Chapter 3 Guillotine Choke

Mila (Twenty-four years old)

"I'm taking Milana to a get together at Renzo's summer house tonight." My brother Donnie announces this at the end of dinner with my dad at our beach house in the Hamptons. Donnie didn't ask me about this before.

My dad looks from me to Donnie then nods his approval. He likes it when I spend time with Renzo. He has this crazy idea that I'm going to fall in love with him and marry him. It'll never happen, but my dad never gives up hope. "Be back at a decent hour." He takes his napkin from his lap as he stands. "Invite more people to the fundraiser this weekend," he says to me.

"I've already sent out the invites," I reply. "And there's a storm off the coast, I might have to cancel it."

"We're not cancelling it. Those storms never hit where they say they will. Invite more people. Preferably rich ones who'll donate a ton of money." He places his napkin next to his plate and walks out.

"What the heck, Donnie? Why did you spring that on me in front of Dad?"

"I wanted you to say yes. "

"I might have said yes if you asked me privately."

"No you wouldn't. You don't like Renzo or his friends."

"Still. You should have asked me."

He holds up his hand for me to stop talking and leans in across the table. "Don't tell Dad. We're not going to Renzo's place," he whispers.

"We're not? Where are we going?"

"Secret underground fight."

"What? Like a fight club?"

He nods. "Something like that. You interested?"

Actually, I've always liked watching MMA fights on TV and always wondered what goes on at those secret clubs. "Yes," I whisper back. Donnie and I haven't done anything fun together lately and I like that he's making the effort. "Thanks for inviting me."

He grins. "No problem. Go get ready and we'll leave at eight."

"Okay."

***

The fight club ends up being in an abandoned firehouse in the Bronx. There's a pretty big crowd and we're packed in shoulder-to-shoulder watching two fighters in a makeshift ring in the middle of the room. The "undefeated, Unstoppable Foster Dunham" is facing off against Cicero, a big guy who looks like a concrete block wrapped in skin.

Before the fight started, Foster bounded into the ring and the crowd cheered. An intimidating sea serpent tattoo shined on his meticulously sculpted back. Silky white boxing shorts showed off his eight-pack abs, and his piercing light eyes drew everyone to his side.

After two rounds, he's covered in blood and taking a brutal beating. The crowd has turned on him and they're rooting for Cicero now. I don't even know Foster, but I hate that he's losing.

Cicero has two guys over in his corner. Foster has no one.

There's no one in Foster's corner. Not one person. He's bleeding from a cut above his eye, and there's nobody there to take care of it.

Seriously. Why doesn't he have someone to help him?

Foster presses a towel to the gash over his right eye and leans his head back.

He takes a quick sip of water and inserts his mouthpiece, stretching his beautiful lips into a grimace. The referee checks on him and he nods.

The ring girl walks around with the "3" card and the bell sounds. The fighters meet in the middle, and I inhale a deep breath. They circle each other for four minutes, the anticipation increasing as the seconds tick by. The cut over Foster's eye bleeds onto the mat. Grumbles and disgruntled calls erupt from the crowded room. Fans want more blood, not circling and dancing.

With only one minute left in the round, the announcer's voice amps up ten notches with the flurry of action in the ring. "Cicero lands a right hook to the temple."

Foster wobbles as he tries to recover and circle again. Oh shoot.

"Cicero with… Oh, finger to the eye."

The ref separates them as Foster rubs his left eye. Foster blinks through it. Now he has blood in his right eye, and he's been poked in his left. He's essentially blind. He recovers and comes back in, but his eye is closed and he's still unstable on his feet.

"Cicero charges and he's down!"

Foster lands on his back, his opponent crashing on top of him with a crunch and a thud. My heart jumps into my throat. Oh no. They're locked together like two wrestling crabs. It's not looking good for Foster at all. This enormous guy is dominating him, and has his whole concrete body over him while he punches Foster's face. Foster's legs twine around Cicero's back, and Cicero goes after him ruthlessly.

The crowd noise rises to an oppressive din. Elbows and cheering bodies knock me into my brother, who steadies me with an impatient hand on my shoulder. He's watching the fight with eager anticipation. The crowd smells blood in the water, and it looks like Cicero will win.

"Cicero gets a naked-choke on Foster." The ref sounds shocked and thoroughly entertained by Foster's misfortune.

Foster is unyielding. He's clearly losing but maintains his composure. He seems calculating and cautious. After what feels like hours of battle on the floor, the crowd emits a dismayed "oh" as Foster's foot strikes like lightning and pushes the guy up and over.

"Foster flips Cicero!" The announcer laughs. Foster pounces on Cicero and forces him to keep the top of his head to the mat. He wraps an arm around his neck and wrenches it hard. Cicero can't do anything to counter it. He's completely immobilized.

"Deep guillotine choke!" The announcer goes ballistic. Foster's brow scrunches, and he grunts with the force of strangling Cicero. Somebody did not appreciate the eye poke earlier and he's exacting his payback. "There it is. There it is. Cicero taps out! And the Unstoppable Foster Dunham wins. Greatest comeback ever!"

I'm screaming as loud as I can along with the crowd. That was spectacular!

Foster releases his hold on Cicero. His opponent rises slowly, first to one knee, then uncurls his back to his full-height. Foster leaps up and raises his gloved fists, taking a nearly blind victory lap around the ring as his defeated opponent returns to his corner.

He spits out his mouthpiece and shouts, "Yeah!" Smeared blood covers most of his face and neck, and he's still bleeding, but he's relishing his big come-from-behind win.

And… there's no one in his corner anyway for him to go to! He can stay bloody as long as he likes.

His eyes scan the crowd. He doesn't know who I am, but his bleeding gaze stops on me. I clap and yell to show him I'm cheering for him too. Everyone here loves him.

He points at me and crinkles one bruised and swollen eye.

A wink? With blood on his face, in a packed crowd of people, he points at me and winks?

My stomach flips.

There must be another girl around me he's pointing to because there's no way he noticed me and singled me out.

He laughs and makes one more celebration lap around the ring. He grabs his bloody towel before hopping over the wooden railings of the boxing ring and disappearing into another room.