Ghost in the Underground

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Chapter 21: The Trap is Set

Sammy sat in the dimly lit gym, replaying Marcus's words in his head.

"Enjoy your win. It won't last."

It wasn't just a threat. It was a promise.

Carlos and Rick were inside, finishing their workout. But Sammy couldn't shake the feeling in his gut.

Marcus was planning something.

And in the underground, revenge wasn't just about fists.

Carlos wiped sweat from his face and tossed Sammy a water bottle. "You good?"

Sammy caught it, nodding.

Rick stretched his arms. "Word's spreading, man. You didn't just beat Marcus. You made him look bad."

Carlos exhaled. "That means trouble."

Sammy stayed silent. He already knew that.

Rick leaned forward. "And now Miguel's calling you out too."

Sammy cracked his knuckles. "I'll handle it."

Carlos sighed. "That's not the problem. The problem is who's setting the fights."

Sammy frowned. "What do you mean?"

Carlos hesitated. Then:

"Marcus's guys are behind this next fight."

Sammy's grip on the water bottle tightened.

It wasn't just a fight anymore.

It was a setup.

---

That night, Sammy's phone buzzed again.

Another unknown number.

He answered.

A low voice. "Ghost. You ready for your next fight?"

Sammy already knew. This was one of Marcus's guys.

"Who's the opponent?" Sammy asked.

A chuckle. "Miguel 'Slicer' Cortez."

No surprise.

"What are the rules?"

A pause. Then the voice said, "No rules."

Sammy narrowed his eyes.

"That a problem?" the voice asked.

Sammy exhaled. "No."

The voice laughed. "Good. Tomorrow night. Same warehouse."

The call ended.

Sammy set the phone down, his mind racing.

A no-rules fight? That meant anything went.

And that meant this wasn't just about winning.

It was about surviving.

---

Carlos paced in front of him. "You know what this is, right?"

Sammy nodded. "Yeah."

Rick whistled. "They're trying to break you. Either Miguel takes you out, or you walk out too busted up to fight again."

Carlos cracked his knuckles. "Then we make sure that doesn't happen."

Sammy stood. "What's the plan?"

Carlos smirked. "We train dirty."

---

Carlos didn't hold back.

They worked on every trick in the book.

Clinch breaks and frames to keep Miguel's elbows from cutting him up.

Foot stomps and shoulder strikes to stay aggressive inside.

Short-range power punches to make every exchange hurt.

Using the environment—wall pinning, dirty trips, and defensive head positioning.

After an hour, Sammy was drenched in sweat.

Carlos grabbed his shoulder. "No matter what happens, don't fight clean."

Rick grinned. "Yeah. If there's no rules, then you make your own."

Sammy wiped blood from his lip.

He wasn't just fighting to win.

He was fighting to send a message.

---

The underground was packed.

The moment Sammy walked in, eyes locked onto him. Some waiting to see him fall. Others waiting to see if he'd survive.

Miguel stood in the ring, rolling his shoulders.

His smirk was sharp, confident. "Didn't think you'd show."

Sammy stepped forward. "Then you don't know me."

The announcer grinned. "Alright, folks. No rules. No refs. Just two men walking in, and one walking out."

The bell rang.

And the trap was sprung.

---

Miguel rushed in fast.

Elbows loaded. No testing. No feeling out. Just a straight-up attack.

Sammy dodged the first one. Blocked the second. Took the third.

Pain exploded across his cheek, but he didn't back up.

Instead, he stepped forward.

Into Miguel's space.

Surprise flickered across Miguel's face—then Sammy clamped onto him.

A hard shoulder strike smashed into Miguel's chin.

Then a headbutt.

Miguel staggered. The crowd roared.

Carlos shouted from outside. "That's it! Make it dirty!"

Miguel growled and clinched again. But this time, Sammy was ready.

He stomped down on Miguel's foot, threw a short hook into his ribs, then shoved him back into the cage wall.

Miguel gasped. He wasn't expecting this.

He expected a boxer. Not a brawler.

But Sammy wasn't just a boxer anymore.

He was a survivor.

---

Miguel wiped blood from his nose and grinned.

"Alright," he muttered. "You wanna play like that?"

Then he lunged low.

Sammy reacted too late.

Miguel scooped his legs and slammed him into the ground.

The air rushed out of Sammy's lungs.

Miguel mounted him instantly.

Then came the elbows.

Fast. Brutal. Like a razor.

Sammy barely covered up.

Pain exploded in his forehead as one cut him open.

Shit.

Carlos's voice rang out. "MOVE, SAMMY!"

Sammy twisted, threw his legs up, and kicked Miguel off.

The moment he was free, he scrambled to his feet.

Blood dripped down his face. Vision blurry.

Miguel smirked. "You're bleeding, Ghost."

Sammy wiped the blood away.

Then he grinned back.

"So are you."

---

Miguel moved in again.

This time, Sammy baited him.

Miguel threw an elbow—Sammy slipped inside.

Then he launched a brutal uppercut.

Miguel's head snapped back.

Sammy stepped in—hook to the ribs.

Miguel gasped.

Another.

Then a final right cross straight to the jaw.

Miguel collapsed.

The crowd erupted.

But Sammy didn't celebrate.

Because he knew—this wasn't the end.

Marcus was still out there.

And this was just the beginning.

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End of Chapter 21

Next up: Chapter 22 – Marcus's Next Move

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