Ghost in the Underground

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Chapter 14: No Rest for the Victorious

The moment Sammy stepped out of the cage, the pain hit him like a freight train.

His ribs burned with every breath. His knuckles were swollen and raw. His entire body ached from the war he'd just been through. The crowd was still roaring behind him, but all Sammy wanted was to sit down and breathe.

No time for that.

Carlos and Rick walked beside him, leading him toward the back corridors of the underground arena. The air smelled of sweat, blood, and beer. Fighters and gamblers moved past them, some nodding in respect, others eyeing Sammy like he was fresh meat.

Rick grinned, slapping a hand on Sammy's shoulder. "Holy shit, man. That knockout? Beautiful. The crowd didn't know what hit 'em."

Sammy grunted. Even that small impact on his shoulder made his muscles protest. "Yeah, well, it almost hit me first."

Carlos walked in silence, his arms crossed. When he finally spoke, his tone was even. "You did good. But you took too many shots."

Sammy sighed. "I know."

Carlos stopped walking and turned to face him. "You keep letting these guys close the distance. I don't care how good your takedown defense is—if a guy like Axel had gotten full mount, that fight would've been over."

Sammy exhaled sharply, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I'm working on it."

Carlos stared at him for a second, then nodded. "You better."

Before they could continue, a voice called out from down the hallway.

"Rodriguez."

They all turned.

A tall, sharp-dressed man stood near the hallway entrance. He wasn't a fighter. He was a fixer. One of Vinnie's guys.

Sammy's jaw clenched.

The man smirked. "Boss wants to see you."

Vinnie's private lounge was quieter than the chaos of the arena, but it had the same dangerous energy. Expensive liquor bottles lined the shelves, dim lights cast long shadows, and thick cigar smoke filled the air.

Vinnie sat in a leather chair, sipping whiskey, his smirk never fading. A couple of his guys stood nearby, watching.

As Sammy stepped inside, Vinnie leaned forward.

"You keep surprising me, kid."

Sammy crossed his arms. "You keep setting me up."

Vinnie chuckled, swirling his glass. "And you keep surviving. That's what I like about you."

Sammy didn't sit. "What do you want?"

Vinnie shrugged. "Straight to business. Fine." He leaned back in his chair. "You've won the fight, kept your name alive. But you know how this works. It doesn't stop."

Sammy already knew where this was going. "Who's next?"

Vinnie's smirk widened. "Not just yet."

He took another sip of whiskey before setting the glass down with a clink.

"First, you do something for me."

Sammy narrowed his eyes. "What kind of something?"

Vinnie exhaled, like he was talking to a stubborn kid. "There's a guy. Up-and-coming, big money behind him. He's got talent, but he's missing something."

He pointed at Sammy.

"A real fight."

Sammy clenched his fists. "You want me to be his stepping stone."

Vinnie laughed. "No, kid. I want you to see if he's got what it takes." His gaze sharpened. "You win, and you keep proving you belong here. You lose… well, we both know that ain't happening."

Sammy knew exactly what this was.

Another test. Another way for Vinnie to make money while keeping him on a leash.

But saying no wasn't an option. Not here.

He exhaled slowly. "Who is he?"

Vinnie's smirk widened. "Leon Graves."

Carlos and Rick stiffened. Sammy didn't recognize the name, but their reaction told him everything.

Vinnie leaned forward. "He's fast. Skilled. He's been trained by pros since day one. They're calling him the next big thing."

Sammy held his gaze. "And you want me to ruin that?"

Vinnie grinned. "I want to see if you can."

Back in the car, Rick shook his head. "This is bullshit."

Carlos sat in silence, staring out the window.

Sammy leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. "Tell me about him."

Carlos exhaled. "Leon Graves. Young, but dangerous. He's been training since he was a kid—none of us had that luxury. He's got power, speed, and a full MMA toolkit. No real weaknesses. At least, not yet."

Rick scoffed. "Great. Another golden boy."

Sammy's fingers drummed against his knee. "When's the fight?"

Carlos turned to face him. "One week."

Silence.

Then Sammy nodded.

"One week's enough."

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The next morning, Sammy woke up sore, but there was no time to rest.

Carlos had them meet at a new gym—one that specialized in MMA training. The place was brutal. Fighters sparred hard, no protective gear, no pulled punches.

Sammy stepped inside, rolling his shoulders. "Guess we're doing this."

Carlos nodded. "If you want to beat Graves, you need to prepare for the kind of fight he's used to."

A fighter walked up to them. He was short, built like a bulldog, his face scarred from years in the cage.

Carlos introduced him. "This is Ramon. He wrestled in the pros for years. He's gonna teach you how to handle a real MMA fighter."

Ramon looked Sammy up and down. Then he smirked. "You're the boxer, huh?"

Sammy nodded.

Ramon cracked his neck. "Cool. Let's see if you can survive."

The next hour was hell.

Ramon put Sammy through relentless drills—takedown defense, clinch fighting, escapes. Every time Sammy got lazy, Ramon slammed him into the mat.

Again and again.

By the end of the session, Sammy could barely stand.

Carlos helped him up. "You're learning. But Graves won't give you a second chance."

Sammy wiped sweat from his face, breathing hard. "Then I'll make sure I don't need one."

Carlos nodded. "Good."

He clapped Sammy on the shoulder. "Because if you don't put Graves down first…"

Ramon smirked. "He's putting you down for good."

Sammy tightened his fists.

He had one week to make sure that didn't happen.

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End of Chapter 14