Fighting For Hope (Worth the Fight #1) - Olivia T. Turner Page 0,2

rough and anything goes, but a hundred bucks is a hundred bucks.

Teddy disapproves of the fights and doesn’t like his fighters to partake, but I think I’m done listening to what Teddy has to say. Why shouldn’t I make some extra money? It’s not like I’m going to make it in the GPC according to him.

“What time is it at?” I ask as I put my shirt on.

Alex grins. “Midnight.”

I said it myself. I’m fighting for money.

I might as well take what I can get.

“Yeah, man,” I say with a nod. “I’ll see you there.”

Chapter Two

Hope

“I don’t know about this,” I say with a wince as I look at the thugs and future criminals walking down the street. They’re all headed toward the dilapidated house that is swarming with people drinking 40 ounces of beer, fighting, smoking, getting fucked up, and making one bad life choice after another.

My brother Scott and I don’t belong here.

I look over at him, pleading with my eyes. He looks back at me with a heavy breath.

We’ve been sleeping in the car for the past two weeks. I don’t remember the last time I washed my clothes.

Maybe we do belong here…

Maybe this is what we’ve become.

“We get fifty bucks to enter,” he says as he runs a hand down his face. “A hundred if I win.”

I look over at some of the huge guys walking by. Scott is young, strong, and fast, but these guys look like killers.

I gulp when I see a handgun sticking out of someone’s pants.

“We can’t afford not to,” he says as he looks at the same guys that I was just looking at. “We’ll still get fifty bucks if I lose.”

“That won’t help you if you get yourself killed.”He sighs as he turns off the car.

Oh no… he’s actually going to go through with it.

“The fights start at midnight,” he says as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “You stay here.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No,” he snaps. “You stay here. I mean it, Hope. Don’t leave this car. If I’m not back by two am, then you drive out of here and park behind the YMCA like we’ve been doing.”

“Why wouldn’t you be back?” I start to feel that panicky feeling which has been coming around more and more lately.

“Just… stay here,” he says. “Please.”

“Scott!” I say as he opens the door. “I’ll get another job. We’ll figure something out! You don’t have to do this!”

“I’ll be fine,” he says as he gives me one last look. “Doesn’t your big brother always look out for you?”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” I tell him in a shaky voice.

He gives me a tight smile and then steps out. “Just stay here. Everything is going to be fine.”

The butterflies in my stomach are telling me otherwise as he closes the door.

It’s after one o’clock and he’s still not back. The steady stream of people heading to Papa Pain’s house has turned into a trickle as everyone is already watching the fights in the backyard.

My hands are shaking as I picture Scott’s lifeless body lying on the ground while everyone cheers. He’s always been a good fighter, shutting anyone up who made fun of our family, or lack thereof.

Our parents died in a boating accident in Hawaii when we were barely teenagers. The shock of their deaths hit us hard. Just harder than the shock of finding out that they were deeply in debt with a negative net worth, no will, and absolutely no insurance. If our aunt didn’t take us in, we would have been on the streets.

We lived with her for a few years until she got a new boyfriend who didn’t want a couple of teenagers hanging around.

“You’re nineteen, Scott,” Aunt Meryl said, “and Hope, you’re eighteen. Old enough to be on your own.”

So, two weeks ago, with less than sixty dollars to our name and with no jobs, we became residents of our car.

It’s been rough. We both got a job at a fast-food joint, but that only lasted three days. The manager was a little handsy with me and Scott didn’t like it so he cracked him in the jaw. We both got fired quickly after that.

We haven’t had much luck since then. We don’t have a computer or a printer, so we’ve been writing our resumes out by hand. Usually on the back of flyers that we peel down from telephone poles. It’s not very professional, but it’s all we’ve got.

I’m rubbing my wrist, which I always do when I’m