Chapter 8
468 Words
We step into the room. Heads turn.
“Don’t look at them,” I say, already moving.
Rafe’s in the middle. Bouncing. Split lip, not fresh.
I leave Joney with his coach. Grab the lockbox.
“Alright.”
Loud enough that the room turns.
“Bets are open.”
It explodes. Voices over voices. Cash moving. Hands everywhere. I don’t rush. I take it all.
“Rafe. Choked a man out a few months ago. Still here. Still fighting.”
Noise.
“Joney. Ex navy. Kicked him out for being too f*****g violent.”
Different reaction. Louder.
The lie lands.
Money moves faster. People move in tighter.
I call it. Bets lock in.
Rafe’s already in.
Joney looks at me.
I give him nothing.
He steps forward anyway.
The room tightens.
I grin. Can’t help it.
They circle. Too much space. No one commits.
Rafe twitches first—then moves. Fast.
Ribs. Then face. Sharp. Quick. Not clean.
Joney grabs him—
Rafe slips free. Tight, quick—and drives the elbow in. Low.
Joney folds. Not all at once—his body just… gives. Air leaves him sharp, like it’s been pulled out.
He drops to a knee. Hand to his side. Doesn’t look up.
Rafe circles. Doesn’t rush it. Knows what he did.
Joney stays there a second too long. Breathing wrong. Short. Shallow. Trying to pull it back in. He looks at me.
Just for a second.
I don’t move.
Rafe steps in again. No hesitation this time.
Joney pushes up—
late—
just as Rafe closes the distance.
He's up. Too fast. They trade. Messy. Too close.
Joney’s breathing heavier now.
Rafe’s not slowing. He’s getting worse.
Joney swings—misses. Too wide.
Rafe's already behind him.
Arm snakes in—
tight—
under the chin.
He locks it.
Joney stumbles forward—
then stills.
That’s it.
The room shifts. Noise spikes—then distorts.
Joney’s hands come up—
pulling at the arm—
wrong angle.
No leverage.
Rafe leans back into it.
Sinks it deeper.
Joney’s breathing breaks.
Short—
cut off—
He looks at me.
Not long.
I shift.
A fraction.
I could stop it.
I don’t.
A second.
Then another.
His grip tightens.
Joney’s movements get smaller.
Slower.
Not fighting it right.
I stay where I am.
He sees it. Something in his face changes. Not panic. Not yet.
Understanding.
Then—
he moves.
The noise bounces off the stone walls.
Joney doesn’t panic. Drives backward.
Rafe hits the beam. Hard.
Grip loosens.
Joney turns.
Hand in his hair—Cracks his head into the iron. Once.
Rafe doesn’t drop.
Second time—his brow splits clean open. He drops. Dead weight.
Silence—then it breaks.
The room erupts. And this time—
I’m yelling with them.
- Writer
