The Pit
The hospital doors burst open with a pneumatic hiss.
"Gunshot wound!" Hela shouted. "Chest, left side, he's losing blood—"
Two nurses appeared instantly, their scrubs already stained from the night shift. A gurney materialized from somewhere, wheels squeaking against linoleum.
"Pulse is weak. Get him to trauma two—now!"
They lifted Markus onto the gurney. His head lolled to the side, his breathing shallow and wet. Blood soaked through the makeshift bandages Hela had wrapped around his chest.
"Ma'am, you need to—"
"I'm staying with him," Hela said.
"You can't—"
"I'm. Staying."
The nurse looked at Hela—at the blood on her clothes, the look of exhausted determination on her face—and decided not to argue.
They wheeled Markus through double doors marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright, too sterile. Everything smelled like antiseptic and fear.
A doctor appeared—young, maybe thirty, with dark circles under his eyes.
"What happened?" he asked, already pulling on gloves.
"Gunshot," Hela said. "Through and through, I think. He's been unconscious for—"
"How long?"
"I-i don't know. Twenty minutes. Maybe more."
The doctor's jaw tightened. He leaned over Markus, lifting his eyelids, checking his pupils.
"Prep for surgery," he said to the nurses. "Type and cross-match. Get me four units of O-neg on standby."
"Doctor—" Hela started.
"You need to wait outside."
"I need to know if he's going to make it."
The doctor looked at her. His expression was unreadable.
"I don't know yet," he said. "But if you want him to have a chance, you need to let us work."
Hela's hands were shaking. She nodded once, then stepped back.
The doors swung shut.
She stood there for a moment, staring at the blood on her hands.
Then she turned and walked back to the waiting room.
***
Bella was pacing.
Back and forth across the scuffed floor, her injured foot throbbing with every step. She didn't care. Couldn't sit still.
Mara sat in one of the plastic chairs, her head in her hands.
Bron's man—Bones, he'd said his name was Bones—stood near the entrance, his arms crossed, his eyes scanning the parking lot.
Bella stopped in front of him.
"Where is he?" she demanded.
Bones looked at her. "I told you. I know where—"
"Then tell me."
"It's not that simple."
Bella grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him close. Her voice was low, dangerous.
"You said you know where Jack is. So tell me. Right now."
Bones didn't flinch. He met her gaze, his expression calm.
"I can take you there," he said. "But you need to understand something first."
"What?"
"Kain didn't keep him. He sold him."
The word hit Bella like a punch to the gut.
Sold.
"Sold him?" she whispered. "To who?"
"A guy who runs an underground fight club. East side. Near the docks."
Bella's chest tightened. "A fight club."
"Yeah."
"And Jack—"
"Is probably in bad shape," Bones said quietly. "Real bad. You need to steel yourself for what you're going to see."
Bella's hands were shaking. She let go of his shirt, stepping back.
"Take me there," she said.
"Now?"
"Now."
Bones glanced at Hela, who was walking back toward them, her face pale.
"Markus?" Mara asked.
"In surgery," Hela said. Her voice was flat. "They don't know if he'll make it."
Bella looked at Hela. "I'm going after Jack."
Hela's eyes narrowed. "Bella—"
"I'm going. With or without you."
"You can barely walk."
"I don't care."
Hela stared at her for a long moment. Then she sighed.
"Fine," she said. "But I'm staying here. Markus needs someone when he wakes up."
"If he wakes up," Mara said quietly.
Hela shot her a look. "When."
Bella turned to Bones. "Let's go."
***
The taxi smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener.
Bella sat in the back seat, her hands clenched in her lap. Her foot throbbed with every bump in the road, but she barely noticed.
Bones sat beside her, staring out the window.
"How do you know where he is?" Bella asked.
"I've been there before," Bones said. "Used to run errands for Bron. Deliveries, pickups. The boss—his name's Cage—he's got connections all over Southside. Kain sold Jack to him yesterday."
"Why?"
"Money. Cage pays good for fighters. Even broken ones."
Bella's stomach twisted. "Fighters."
"Yeah."
"And Jack—"
"Probably fought already," Bones said. "Or tried to. Cage doesn't waste time."
Bella closed her eyes. Oh god, Jack.
The taxi turned onto a narrow street lined with warehouses and abandoned storefronts. The streetlights were broken, casting everything in shadow.
"Here," Bones said.
The driver pulled over. Bella looked out the window.
The building was nondescript—a squat concrete structure with no windows, no signs. Just a single metal door with a bouncer standing outside.
"This is it?" Bella asked.
"Yeah."
She paid the driver and climbed out, her foot screaming in protest.
Bones followed, his hands in his pockets.
They approached the door.
The bouncer was massive—six-five, maybe three hundred pounds, with a shaved head and a scar running down the side of his face.
He looked at Bones. Then at Bella.
"Members only," he said.
Bones pulled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo on his inner wrist. A crown with three points, surrounded by flames.
The Southside Kings.
The bouncer's expression didn't change. "Code."
Bones leaned in, his voice low. "Blood runs deep, but gold runs deeper."
The bouncer stared at him for a moment. Then he nodded.
"Who's she?" he asked, jerking his chin toward Bella.
"My plus one."
The bouncer looked Bella up and down. His eyes lingered on her injured foot, the blood soaking through her shoe.
The bouncer hesitated. Then he stepped aside.
"No trouble," he said.
"No trouble," Bones agreed.
The door opened.
***
The noise hit Bella first.
A wall of sound—shouting, cheering, the dull thud of fists hitting flesh. It was deafening, oppressive, like the air itself was vibrating.
The smell came next. Sweat and blood and rust. Old beer and piss and something sharper—adrenaline, maybe. Fear.
The space was claustrophobic. Low ceilings, exposed pipes, concrete walls stained with god-knows-what. The lighting was dim—bare bulbs hanging from chains, casting harsh shadows.
And in the center of it all was the octagon.
A massive cage, maybe twenty feet across, with chain-link walls and a rusted metal frame. Inside, two men were fighting.
No gloves. No rules. Just fists and blood.
One man was bigger—six-two, maybe two-twenty, with a shaved head and tattoos covering his arms. He swung a haymaker that connected with the other man's jaw, sending him stumbling back.
The smaller man—wiry, maybe one-seventy—recovered quickly. He ducked under the next punch and drove his fist into the bigger man's ribs. Once. Twice. Three times.
The crowd roared.
Bella's eyes swept across the room. There had to be two hundred people packed in here—men and women, all ages, all shouting and betting and drinking.
The floor was slick with spilled beer and blood. The octagon itself was worse—dark stains covered the mat, some fresh, some old.
Bella felt her stomach turn.
"Stay close," Bones said, his voice barely audible over the noise.
He started weaving through the crowd, his shoulders brushing against bodies. Bella followed, her heart pounding.
She almost lost him twice—once when a drunk man stumbled into her path, once when the crowd surged forward as the smaller fighter landed a brutal kick to the bigger man's knee.
Focus, she told herself. You're here for Jack.
They reached the back of the room, where a narrow hallway led deeper into the building. Two bouncers stood in front of it, their arms crossed.
"Fighters only," one of them said.
Bones opened his mouth to respond—
"Bones?"
A voice from behind them. Bella turned.
A man was walking toward them—mid-thirties, maybe, with a lean build and a crooked nose that had been broken more than once. He wore a tank top and shorts, his knuckles wrapped in tape.
"Holy shit," the man said, grinning. "Bones, what the fuck are you doing here?"
"Hey, Ricky," Bones said. He clasped the man's hand, pulling him into a brief hug.
"Man, I haven't seen you in months," Ricky said. "You still running with Bron?"
"Yeah," Bones said. "Something like that."
Ricky's grin widened. "You here to fight? Because I gotta tell you, Cage has been looking for fresh blood. The last guy he brought in was a fucking joke."
Bella's breath caught.
"Actually," Bones said, "I'm here to see someone. You heard about the shooting at the butcher shop?"
Ricky's expression darkened. "Yeah. Shit's all over the news. Police, FBI, everyone's crawling all over Southside."
"You worried?"
"Nah." Ricky waved a hand dismissively. "None of the street cameras work down here. And even if they did, the cops don't care enough to dig deep. Not in Southside and not in Crello. The gangs made sure of that."
"What about witnesses?" Bones asked.
Ricky laughed. "You kidding? No one's gonna snitch. Loyalties are thicker than blood down here. And the ones who aren't loyal? They're too scared to talk."
Bella stayed quiet, her hands clenched at her sides. She didn't belong here. Didn't know the rules, the codes, the unspoken language of this place.
She was terrified.
Ricky glanced at her, then back at Bones. "Who's she?"
"Friend," Bones said. "She's with me."
Ricky studied Bella for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Alright. So what do you need?"
"You know anything about a new fighter coming in?" Bones asked. "Someone Kain brought in recently?"
Ricky frowned. "Kain? That asshole?"
"Yeah."
Ricky thought for a moment. Then his expression shifted—recognition, followed by amusement.
"Oh, you mean the pitiful guy," he said, laughing. "Yeah, I remember him. Kain brought him in yesterday. Calling him a fighter was a fucking disgrace, man. He had one fight and could barely stand. Cage was pissed. Said Kain tricked him into buying damaged goods."
Bella's chest tightened. Jack.
"Where is he?" Bones asked.
Ricky jerked his thumb toward the hallway. "Back there. In one of the recovery rooms. Doc's been working on him, but I don't think he's gonna make it."
"Can you take us to him?" Bones asked.
Ricky looked between Bones and Bella. His grin faded slightly.
"Yeah, sure," he said. "But hey—before I forget. Tell Bron to throw me a few grams of coke, yeah? I'm running low."
Bones nodded. "I'll let him know."
"Thanks, man." Ricky clapped Bones on the shoulder. "Come on. Follow me."
***
The hallway was narrow and dimly lit, the walls stained with water damage and god-knows-what-else.
Ricky led them past a series of doors—some open, some closed. Bella caught glimpses of men sitting on benches, wrapping their hands, stretching, preparing to fight.
One man was vomiting into a trash can. Another was lying on the floor, his face swollen and bloodied.
Bella's stomach churned.
They reached the end of the hallway. Ricky stopped in front of a door covered by a heavy curtain.
"He's in there," Ricky said. He looked at Bella. "Fair warning—he looks rough."
Bella nodded, her throat tight.
Ricky walked away, disappearing back down the hallway.
Bones pulled the curtain aside.
Bella stepped through.
And froze.
***
Jack was lying on a metal table in the center of the room.
His left eye was swollen completely shut, the skin around it purple and black. His right eye was nearly as bad—just a thin slit of white visible beneath the swelling.
Cuts and bruises covered every inch of exposed skin. His face was a mess—his nose broken, his lips split, his jaw swollen. Blood crusted around his ears and hairline.
His hands were wrapped in bandages, but blood had seeped through, staining the white fabric red. His fingers looked wrong—bent at unnatural angles.
His legs were bandaged too, dark stains spreading across the fabric.
And his torso—
Bella's breath caught.
Parts of his chest and stomach were burned. The skin was raw, blistered, weeping. She could see the outline of something—a brand, maybe, or a cigarette burn.
His ribs were visible beneath the skin, each breath shallow and labored.
He looked like he was dying.
A man stood beside the table—mid-fifties, balding, with a stained apron and latex gloves. He was stitching a gash on Jack's shoulder, his movements methodical but rough.
Beside him stood another man—tall, broad-shouldered, with a shaved head and a scar running across his throat. He wore a leather jacket and jeans, his arms crossed.
The boss. Cage.
"—not optimistic," the doctor was saying. "He's got internal bleeding, broken ribs, possible punctured lung. And that's not even counting the burns or the fractures in his hands."
"So he's useless," Cage said.
"Pretty much."
"Fucking Kain," Cage muttered. "I should've known better than to trust that piece of shit."
Bella didn't think. Didn't hesitate.
She ran.
Her foot screamed in protest, but she didn't care. She crossed the room in three strides and threw herself at the table, her hands reaching for Jack.
"Jack!" she gasped. "Jack, I'm here—"
"Hey!" The doctor grabbed her arm, pulling her back. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You're making his injuries worse!"
Bella let go, stumbling back. Her hands were shaking.
Cage turned to Bones, his eyes narrowed. "What the fuck is this?"
"She's with me," Bones said. "Jack's important to her. She wants to take him."
Cage stared at Bella. Then he laughed—a short, harsh sound.
"Take him?" he said. "I paid for him. He's mine."
"How much?" Bella asked, her voice shaking.
Cage raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"How much did you pay for him?"
Cage studied her for a moment. Then he smiled—a slow, predatory expression.
"Ten thousand," he said.
Bella pulled out her phone, her hands trembling. "Fine. I'll pay you."
Cage's smile widened. "Actually, make it twenty."
Bella didn't hesitate. She opened her banking app, her fingers flying across the screen.
Cage watched her, his expression shifting from amusement to curiosity.
"Just how valuable is this guy?" he asked.
Bella looked up, her eyes meeting his.
"More than anything," she said.
Cage stared at her for a long moment. Then he shrugged.
"Fine," he said. "He's yours. He was a lost cause anyway."
Bella's hands were shaking as she completed the transfer. Twenty thousand dollars. Gone in an instant.
She didn't care.
Cage's phone buzzed. He checked it, then nodded.
"Alright," he said. "Get him out of here."
He looked at Bones. "Tell Kain I'll get him back for scamming me like this."
"It's too late," Bones said quietly. "Kain's dead. So is Bron."
Cage's eyebrows rose. "Dead?"
"Yeah."
Cage let out a low whistle. "Well, shit. Looks like there's gonna be a war in Southside soon."
He turned and walked out of the room, the doctor following behind him.
Bella moved to Jack's side. She touched his face gently, her fingers brushing against the swollen skin.
"Jack," she whispered. "Can you hear me?"
No response.
"We need to move him," Bones said. "Now."
Bella nodded. She slid one arm under Jack's shoulders, Bones taking his legs.
They lifted him carefully, his body limp and heavy.
Jack's head lolled to the side, a soft groan escaping his lips.
"I've got you," Bella whispered. "I've got you."
They carried him out of the room, through the hallway, past the octagon where the crowd was still roaring.