7

Elena

I stepped forward under then again the sound of Isabella still rang in my ears.

“Mia Bella.” Damon said again behind me and I let out a breath of relief.

“You dropped this.” He said. And his hand was the keys to my apartment. I snatched out of his hand and mumbled a “thank you”, before resuming my trip. The car that was moving slowly had also disappeared thankfully.

I got to the arena on time and met up with Paul, Edmond, and Julian once again. This time, my three friends brought out a collective of €100.

"We're going to give this to you and again, place bets for us," Julian had told me the night before on a phone call. "Whatever it is you did last time, do it again," he said.

Together, we bet upwards of €300. Of course, I had contributed most of it because I still had quite a bit of money from the previous win even though most of it had gone to my stepfather's problem.

I didn't really know much about the night fighters, but with a quick glance, I knew who was going to win. I placed the bet on the slimmer man called the Weasel.

Paul thought I was crazy when I did that, but Julian had learned to trust me. Edmond, on the other hand, said nothing and just watched the fight.

The fight took a while. I realized that the reason why the smaller man was called The Weasel was because he could easily sneak out of every tight spot he found himself in.

The man was also very agile, as he found himself grappling his opponents with such speed that had me worried. Once again, I won big on this one as I pulled in another €3,000.

But of course, part of the money belonged to my friends, and I did a good job distributing their proceeds.

****

A call pitched to work the next day told me that the restaurant was still under servicing and would remain that way for the rest of the week.

Happy that I had few classes and also no work, I used the opportunity to catch up on sleep.

However, my afternoon was interrupted by a call from my stepfather.

"You have to help me," he said forcefully over the phone. "I know you gave me some money last time, but you know… things are expensive and your dad has to stay alive," he said. "I need five grand," he continued. If not for the betting, I wouldn't have had that kind of money.

"Dad," I started, "I don't have that kind of

money."

There was some silence, and then came the harsh words. "If I had left you when you were a child, what do you think would have happened? I should have left you here if you're going to become a liability to me now. Is this how you repay me?

Is this how you repay me for raising you all those years? Do you have any idea how hard it is to raise a girl without a mother?" His voice was rising with each passing word he spoke. Tears gathered in His eyes as I listened to what my stepfather said.

Even though I wanted to speak, I felt too restrained and decided to send him the money. I hated it when he got like that, when he became entitled to what he had.

I began to suspect if someone around me had told him about the money, but I realized that neither Julian, Paul, nor Edmond would have told him because they didn't know who Pablo was.

And so I had come to the arena for the sole purpose of making money. At least now I desperately needed it, and I had a drive. On this particular night, more fights were scheduled than usual.

There were three fights scheduled, and in two of them, I won the bet. Feeling like I was drawing a bit more attention to myself, I decided not to bet on the last fight until, of course, I saw who it was that was fighting.

I could hardly believe it. Damon had another fight. I knew I had missed him, both in the restaurants and in the ring. I couldn't help but think about him over the past two weeks of his absence.

He looked just as I had remembered him: tall, ridiculously handsome, and with fire in his eyes. He fought against a man who had a similar build to him, but I trusted my gut and chose him anyway.

The man adapted to Damon's movements almost as though he was taunting him. But Damon looked calm and simply took his stance, modifying it a little by bending lower to the ground. Tension filled the air as they waited for the drop of the white handkerchief.

I felt like closing my eyes. I felt like the two men were evenly matched, and so it would prove difficult for either of them to win without passing out.

Soon, the white handkerchief fell, and the whole arena fell silent. The two of them circled each other a number of times, waiting for an opening. Suddenly, in a burst of movement, the other man attacked Damon with a right jab.

I felt a surge of confidence as I watched, but then the man started a barrage of hooks. His arms moved so quickly and purposefully that I thought Damon must have been hit at least once. But I was wrong.

Damon made use of the age-old boxing technique of shuffling his feet from side to side as he dodged the punches. This dance continued for a while, and the crowd started to cheer for both of them. "I'm going to lose this one," I thought to myself as I watched the two of them, evenly matched.

Somehow, I started to notice an upper hand in favor of Damon. The other man was getting tired, and his hooks had reduced in speed.

Just as I thought the man was exhausted, he pulled an uppercut and then a high kick to Damon's head. Both moves looked like they came at the same time, but Damon was able to use his hand to grab the other player's foot.

The two were at loggerheads now, Damon having the man in a vice grip on his feet. The man had good balance, though. I thought it would have taken years to master such balance, but the man smiled faintly at him.

Suddenly, I remembered the man's name as "The Monk." The Monk had apparently grown up in that part of Asia, surrounded by a tropical environment.

He moved to America with his wife and child and took up training as a job. He found it quite easy to train others in fights, and as he trained, he began to get stronger. The Monk was a legend. "If I had known, maybe I would have bet on him instead," I thought to myself.

I quickly ran back inside the hall to catch what was going on as I had stepped out to catch my breath.

What I saw had me baffled indeed. The Monk had been grappled by Damon, an uncomfortable position with Damon's legs wrapped around the Monk's arms and his arms squeezed around his head and neck. Just as I thought, the Monk surrendered and tapped out of the fight.

As he was leaving, I couldn't help but feel like some people intentionally set him up. I decided I wanted to talk to Damon about his fight.

As soon as the fight concluded and I gathered my wits for the night, I elbowed my way through the crowd and found my way to him. He smiled, his eyes softening when he saw me.

It was a huge contrast. His eyes shone a bright color when he was fighting, and his brows would be drawn together in concentration.

Now that I was in front of him, his brows were not drawn, and his eyes settled into a cool color. With a small smile, I pulled him to one side.

"What is it?" he asked, his tone softer and surprised at my boldness.

Leaning closer to him, I whispered into his ear, "I just wanted to know about your fighting style."

Once my heels touched the floor, I asked him another question, my voice tinged with admiration. "I need to know where you fought. You're so... amazing."

He grabbed my arm slightly and pulled me closer, his voice a low whisper in my ear. "I can't hear you," he teased, sending a shiver down my spine.

my breath caught in my throat as I felt his warm breath on my ear, sending a jolt from the spot down to my pussy.

I clenched my legs together as though the action would stop the flood of wetness that threatened to ruin my underwear.