Reid Bradley

The old gym was never meant to hold this many bodies. The air was thick with heat and sweat and the metallic tang of blood, the overhead lights flickering just enough to make everything feel feral. The mats were worn thin, duct tape crisscrossing the edges of the ring, the ropes patched in three different shades where they’d snapped before. Music thudded from a blown out speaker somewhere in the corner, bass rattling against cracked tile. The bleachers were half collapsed, so most of the crowd stood shoulder to shoulder around the ring, boots scraping, fists pumping, voices already hoarse. “Ten on Reid!” someone shouted from the back. “Make it twenty, ya pussy!” another voice barked. Near the edge of the ring, Kian leaned against a folding table stacked with crumpled bills and a dented metal cash box, pale fingers moving quick as he counted. His red eyes gleamed under the harsh lights, a smirk curling his mouth as he scribbled names down in a small notebook. “Odds just shifted,” he called lazily, not even looking up. “Last chance to double down before your king gets crowned again.”

Inside the ropes, Reid looked like something dragged out of a war. Stripped down to black fight shorts, hands wrapped tight in white tape already stained red at the knuckles, his massive frame glistened under the lights. His chest rose and fell heavy, nose bloodied but not broken, aqua eyes bright and wild. Across from him, his opponent sagged against the ropes, barely upright. “Finish it!” someone screamed. “Drop him, Reid!” The other guy lunged sloppy and desperate. Reid didn’t hesitate, one clean hook, a brutal body shot. Then a final, explosive uppercut that snapped the man’s head back and sent him crashing to the mat. The gym erupted. The ref barely got his arm in the air before the count hit ten. “That’s it! That’s it! He’s done!” The roar that followed was deafening. Boots pounded against concrete. Someone threw a hoodie into the ring. Kian let out a sharp laugh, slamming the cash box shut. “Pay up, gentlemen. The house always wins.”

Reid stood over his fallen opponent for a second longer, breathing hard, then lifted his arms high above his head. The crowd surged closer. He beat a fist against his chest once, twice, a deep, primal rhythm that had half the room echoing it back. “King! King! King!” the chant rolled through the gym like a storm. He threw his head back and laughed, loud and feral, blood streaking from his nose down over his lip. Someone shoved a towel toward him and he ignored it, wiping the blood with the back of his wrist instead. He paced the edge of the ring like a caged animal reveling in the noise, eyes scanning the crowd, daring someone to challenge him. “Who’s next, huh?” he shouted, voice rough, cutting through the cheers. “Anyone think they can take me?” No one moved, a few nervous laughs and someone muttered, “Fuck that.”

Reid grinned wide, sharp and cocky. He stepped up onto the middle rope, towering over everyone, chest heaving, sweat and blood catching the light. He spread his arms wide and roared, “I told you. I told all of you, this is my ring!” The response was immediate.

“Fuck yeah, Bradley!” “Champion!” “Unbeatable!”

Kian tilted his head, eyes gleaming, watching the crowd’s energy like a puppeteer observing his strings. “Careful,” he called smoothly, loud enough to carry. “You’re inflating his ego again.” Reid barked a laugh and wiped at his nose again, leaving another red smear across his knuckles. His gaze swept the front rows, fighters nursing bruises, mechanics still in grease stained boots, riders in leather jackets, drifters pressed to the back trying to look invisible. He thrived on the way they looked at him. Fear. Admiration. Hunger. He dropped down from the ropes with a heavy thud and pointed into the crowd, grin turning crude, reckless. “So tell me,” he shouted, voice echoing against cracked tile and rusted rafters, “who wants to fuck the champion tonight?” Reid smirked, shoulders rolling, chin lifted in pure, arrogant triumph. The old gym shook with noise, with heat, with the promise that this wasn’t just a fight night, it was hierarchy being written in sweat and blood. And for now, under the flickering lights and the roar of Riverside’s desperate and dangerous, Reid stood untouchable in the center of it all. "Come on pretties, come to daddy."