The pit was a work of art in the way it was designed. Reminiscent of the gladiator arenas in Roman days, we’d bought a large warehouse to disguise the ring, and used a fake industrial facade to fool the eye of any person who happened to pass by. Not that there were many. The warehouse wasn’t housed within an industrial section of the city. Instead, it was tucked away on its own, deeper into the rural desert where not many would want to travel.
Deep within its belly, we’d constructed a large dirt-floored ring sunken in the center. The walls that surrounded it rose up twenty feet, preventing a man from escaping once they’d made the mistake of stepping inside.
The rules were clear before the fight began: if you enter the pit, you will not leave, not unless you’ve killed your opponent, or your body is dragged out after your defeat. There are no time outs, and you may not turn back.
That didn’t mean men hadn’t tried.
Many had begged and pleaded when the fighting began. But there was no mercy given to them in this game, not when so much money was on the line.
Surrounding the center ring were audience bleachers, leather seats that comfortably sat over a hundred men.
Every fight brought a full house because what we offered would not be allowed by professional sports and trivial games.
These fights were real. They were bloody, and they always resulted in a violent death.
“Moritze is outside with three men. He’s demanding we let him in so he can show them where they’ll fight.”
Forearms braced over the walls of the center ring, I didn’t turn to meet Benny’s stare.
“Where they’ll die, you mean?”
He laughed, the sound like gravel.
“Where they’ll make us a ton of money. I’m not sure why he thinks showing them the ring will improve their chances. If anything, it would send them running if they were intelligent.”
The last person I wanted to deal with today was Antonio Moritze. Slimier than Colton, the asshole was desperate to make a name for himself, and he was willing to do so on the shoulders and lives of the victims he kept walking inside this place week after week.
Holding my fingers at my lips, I whistled to grab the attention of the men below me. They looked up immediately at the sound, their shoulders heaving with labored breath, their skin slick with sweat.
One tilt of my head toward the gates leading out of the pit, and they left the ring without question.
“Let him in.”
Benny left the room on silent steps, a predator like me, he wasn’t one to draw attention.
While I waited, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out to see Franklin’s name flash across the screen, my thumb hitting answer as I brought it to my ear.
He didn’t wait for me to speak before running his mouth about Lisbeth.
“She’s refusing to do anything she’s told...”
I wasn’t surprised.
“The little bitch said if you had a problem with her, you could walk your ass in there and talk to her about it...”
My brow arched, a tug at the corner of my lips almost stretching into a scowl.
“She hasn’t bothered to clean the glass out of her feet even though I gave her supplies...”
I let out a breath.
“You’ll have to deal with her, Callan. There’s nothing more I can do.”
Franklin continued his complaints while my eyes lifted to where Benny led Moritze and three men inside.
Even from a distance, Moritze looked as slimy as usual with a suit that had far too much shine to the fabric, polished leather shoes and enough jewelry that he sparkled like a fucking disco ball with every step. He wanted to give the illusion of having unlimited money when, in fact, he was still new to the circuit and a loser on top of that.
Still running drugs and guns, I’m sure he had a decent flow of cash, but it wouldn’t buy him the respect he craved when it came to fights. Only finding monsters as dangerous as the ones we kept would earn him a name.
Judging by the dickless pricks that walked behind him now, he couldn’t even manage that.
Voice a deep growl, I told Franklin I’d deal with Lisbeth when I got back, quickly ended the call and slipped the phone into my pocket as the men approaching me drew near.
Moritze slithered up, and I swore he left a slug trail behind him.