BETWEEN LOVE AND LOYALTY

“A hundred on Jace Wilder!” “Here's mine, two hundred on Jace!” Jace Wilder sat in a corner of the ring, his eyes fully focused on his much bigger opponent that sat across the ring on a stool, unsmiling and unflinching. Any other fighter would've been happy to hear people placing bets on him and backing him to win despite the contrast in size and sheer strength between him and his opponent, but Jace Wilder was not. To him, it was work. He had to show up three nights every week, and treat the rich men and women in suits to an entertaining brawl with skin flying and blood splattering. It made them happy, it entertained them. But to Jace, it was simply work. Sometimes, all he wanted to do was get over with it and return home to his mother and his little brother, Ian. What other choice did he have? “Here's a grand on Jace Wilder. That man will beat even good ol’ Mike Tyson on his good day. Have you seen him fight, Clark? Iron fists of steel, I tell ya. A chin practically made out of a rock. I've come to this place a good number of times, and I've never seen him knocked out. He's one of a kind, I'm telling ya.” The man who was talking, a grey-haired man in an expensive-looking Italian suit, raised his flute filled with champagne in Jace’s direction. Jace Wilder smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. He did what he did because he had a family to support. After his father had bailed out on them a few years ago, it was left for him to step up to the startling role of an elder brother and an anchor to hold his mother and his brother, who were beginning to fall apart. They were the reason he was on the streets, taking blows and punches from men he didn't know prior, and having to ignore the fact that he always went home with a black eye. As long as he was getting paid, Jace Wilder muttered to himself, spitting into a bucket presented to him by his best friend and coach, Fletcher McGee. “How are we feeling today, champ?” Jace Wilder sneered. “Come on, don't call me that, we have already gone through this.” Fletcher grinned, and his eyes crinkled in the process. His freckles were his standout feature, and apart from that, he was a typical blue-eyed American on a normal day. Jace had gone to high school with Fletcher, and after they graduated, they had walked the path and struggled to find their purpose, as both of their families weren't buoyant enough to see them through college. A few months later after working odd jobs, selling drugs on the streets and even robbing a*****e, Jace Wilder had his first street fight. He won to the surprise of many, defeating the current champion, Bill “the killer” Michigan. Since then, the two friends had never looked back. “Don't call you that? You're too humble, man. You've been undefeated in fifty fights, man. Fifty. You've never been knocked out. How dare you tell me not to call you a champ? You're more than that, and you know it.” Jace Wilder smiled. Fletcher would always be Fletcher. Upbeat, always ready to smile and throw in a joke, there was never a dull moment around him. “Okay man, you can continue with the name-calling, I'm here to do my job and get out of here. It's hot as hell in here.” In reply to his complaint, his best friend massaged his neck with a towel that had been dipped in cold water. It gave him temporary relief from the heat in the sweltering heat of the old warehouse that also served as the ring. The bell rang, and Randy, the beer-belied emcee, who was in charge of announcements, climbed into the ring, holding a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, you know what time it is!” The cheer around the ring told Jace that the warehouse was more full than usual. No wonder it seemed to be so hot. “We all want that action, and we're going to get it! Skipping all protocols, we have the challenger in the red corner, Stephan” Brick” Ford, all the way from Greenwich, who has never lost a fight, and always has his rage bar filled. He is a wrecking ball!” Another cheer, and Jace stood, while Fletcher snatched the stool he had been sitting on from under him. Jace Wilder clenched his fists, his lips in a straight line. He never felt nervous before a fight. He was simply doing his job. Getting his paycheck, going home to his brother and his mother. Making sure they were provided for. “And in the blue corner, we have our champion. A man who needs no introduction, a man who has been undefeated in fifty fights, the champion, a man who your favorite doesn't want to cross, Jace Wilder!” The cheer was deafening. Jace raised his hands as was the custom, even though his eyes were on his opponent. “And ladies and gentlemen, this is the moment you've all been waiting for. Two legends, both undefeated, ready to lay it on the line right now. One winner, no excuses. Are you ready? Let's get this party started!” The cheers around the ring seemed to remind Jace Wilder that a lot of people had placed a lot of bets on him. The cheer was so loud that Jace didn't even hear the bell ring. He got out of the way just as his opponent charged at him, arms swinging, fists clenched. Stephan, just like his name implied, was a tough nut to crack, a brick, in fact. He moved quicker than a man his size was supposed to move, and the punches and jabs that would've brought any other man to his knees seemed to bounce off him, as he appeared to grow stronger with each blow that was supposed to make him retreat. Jace Wilder planted his feet firmly in the ring, acknowledging that he was in for a long ride.