Blood and Respect

Chapter 4: Blood and Respect

The underground gym was buzzing. Sammy could feel the eyes on him as he stepped into the locker room, his body still aching from the fight with Reaper. He had won, but he knew it wasn't clean. He had been a few seconds away from tapping, from losing everything.

But he didn't.

He had adapted.

Carlos followed behind him, arms crossed, watching Sammy as he peeled off his wraps. "You did what you had to do," he said.

Sammy glanced at him. "You saw that?"

Carlos smirked. "Everyone saw it."

Sammy exhaled. "They think I'm a dirty fighter now?"

Carlos leaned against the lockers. "You're in the underground, kid. No one cares how you win—only that you do."

Sammy didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He had always believed in skill, in the purity of boxing. But this world? This wasn't the ring he grew up with.

It was something else entirely.

Before he could think on it further, Rick stepped into the room, his usual smug grin in place. "Kid, you're causing waves."

Sammy sighed. "That supposed to be a good thing?"

Rick chuckled. "Depends. You're getting noticed, and not just by small-timers anymore." He lit a cigarette, taking a slow drag before continuing. "There's a guy asking about you. Name's Vinnie."

Carlos tensed.

Sammy noticed. "Who's Vinnie?"

Carlos answered before Rick could. "He runs fights. Big ones. Higher stakes. The kind that aren't just for entertainment."

Sammy frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Rick shrugged. "Means if you keep going, you're gonna be in deeper than you think."

Sammy ran a hand through his hair. "And if I say no?"

Rick smirked. "Then you go back to fighting small-time punks for scraps. Your call."

Sammy didn't answer right away. He knew the risks. But at the same time, he had come this far. He wasn't backing down now.

He looked at Rick.

"When's the next fight?"

Rick grinned. "I'll set it up."

The fight was scheduled three nights later. This time, it wasn't in a gym or a back-alley club. It was in a warehouse near the docks—bigger, more organized. The kind of place where real money exchanged hands.

Sammy stepped inside, feeling the weight of the place. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, the scent of alcohol and sweat blending into a familiar stench. But the crowd here was different. These weren't just gamblers. There were fighters in the crowd, men who had seen real violence.

Rick led him through the crowd toward a makeshift locker room. "Your opponent's a guy named Malik," he said. "Muay Thai. Been around for a while."

Sammy nodded, mentally preparing himself. Kickboxers were already a nightmare, but Muay Thai fighters? They were built different. Knees, elbows, clinch work—it was brutal.

Carlos clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't let him control the space. If he gets you in a clinch, you break out fast."

Sammy just nodded. He already knew what he had to do.

When he stepped into the ring, Malik was already there. A tall, lean fighter with a shaven head, his hands wrapped in thick tape. His eyes were cold, studying Sammy like a problem he already knew how to solve.

The announcer barely finished before the bell rang.

Malik came forward fast.

Sammy barely dodged a snapping leg kick aimed at his ribs. Malik kept moving, throwing another kick, then another, forcing Sammy to stay defensive.

Sammy weaved, stepped inside, and threw a jab—only for Malik to grab his head in a tight Muay Thai clinch.

Shit.

A knee crashed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Another knee followed, this one aimed at his ribs. Sammy struggled, remembering Carlos' training. He jammed his elbow into Malik's grip, breaking the clinch just long enough to throw a short, brutal uppercut.

Malik stumbled back.

Sammy pressed forward, landing a sharp right hook, but Malik recovered fast. He stepped inside again, feinted a punch, then slammed an elbow into Sammy's jaw.

Pain exploded across Sammy's face.

He staggered, but he didn't fall.

He had trained for this.

Malik came in for the finish—another knee—but this time, Sammy was ready. He sidestepped, trapping Malik's leg against his own, and drove a brutal left hook into his ribs.

Malik grunted, but he didn't back down. He threw a wild elbow, forcing Sammy to duck.

Then Sammy saw his opening.

He shifted his stance, lowered his hips, and launched a devastating right uppercut straight into Malik's chin.

The impact was solid.

Malik's body stiffened for a second. Then he dropped.

The crowd roared.

Sammy stood over his fallen opponent, breathing hard, his knuckles aching.

The ref checked Malik—then waved his arms.

It was over.

As Sammy stepped out of the ring, he could feel the shift in the crowd. People weren't just watching him anymore.

They recognized him.

Rick was already waiting. "You just made a statement, kid."

Carlos nodded approvingly. "You fought smart. Controlled the space. That's how you survive."

Sammy wiped blood from his lip, looking around. He had won, but he knew this wasn't the end.

The underground didn't work like that.

Every win meant a bigger target on his back.

And somewhere in the crowd, someone was already planning how to take him down next.

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End of Chapter 4