I step further inside, every sound carrying more than it should in the empty space. No crowd to hide behind. No noise to get lost in. Just me and whatever is about to happen.

“Finally,” Henry sneers the second I’m close enough, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Glad to see you can actually do as you’re told for a change.”

The urge to put my fist through his throat is immediate and violent. The image of him choking for air flashing through my mind before I can stop it, but I lock it down just as fast, forcing myself to stay still, to give him nothing. No reaction, no satisfaction.

I let my gaze shift past him instead, taking in the other men standing nearby, their attention fixed on me in a way that makes my skin crawl. They’re assessing. Judging, but for what? I can feel it, the weight of it, crawling over me like ants.

“This is him,” Henry says, like I’m a piece of merchandise he’s presenting. One of the men steps slightly closer, his eyes narrowing as he looks me over.

“He looks like a fighter,” he says slowly. “I’ve heard he’s only lost once. That puts the point spread heavily in his favor.” His gaze flicks to Henry. “You sure he can win this one? Think before you answer. I’m putting a lot of money into this.”

Henry doesn’t hesitate.

“He’s an ex-Marine who’s only lost one fight in eight months,” he replies smoothly. “And that loss was his first time. Chalk it up to him being a fight virgin.” His eyes cut to me, a smug smile pulling at his mouth. “Right, Jax?”

I don’t answer. I just stare at him, letting the silence stretch, refusing to play along. What the hell is he getting me into now?

“Okay,” the other man says after a beat, pulling out his phone, “I’ll make the call.”

He steps away, already dialing, leaving the rest of us standing there in the thick, stale air. Henry grabs my arm then, his grip tight and invasive as he drags me a few steps away from the others, forcing me to lean down just to hear him.

“There’s a lot at stake right now,” he says under his breath. “You cost me a lot of money on Friday with that little stunt.” His fingers dig in harder. “Time to pay up.”

“I don’t understand,” I reply, my voice low but steady. “Is this for Friday? Why am I here now?”

He lets out a harsh laugh. “Not Friday, you fucking meathead,” he snaps. “Tonight. Now.” The words hit like a punch. “I’d say you’ve got about an hour before you walk into that cage,” he continues, his expression twisting into something ugly. “When you do, you keep hitting him until I tell you to stop.”

My stomach drops.

“Understand?”

He bares his teeth at me, waiting. I glance around again, my eyes searching for something familiar, for someone who might put a stop to this. The usual guys aren’t here. This is wrong. That guy, Danny, isn’t here. Would he allow this? Does he even know? Fuck.

“Now do whatever it is you do to get ready,” Henry adds, releasing my arm with a shove.

I need to get out of here. Now.

“I need to get my gear from my truck,” I say, already shifting my weight, already preparing to move.

Henry grabs me again before I can take a step, his grip even tighter this time as he snaps his fingers sharply. One of the guards by the door approaches, his expression tight, like he doesn’t like this any more than I do.

“Give him your keys,” Henry orders. “He’ll get your bag.”