She's Not Yours

*this is an early chapter of a novel-in-progress. In the previous chapter: the same group is in a bar drinking and the absent woman, Remi, reconnects with her old friend, Marek. Marek is not part of the group but is invited to attend Monday night's event with them.*

         Adrian Torres advanced across the empty gymnasium and threw open the double doors of the entrance. Out in the sunlight, the mouths and buttholes of four young soldiers slammed shut at the sight of a legend looming over them. Back in Basic, their Drill Sergeant had scared them shitless with a story about making it through Level 3 of the Modern Combatives Course, only to spend two weeks in the ICU after being challenged by one of the trainers. The Drill Sergeant said he coughed up bloody scabs for a month.
         Adrian pulled them inside and led them to an area of the gym floor marked off with black tape, the shortest of the group picking up an exaggerated step to keep up. The Joes tried to pay attention to the orders but as their pigeon heads bobbed, their eyes flitted between his massive boots, the stacked tabs on his shoulder and the pulsating blue vein on the right side of his neck. The Sergeant dismissed them, twice, to set up the mats before the crew with the fight ring arrived. Adrian switched on his phone, pulled up a list, checked off their arrival and surveyed the room. The progress in front of him was unrolling at an acceptable pace and within the next three hours, the gym would be fully transformed into a makeshift arena.
         Holding open the emergency exit door, Adrian leaned around the corner and spit a mouthful of tobacco onto the ground. He wiped his teeth, spit once more and turned back around. Two soldiers were still working in the training corner, hanging up the speed and agility bags, and three others were carrying in huge tires, sledgehammers and kettle bells.
         “Hey, Jones,” he called to a tire-pusher, and nodding his head towards the new arrivals said, “have Tiny over there help you out with that.” It would do him some good.
         The crew rolled matting along the floors and walls, the blue border being set off by grey concrete and open wood framing. Over the next hour, the steel bleachers were pulled out and a raised platform had been installed in the center of the gym. By 7 p.m., the air was electric with anticipation and a deep, pounding beat resonated against the steel. The music set the expectations for the night’s events and incited a sense of heat and fear in both the participants and the crowd. It was a scene to be despised or craved.
         Butts hit the bleachers, most of them solid and manly, but here and there, a womanly form infiltrated an area and was targeted by every sex starved body in the room. She didn’t have to pretty, she just had to be a she. One in particular stole the show, a petite blond with tight, perky tits, hair that angled just below her chin and sweet, full lips. Even with a smaller frame, her hips seemed to say, you can look, boys, oh, please do, and that they did. Ten rows up, she settled onto the bench for a moment, left a black sweater, sauntered down the steps and crossed the gymnasium floor. Nearly every chub in the place went limp when her feet left the floor and her tiny waist was engulfed by the arms of Adrian Torres. Whether she was now or had ever been with him, the battle was already lost. Over the course of the night, six other women would make contact with the Tower and they, too, would be deemed as high-risk targets. When the lights flickered, the petite blond’s firm ass warmed the steel next to Aaron Cooper. Kevin Mackie and Marek Hawke sat on her right. The group exchanged a round of repeat introductions and the woman, Alexis Sparks, asked if the others had heard from the only absent member, Remi.
         “I know she had that brief at Gordon this morning,” Kevin said offhandedly, tugging on his hair as he checked out a short brunette in the front row. He liked her light pink top and the way she kept looking down at her hands.
         “Yeah, that’s a long drive back, too,” Aaron said, focused on a thick blond two rows up. Alexis followed his gaze.
         “I miss my long hair,” she said.
         “So why’d you cut it?” Kevin asked, imagining the brunette’s chest. Probably darker nipples, very soft.
         “The damn sandbox, man,” Alexis told an uninterested audience. She was saying something about extreme heat drying it out when Marek shifted on the bench and slid in a question.
         “Anyone hear from Remi?” He didn’t want to ask it but he needed to know. Not since Murphy’s, they said. Maybe Torres had, those two were pretty close. Half the lights in the gymnasium cut off.
         “Let’s get this shit fucking started, T!” Alexis screamed. She was a beautiful female until she opened her mouth. Only one man grimaced at the blatant vulgarity- the Chaplin. The rest of the crowd united in cajoling that grew louder as Adrian entered the ring with another man. After the noise quieted down, the announcer said a welcome, explained the rules and went through the order of the fight rounds. Marek looked down at his watch. It would be at least another hour before Porn Star hit the mat.

         To say Peter Steele got his ass kicked was to say it lightly. In one of the most intense and entertaining bouts of the night, the 130lb “Boston Brawler” completely abandoned his training. For almost a full minute, the two small men lay side-by-side on the mat and appeared to be humping. They both struggled to sink their hooks into each other and threw random useless punches. Peter’s opponent finally mounted him and started pummeling his face, but Peter bucked him, flipped onto his stomach, and scrambled across the mat like a spider. The crowd exploded into hysterical laughter. The tiny fighters were back on their feet and Peter limped as they circled and lunged at each other. A few kicks were deflected but a foot to the side of Peter’s head brought him down to his knees, the Lieutenant was slow to react, and his opponent slipped one arm around his neck. The fighter sealed the choke and flexed his arm while Peter languidly jabbed at his side with a closed fist. The crowd shouted in vain for him to tap out but Peter’s pride overcame his judgment and he kept swinging until the room swayed and then dimmed to black.
         “Steele? Steele?” The sound of his name got louder and he started to feel a thick hand slapping the side of his face. He focused in on two deep brown eyes and slowly recognized Adrian, leaning over him, a huge smile on his face. “Alright, Porn Star, up we go.”
         Peter was cleared by the medic and then returned to the gym to watch the rest of the matches. When he joined his cheering section, he was greeted with everything from, “oh, baby!” to “man, that was awesome.” Even if he had passed out, the man showed balls. There was a short break between bouts to clean up blood and Adrian joined them, high-fiving his fighter.
         “Well, thanks for coming anyway,” Peter worked out from a sore jaw.
         “Are you kidding?” said Aaron, wide eyed with disbelief. “That was crazy, man. I’ll give you a hundred bucks to do it again.”
         “Two hundred,” chipped in Kevin.
         “Shut up, Coop,” said Alexis, wiping her thumb over Peter’s swollen eye. “Don’t you dare.”
         “You just need more time on the mat,” said Adrian, slapping the Boston Brawler on the back. He looked over the crowd, smiled and tipped his chin to the thick blond. “Is Remi in the bathroom?”
         Aaron checked his phone. “Nah, man,” he said. “She didn’t show. I called her just before Super Star here got his ass handed to him.” Peter winced. “Went straight to voicemail.”
         Adrian locked eyes with Marek and narrowed his gaze. He pulled out his phone and dialed her. Straight to voicemail. “Let’s go, Loverboy.”
         Marek followed Adrian down the steps of the bleachers, across the gymnasium floor and out the emergency exit. Adrian propped the door open with a brick and stood a few feet in front of it. The night air was cool and a group of Joes were smoking fifty meters off the back of the building.
         “When’s the last time you talked to Remi?” Marek asked.
Adrian packed a tin and said to the grass, “Sunday morning. After she left your place.”
         So he knew. Marek rubbed the shadow on his jaw, looked over at the smokers and said, “She said you were a close friend.”
         “Closer than that,” Adrian sneered, packing his lip.
         Marek straightened and crossed his arms, his left side to the man spitting on the ground.
         “Remi doesn’t stay overnight.”
         Marek turned. “Excuse me?”
         “She doesn’t stay overnight,” Adrian repeated slowly, wiping his fingers, crossing his arms and leaning in. Marek couldn’t keep down a half smile. The two squared off and stared at each other as the voice of the announcer cut through the music. In his peripheral vision, Torres saw the smokers snuff out and walk towards them. They moved awkwardly towards the door and slipped into the gymnasium, exchanging glances. “My money’s on Torres,” one of them mumbled.
         “Sorry to bruise your ego,” Marek prodded, “but she stayed the night with me.”
         “She was so shitfaced she couldn’t make it home.”
         Marek scoffed.
         “Why do you think she called me?” Adrian asked, cracking his knuckles and taking a step forward. “To keep clingy pussy’s like you off her back. I bet she showed up tonight, saw you and walked right back out.”
         Marek’s heartbeat pounded in his ears as his attacker closed the gap. Yeah, she was pretty drunk that night, but not in the shower on Sunday morning. Then again, she hadn’t really spoken to him since.
         “I don’t know what your game is,” said Marek, clenching his fists, “but Remi’s a big girl who can be with whoever she likes, including me.”
         “Stay away from her.”
         “Like hell I will.”
         With both hands, Adrian shoved Marek in the chest, dodged a right hook and then landed one in his opponent’s side. Marek crumpled just slightly, swung an uppercut with his left and connected with Adrian’s jaw, forcing chaw, spit and blood to fly out of his mouth. He never saw the left hook that busted open his eye and before he could retaliate, the metal door clashed open and Marek’s hands were being forced behind his back.
         It took two men on each of the fighters to separate and contain them. Marek calmed down quickly and still had half of a smile but Adrian was fuming and kept trying to get back into the action. A crowd of ten or so had rushed out of the door when they heard that Torres was kicking some guy’s ass, and at the front of it were Cooper, Mackie, Sparks and Steele. Aaron filled a dual role of not only holding back Adrian but also encouraging him with, “Just say the word, T, and I’ll kick his ass.” Alexis jumped in the middle of the circle of testosterone and held out her arms, confident that neither of them would hit her. Adrian finally shrugged off his controllers and put a hand to his jaw. Marek had one pressed to his eye. Kevin filled the silence with a statement of reason, saying to break it up before the MP’s showed.
         “This isn’t over,” Adrian snarled as he moved to file back inside with the crowd. Marek was done. He shook his head, turned and walked down the sidewalk towards the parking lot.
         “She’s not yours,” yelled out Adrian.
         “Yeah, and she’s not yours, either,” Marek called out over his shoulder, waving his middle finger.