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“When Pasha found me, I was a wreck, Arturo. Both my soul and my mind . . . fractured. Pasha pieced me back together. And my heart yearns for him because he is the glue that keeps all my broken parts whole. Please, try to understand.”
Arturo stares at me while grinding his jaw. “I’m going to drop by your place at least once a month. Unannounced. If I notice anything, even the smallest thing that will lead me to believe you’re not happy, I’m going to kill that Russian and drag you back home.”
“You won’t have to.” I smile., “I love him. I’ll be okay, Arturo.”
My brother closes his eyes and reluctantly nods.
Chapter 23
I collect my bag from the baggage claim carousel and head toward the arrivals area where family and friends are waiting for the passengers. It takes me less than five seconds to locate Kostya. He’s leaning on the pillar further back while several women stand around, gaping at him. When he sees me coming, he walks over to me and takes the bag out of my hand.
“Are we going directly to the fight?” I ask, focusing on his face instead of people milling about.
Most of the men I’ve noticed at the airport are wearing casual clothes, but there are a few in business attire. I don’t freak out when I see men in suits anymore, but I still don’t feel comfortable around them. Thank God, Kostya is wearing a hoodie and jeans.
“Yes.” He nods and heads toward the exit as I follow. “But I’m still waiting to get the info on the location.”
“You don’t know where it’s held?”
“They switch the places often to avoid police raids. And since this is the last fight of the season, the exact location will be sent just two hours before the start. I only know it’ll be somewhere south of the city.”
“Why? Is there something special about it?”
Kostya presses his lips into a thin line and nods toward the parking lot. “I’m parked over here,” he says, avoiding eye contact. “We should hurry.”
“Kostya? Are you hiding something from me?”
“Of course not, sweetheart.” He approaches a black sedan and opens the passenger door for me.
I wait for him to get inside and start the car, then turn to face him. “What’s so special about tonight’s fight?”
“You haven’t watched the last match on the website?”
“You told me not to,” I say. “I watched the first ten, but I felt too sick to continue. I assumed the last one was the most violent.”
“It was.” He nods. “But that’s not why I told you to skip it.”
“Why then?”
Kostya is silent for a few moments, then takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “I think you should watch it before we arrive, Asya. So you can be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?”
When he doesn’t reply, I dig out my phone from my backpack and pull up the fight club’s website. After I log into the private area, I type in Pasha’s name and scroll down to the bottom of the page. Picking the video I skipped before, I click play. It starts like all other recordings, with the aerial view, then zooms in on the fighters. There’s an ache in my chest when Pasha’s face fills the screen. His left eye is a little swollen, and there’s a big bruise on his chin. When the camera zooms out again, I notice that he has a splint from his palm to the middle of his right forearm.
I press my hand over my mouth to stifle a cry. “How was he allowed to fight if he was injured?”
“There are no rules in underground fighting,” Kostya says. “As long as he can stand, he can fight.”
“What happened?” I choke out.
“He sprained his wrist in the fight before this one.”
“Pasha is right-handed. How can he fight with a sprained wrist?”
“He improvises.”
I watch as Pasha and his opponent take their spots at the opposite corners. They are more or less matched in size, but the other guy doesn’t seem to have any significant injuries. The bell rings and Pasha and the other fighter approach the center of the cage. For a few moments, they stay on the fringe, circling, sizing each other up. Then, Pasha suddenly swings his left hand at his opponent’s side. The guy dodges the hit and lunges at Pasha with his fist, aiming for the head. Pasha drops down and swipes his leg just above the floor, catching the guy behind the ankles with his foot. While his opponent is on the floor, he delivers a gut punch with an elbow. Almost as soon as the guy folds, Pasha punches him in the head with his left fist, then kicks him. And again. Blood sprays all over the floor, a few teeth dotting the red stains.
