Wilson’s Warzone was located twenty stories above the mid-city streets. It had an open air design with a balcony facing Callahan Tower where fighters trained with jump rope and heavy bags hanging from metal arms. The scent of sweat clung to every inch of the place and when Owen walked in a couple of the fighters gave him friendly nods as they headed for the stairs outside.

  “Feels like home,” Sensei Dan said. He took a deep breath. “This is a place where warriors are made. I can feel their energy pulsing in the air. Our dojo served its purpose, but this is the real deal.” Dan looked at a six sided pit in the center of the gym. “What is this?”

  “That’s the hex pit,” Owen said. How the hell didn’t Dan know what it was. “I thought you competed.”

  “In cages and rings. And on beaches. I don’t know what that is.”

  “That’s where the fights happen. Well, this is a small one. Real fights happen in a bigger pit with obstacles inside.”

  “Obstacles? Tell me more.”

  “Well—,” Owen started before Amber interrupted him.

  “Talking to yourself?” She put her hands on her hips and grinned at him. She wore a teal tank top that showed off her toned belly and a pair of dark leggings so tight they could’ve been painted on. Owen’s eyes drifted to her belly button and Amber cleared her throat. He imagined his hands around her slender waist and swallowed. “My eyes are up here.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Sorry,” Owen said. “I’m still getting used to seeing you in the flesh. I’ll try not to stare so much.” He nervously adjusted the gym bag on his shoulder. She seemed like she was already in the middle of a workout. “Is this your gym?”

  “I’m the owner,” Amber said. “But it’s not my gym. It’s his.” She waved at a big man with a short grey beard and a bevy of Christian tattoos covering thick arms. He was the oldest man in the gym and walked with a self assured swagger that Owen only saw on Dan. “Owen, meet Coach Derek Wilson. Three time City Seven Fighting League Champion.” Owen shook his hand, expecting the much bigger man to squeeze his knuckles, but he didn’t.

  “Good to meet you, Owen,” Wilson said. “Amber says you got some talent. You can call me Coach, or Coach Wilson. Never Derek, never mister. Especially never mister.”

  “Got it, Coach Wilson.”

  “Call me Coach. Toss your bag over there and throw on your gloves.”

  “I don’t have gloves,” Owen said sheepishly. Coach Wilson looked at him like he was the stupidest citizen to walk into his gym.

  “We’ll buy a pair,” Amber said as she took Owen by the arm. “He’s a newbie.”

  “You wasting my time, Amber?” Wilson asked.

  “Never.” She smiled sweetly at the stone faced coach.

  “Get him geared up and meet me at the hex in five. I need to finish up with Mark.” Coach Wilson went to instruct someone pounding a heavy bag while Amber led Owen to a large vending machine tucked in the gym’s corner.

  “I forgot you’d need gloves.” Amber tapped her head. “And headgear. And hand wraps. You like to kick right? I remember you kicking. How about shin guards?”

  “Doesn’t that cost a lot?”

  “You’re cute,” Amber said as she tapped the vending machine’s screen. Aside from equipment there was a selection of protein drinks and quick nutritious meals. She touched her wristband to the payment scanner and within moments plastic wrapped gear was deposited from a wide chute. “Derek’s a good coach. He’ll test you out, but I think you’ll do fine. Just keep your guard up.”

  “Am I fighting?” Owen smiled at the thought. He hadn’t fought anyone but Sensei Dan since the Triangle Club. He was itching to try out Hardknuckle again.

  “Sparring.” Amber nodded. “I’ll be sponsoring you personally if everything goes well today. You’ll be the first fighter under the Team Amber Callahan banner. Don’t disappoint me.” Amber waved as she returned to a stationary bicycle and Owen sat on a bench to don his new equipment.

  Everything was made by FIGHT FORCE and covered in black and white squares. Sensei Dan taught Owen how to wrap his hands to cushion his knuckles and when he was ready he warmed up by the hex pit with some stretching. When Coach Wilson returned he gave Owen a bewildered look.

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  “I thought you were getting gloves, not a suit of armor. Lose the headgear. If you wanted to stay pretty you wouldn’t be here. Headgear won’t protect you from a concussion anyway.” Owen tossed the headgear aside and joined Coach Wilson and another man in the pit. “This is Mark. He’s training for a match. I asked him to go a round with you so we can see what we’re working with.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Owen said. He shook Mark’s hand and got his knuckles squeezed.

  “We’ll see,” Mark said. He stood a couple inches taller than Owen and had thick forearms with seven tally marks tattooed on one arm representing his wins. He had a fighter’s face through and through, like a cinderblock come to life. His hair and eyebrows were dyed platinum blonde and his nose was crooked.

  “Stand up rules,” Coach Wilson said. “No grappling, no groin strikes, and if I see any biting I’ll throw you out.” He looked at Owen when he said that last bit. “Take it easy on him, Mark. Fighters, ready, engage!” Owen smirked. It was Mark who needed to watch out.

  Coach Wilson clapped and Mark darted forward. His fists were blurs, leather popping Owen in the face before he could get his guard up.

  The world spun as Mark unleashed his jab. Pop. Pop. Pop. He controlled the distance between him and Owen. Pop. Pop. Crack! Mark threw a right cross that caught Owen across the chin. He smacked the mat before he knew he was falling. He wasn’t knocked out but Mark rattled him. He’d never been hit so hard. It had to be a fluke.

  “That’s not a good look,” Coach Wilson said. “Get up!”

  “Get moving, Owen,” Sensei Dan said as Owen hopped to his feet. “He’s a boxer and that means fast fists and devastating punches. You’ll feel every hit so keep your head moving.”

  Owen’s initial shock wore off. He threw a kick to create space and studied his opponent. Mark wasn’t much bigger than him, his reach about the same. He kept his gloves close to his face to protect his chin and he bounced on the balls of his feet to stay light.

  He didn’t stand or move like anyone else Owen fought. The fighters at the Red Triangle were wild brawlers. Daddy Spider was a gang member who learned to fight on the street. Mark had real training and experience. Was he already going easy on Owen?

  Owen went for his legs. His shin guards slapped Mark’s thigh. Thwack! He chopped the tree, but it didn’t fall. Mark zipped in with a three piece combo that started with Owen’s exposed ribs. Each hit drove air from his burning lungs. Mark punched Owen with a whip like crack. Owen saw stars as Mark moved in to finish him. He turtled under his arms, Mark’s leather gloves burning his forearms as they slid off.

  “Show me something,” Coach Wilson said. “I thought I took Mark off the punching bag.”

  “This is a real fighter, Owen,” Sensei Dan said. “He’s not a back alley brawler. Think about how we spar and adapt. You got hands, feet, elbows, and knees. Use them!”

  Owen moved around the hex completely on the defensive. Mark never let up. Every punch had the force of a truck behind it. They weren’t soft sparring. This was a fight. Jab, jab, cross. Jab, jab, cross, hook. Owen started to see a pattern in Mark’s assault. He blocked the jabs and slipped the cross. Then he did it again and again.

  “You’re seeing it,” Sensei Dan said with a smile. “Retaliate!”

  Owen scuttled under a left hook and slammed Mark with an uppercut. He reeled away and Owen chopped the tree again. It was a solid hit, one that slowed Mark down. Owen took the offensive. Hardknuckle strikes busted through Mark’s defense.

  Not out of the fight, Mark ate the hits and charged in. He unleashed a torrent of punches that Owen wove through, leather gloves grazing his cheeks. The reality of a street brawler versus a highly trained fighter became evident. Mark was the best fighter Owen met aside from Dan. It wasn’t a creek of skill between Owen and Mark, it was a gulf. He wasn’t even champion.

  “Break!” Coach Wilson shouted. He jumped between Owen and Mark and shoved them away from each other. “Get some water, Mark. Good work.” The boxer nodded at Owen and grabbed a plastic bottle from a bench. Coach Wilson turned to Owen. “And you. How long have you been fighting?”

  “A few months?”

  “You asking or telling?”

  “A few months,” Owen said. He took a deep breath, not realizing how tired he was until the adrenaline started to wear off. His ribs ached and his cheeks started to swell. “I got my ass kicked.”

  “I saw. Don’t take it too hard. Mark’s been with the Warzone a year. Before that he was with Savage School for five.” Coach Wilson patted Owen on the shoulder. “He’s a pro. Seven and zero. We’re hoping for a fight with Jake Callahan sometime in the near future. He’s earned it.” Wilson nodded at Mark. “You did okay in the pit. You’re not pro-level yet, but I think I can work with you. What was that anyway? Kung-fu?”

  “Karate. Hardknuckle Style,” Owen said proudly.

  “Never heard of it.” Coach Wilson shrugged. “When you’re in this gym you belong to me. We’ll hone that karate of yours, and give a few more tools for the old toolbox. But for now hop on one of those bikes and give me two miles. A fighter lives and dies by his cardio. After that I want five hundred sprawls.”

  Owen jumped on one of the free stationary bikes and started pedaling. He thought back to the night he received his fines and how it all started because he wanted to see bicycles. It made him laugh. So much changed with one minor crime.

  “Are you going to be okay with this?” He asked Dan.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Sensei Dan answered. “The art of fighting doesn’t begin and end with Hardknuckle. I’ll still keep teaching you, and you’ll learn from Coach Wilson here. A Hardknuckle practitioner takes in everything that is useful. I made Hardknuckle mine, and you’ll make Hardknuckle yours. That’s the only way Hardknuckle Style grows.”

  And that was that. Owen trained with Coach Wilson during the day and Sensei Dan at night. His life was nearly twenty four hours of fighting. When he slept in his new bed in his new apartment he dreamed about training. When he ate it was with concern about how it would affect his body’s ability to fight. Amber frequented the gym to train herself and to keep an eye on Owen’s progress. Two weeks passed in a blissful haze. He almost forgot he was there on Tuck’s order, until his scratchpad beeped after an afternoon training session.

  He had a new mission.