Page 58 of Beastly Armory
“We’re gonna need something, Max.”
“I know—” Just as I think about giving in and taking a few hits, my right-hand jumps in.
“I’ll do it,” Derichs says quietly behind me. My body snaps to his, almost protectively.
Tightening my lips, my voice grits out, “No, Derichs—” He doesn’t need to take this fight for me.
“Oh? Sure, kid. Can you throw a fight?” Buddy ignores my protests.
“Yes. I can.” Derichs stares me down with his serious eyes.
Turning my body to face him, I grab both his shoulders in a firm grip. He winces, but quickly schools his face. “Your shoulder,” I say quietly, pointing out his weakness with a dig of my thumb.
“Max, I got this. For you. For East Side.” It’s quick, but I catch a flick of his jaw muscle as he tenses.
“You’ll get hurt, and I need you.”
“I can do this.” His face is resolved.
“Kid says he can do it, Million. Let him.”
Shaking my head, I say, “He’s got a hurt shoulder. Can your guy?—”
“No worries. We’ll tell him to back off. Which one is it, kid?” Buddy asks Derichs.
Derichs shrugs off my hold and tells him, “The right, sir.”
Buddy nods, then leads us to the parking lot. I silently try to argue with my tank the entire time. Derichs keeps his face sternly locked and ignores me completely the entire walk two blocks over to the hidden location where the match will take place. The cool winter windwhips around the corners of the brick buildings, slapping me in the face with loud whines, making my arguments even less heard.
When we all arrive at the warehouse where the ring is set up, Buddy leads us to the back entrance. I’m familiar with the joint, having fought here in several matches eight years ago. This time, however, I’m less angry than my young twenties self was having just lost his parents, but the same drive to succeed drifts over me when we enter the stands. My hands involuntarily twitch from rote memory, and I stretch my fingers at my sides to ease some tension building there.
Derichs doesn’t appear nervous at all. We discussed his previous fight history while sparring in the manor basement, and I know he’s good. His technique is on point, and if I were in a lower weight class, I’d be nervous. But it takes an exceptional fighter to throw the match without getting caught. As I stand with Buddy ring side, my eyes size up the other fighter who’s somewhat familiar to me. Briefly, I recall that he works for a different family based in Appleton.
My tank is set to drop in the second and Buddy informed the rival to avoid Derichs’s right shoulder. I’m not letting my eyes leave the match to make sure the guy follows the rules. We came to get Zayne, not have Derichs wounded in a cage match.
When the round starts, Derichs hits him with some fantastic hooks right off the bat, proving he knows exactly what he’s doing. The guy wastes no time trying to wrestle him to the ground, which is a smart play since Derichswas beating him with the punches. Derichs doesn’t fall for the move and gets the opponent in a leg lock right away. The two are evenly matched until the end of the first round, but my man proved himself well. If it went for three rounds, he may be declared the winner.
“Atta boy. You gave it to him straight away, no punches held back. Great job.” Shoving a water bottle in front of his face, I spray some water down his throat, droplets splashing everywhere, as he wipes down with a towel. “He thought he’d lock you on the floor, but you did good. Proved yourself out there.”
Derichs nods once, huffing out breaths. “I got this.” Given everything we’ve already been through, I know I can add Derichs to the small pool of people I trust. He knows what he has to do to end things, and as soon as the break is over, he heads back inside the cage, dancing on his feet. The referee signals for the start of the round.
Right away, the opponent grips Derichs’s bad shoulder in a lock and twists his arm behind him. The scream that comes from his chest spikes my adrenaline until I feel my body moving inside the cage at a predator’s pace before Buddy can stop me. The crowd noises fade as my entire focus narrows to destroying the thug that has Derichs’s arm in a hold.
The referee doesn’t notice when I sprint up behind them, Derichs now pinned to the ground in agony. His legs flail, trying to get any footing he can while he taps repeatedly on the mat with his free hand, gasping wails breaking my concentration. Once the ref calls the match, I shove the opponent off Derichs and grab my boy upinto a bear hug. Dragging him over to the sidelines, he falls into Buddy’s arms with a few stumbles.
Swinging around, I charge across the ring and hit the fighter in the back of the head with a full fist while he’s watching his coach. Spinning, he spots me with an evil eye, but I grip his arms and almost pick him up to throw his body. He starts to laugh, blood spewing from his nose.
“The fuck! You knew to avoid the shoulder,” I yell at him, standing over his body now on the ground.
With a taped hand, he rubs the back of his head, before checking his palm for blood, still chuckling. “That was for working with The Ear. Boss’s orders.” His men surround him and shove me back with a hand to my chest. When the referee points to the other side of the cage, instructing me to leave, I’m already returning to Derichs. Buddy has him up and my tank holds his own elbow delicately.
Shaking my head, guilt fills my belly. “Fuck! He shouldn’t have?—”
“Max, it’s okay. Thank you. I’ll be fine. It’s okay. No permanent damage.” We head toward the back hall, Buddy beside us.
“I thought he was going to rip your arm off.” I swallow. “It looked like he was going to kill you.” I don’t think I could forgive myself if he’d gotten seriously injured, especially since all he was doing was for me.
“It felt like it.” Derichs rotates his arm a few times with a slight grimace on his wide lips. “I got you, man. I can still back you up anytime. I’m not going anywhere. Even if I only have one arm, I’m there for you.”