Chapter 3

Elena I could hardly believe my luck. Winning the fight had earned me over €3,000, making me glad that I had taken my large bag to fit my profits in. Edmond and Paul rattled me with questions on how I knew the tattooed man would win. I just smiled knowingly at them and put my hand on my lips, signifying that they should keep silent. "When we leave, I'll tell you," I said. Because the fight was over, the arena had soon become empty. I still stood on the table, however, hoping to catch a glimpse of Damon again. Perhaps if I had known the fighter, I would have been eager to talk to him at the restaurant. I whipped my head from side to side, checking the back and craning my neck to catch the tall man. I saw him behind the iron mesh that covered the circular cage. He was talking to someone and had his head bent in concentration. He suddenly moved slowly and a pale an wrapped itself around his shoulder. Oops. “Let's go too.” I said to the guys who looked just as ready as i was. Feeling tired but happy, I jumped down from the table as soon as the crowd cleared. Just as I was about to leave, I heard someone call out to me. I glanced back to find Fred jogging towards me from behind. "Someone wants to see you," he said. Confused, I chose not to walk back into the empty arena. Even though I had my friends with me, I just didn't trust the place. A man stepped out beside me, the same man who had been yelling "place your bets." "How did you do that?" he asked me. I just shrugged. "Just a hunch," I said. "Is that all?" he asked incredulously. “You should be careful. There's many people that fix these fights. One or two wins is good, but when it happens every time, they begin to ask questions.” He said with a low voice. I nodded with wide eyes. He was right about the fixing fights. “Thanks. I'll try to take it slow.” I promised. I turned and grabbed Paul's arm, pulling him. Edmond and Julian were waiting for us a few paces ahead, looking impatient. I had, after all, promised to tell them the secret of my betting. "I don't know. I just saw it. I thought he looked too well-trained," I said. "You know something about the Iron Fist?" I asked him. Raising his eyebrows, Julian asked, "What is it?" "He's heavy. When you're heavy, obviously you'll move slowly. And then there are those stupid gauntlets that he wears, thinking it's cool.” "Those are heavier and weigh down his punches," I continued, trying to explain my theory. "I mean..." Paul interrupted me, "But the gauntlets have helped the Iron Fist to take out so many. The guy's just fast." "It's not just about his speed," I said. "I think he's very well-trained. Did you see his thighs?" I gushed, blushing at the memory of how thick and strong his thighs looked. "They looked like he would easily be able to jump high and kick. I feel like we haven't even scratched the surface of what he can do." "Maybe if he were paired with crazier fighters, like gatling Mick, or that crazy guy who likes to grapple people. What's his name again? I don't remember," Julian said. After about a minute of silence, Edmond finally spoke. "Mitch. He calls himself Mitch. It sounds like such a pussy name to call yourself, but yeah.” The four of us walked to a bus stop where I could find transportation to my apartment. I shared it with two other girls who were rarely ever at home, making me quite happy with the arrangement. They were all students, making it a student department, but it cost me an arm and a leg to keep the place. I gingerly unlocked my door and walked into the dark apartment. With a flick of the switch, I observed how dirty the apartment was. I remembered cleaning it in the morning, and I was much too tired to do it again. While I was excited, I didn't feel strong enough to exert myself anymore. I rubbed my face in exhaustion and made my way to my room. Once I was there, I took off my clothes and ran myself a bath. Just as the water was getting full, I received the phone call. The number on the screen was never saved, but I knew it all too well. "Hi Dad," I said. Pablo grunted in response. "I need to pay up," he said. Confused, I questioned him. "Pay up what?” “ Is that what they teach you in university? To question the people that fed you for your whole life?" Pablo always made an excuse. He always found a way to bring me down, and his calls always fell at strategic times when I was happy. Suddenly, a vision flaId in my mind. I was younger, clad in damp clothes and shaking slightly from the cold. Pablo stood in front of me, younger then, but scruffy still. The doctor had told me that my mother had died. "Did you hear me?" I heard Pablo's voice over the phone. "I'm sorry. Please, can you repeat that?" Pablo exhaled. "I need to pay back. Debtors are calling me," he repeated himself. "Just send the money." Hearing this excuse one too many times, I was tired. I had long been exhausted by my stepfather's tricks, to the point where I found it best to just indulge him, even though it was I who lost in the end. "How much?" I asked. "Two grand," he said. "If you make it three, I won't bother you for a while," he added. I had exactly €3,000 from betting on Damon. "I'm sorry, Dad. I don't have up to 3,000. I only have about two, and it might not be complete but..." "Send it! Send it now!" Pablo yelled into the phone, making my wince. I, however, didn't need much of an explanation from Pablo. I knew he borrowed money so he could gamble every day. I also knew he had terrible luck, and I was afraid now because it seemed like he would spread his terrible luck to me. Before the end of the night, Pablo had pressed me with phone calls three more times to send the money.