Cage Debt

Emery

The first thing I heard was bone, not the music, though it pounded hard enough to vibrate through the walls and into the handle beneath my hand. Not the laughter echoing from within the building, nor the guttural sounds of men drinking and conversing loudly. Bone…a sharp crack that sliced through everything else.

I froze outside the back hallway door, my fingers tightening around the cold metal handle as another sound followed it; flesh hitting canvas hard enough to make something in my stomach knot.

For one second, long enough for common sense to catch up with me, I considered turning around. The front of the bar had already felt rougher than I’d expected: too loud, too crowded.

Leather cuts stretched across broad backs. Tattoos climbed thick arms as hands wrapped around whiskey bottles. Pool balls cracked somewhere behind me and old rock music rattled the walls hard enough to shake the neon signs hanging behind the bar.

CAGERS BAR glowed electric blue against the far wall.

LIVE BY LOYALTY. FIGHT WITHOUT FEAR. DIE FOR FAMILY.

Not exactly the kind of place my mother would have approved of me applying for a job. But rent didn’t care about approval…neither did overdue bills.

Another crack echoed through the door, followed by cheering. With a bravery I didn’t feel, I shoved the door open, and stepped into the unknown.

Heat hit me first, the kind that clung to skin instantly. The noise came next: shouting, money exchanging hands, chairs scraping concrete, voices rising over one another as bodies crowded around a chain-link cage sunk into the center of the room beneath brutal white lights. Not a boxing ring…a cage.

The smell hit a second later. Sweat, whiskey, and blood…metallic enough, I tasted it in the back of my throat as my gaze locked onto the two men inside the cage.

One of them was already losing. He was broad shouldered with a shaved head, and a massive build. His chest heaved too hard; his movements became slower every time he swung, almost as if brute force was all he had left to rely on.

The other fighter didn’t move like that. Dark hair hung damp around his face, brushing thick shoulders as he circled with slow, controlled precision. Nothing rushed, nothing wasted. Every movement looked deliberate, balanced, and practiced. Dangerous.

The bigger man charged, and the dark-haired fighter slipped sideways smoothly, avoiding the hit by inches before driving his fist deep into the man’s ribs. The sound that came out of him didn’t sound human.

Suddenly, the crowd erupted.

“Finish him!”

“Drop his ass!”

“Come on, Cain!”

The bigger fighter staggered backward, blood spilling from his mouth as he tried to get his footing.

He didn’t get the chance as Cain Daniels stepped forward again, calm as hell while chaos exploded around him as he landed another brutal blow that snapped the bigger man’s head sideways hard enough sweat sprayed under the lights.

The crowd lost their minds. Money waved through the air, and someone climbed onto a chair screaming, but Cain never reacted to any of it.

That was the part that held me there. It wasn’t the violence, or the blood…it was Cain, because while everyone around him looked wild, loud, chaotic…he looked calm.

The bigger man swung again; wild and desperate, and Cain ducked it effortlessly before driving another punch into his ribs hard enough that something cracked.

The bigger fighter dropped to one knee, one hand slamming against the canvas floor as blood dripped steadily from his mouth.

Cain stepped back, breathing evenly. Blood from a cut above his eye slid slowly down his cheek, but he ignored it completely.

The bigger man pushed up again, barely steady on his feet. The crowd screamed for blood, but Cain just watched the other man; calm and patient, as if he was giving him one last chance to stay down.

The man swung anyway, and I knew instantly it was a poor decision.

Cain stepped inside the punch and drove one last hit into him so hard the crack echoed through the cage, the bigger man dropped instantly, hard and final.

The room exploded. Cheers ripped through the crowd while people shoved forward, collecting bets and arguing over payouts. Someone unlocked the cage and rushed inside, crouching beside the unconscious fighter while another man dragged Cain backward toward the cage door.

Cain pulled away from him immediately, not aggressively, just done with being handled.

The crowd slapped his shoulders as he passed. Men shouted his name and women stared openly, but he ignored every single one of them. Until his head lifted and his eyes found mine.

Everything inside me stalled. God. He looked nothing like the version of him I remembered. This version was worse. Sweat slicked his skin beneath the harsh lights, tattoos stretching down both arms. Dark hair brushed his shoulders, damp and messy, like he’d shoved his hands through it repeatedly. And his eyes… Jesus. They locked onto mine with an intensity that made heat crawl slowly up my spin: awareness.

His gaze moved over me once, slow enough that I felt it, then returned to my face and stayed there.

A drop of blood slid from his jaw, but he didn’t wipe it away. Didn’t look away, and…neither did I.

The guy checking the unconscious fighter pressed harder against his neck, like he didn’t love what he was finding.

Nobody else seemed concerned. The music still pounded through the room. Money still traded hands. Someone laughed too loudly in the bar area, but Cain kept staring at me like the entire room had narrowed down to one thing. Me standing there in tight jeans and a black tank top, suddenly feeling far too thin beneath his attention.

Something low and dangerous settled in my stomach. Something I shouldn’t be feeling. Not because he was dangerous, but because he was my best friend’s dad.