It's the small things we don't notice. A side glance. A tilt of the head. A small smile. A swift wink. A touch that lingers longer than necessary. Each one is a clue—one tiny little hole that gives you a glimpse of the bigger picture. To see what is really going on behind the façade.

I was too blind to see that before. I couldn't see the warning signs when I threw myself into the fighting circuit and ultimately right at Carl. I didn't think, I didn't question . . . I just did. If I had seen the clues before then I would have run. If I had seen the look that was hiding behind Carl's face the whole time . . . I would have never come back. But I did. Every week I walked right back into that bar and walked out with a handful of cash.

One day turned into two and two turned into three. Back and forth I went. More money in my pocket. More marks on my body. My knuckles were bloody. My face was a mess.

My parents questioned, I turned away. My life was becoming one big, gaping hole and I was falling into it bit by bit. I still am. I'm still only halfway down to the bottom. And I can't hit the end. I don't know what will happen if I do . . . and I don't want to find out.

I stand beside my truck, parked on the edge of the tree-lined road. The leaves have all turned orange and red by now, so I am surrounded by two large walls of fall colors.

I see a car in the distance coming down the street towards me and I push off from my truck, standing straighter and putting my cold hands in my pockets. The silver car comes to a stop on the other side of the road and the engine cuts off. I wait patiently for Brad to get out of his car and head over to me.

"You okay?" he asks immediately, and I nod. "So Carl isn't suspicious of anything?"

"Well he hasn't forced his way into my house to beat the shit out of me so I'm guessing I'm in the clear," I say.

Brad runs a hand over the top of his head. "What did you do with your file?"

"Burned it," I say and then reluctantly add, " . . . as well as everyone else's."

"All of them? What do you mean all of them?"

"There were too many files. It would have taken too long to just find mine so I grabbed all of them. Threw them in my fireplace."

"Everyone's records are gone." Brad puts his hand on my shoulder. "That's half the evidence gone."

There's a faint smile on his lips and I can't understand why he of all people is so happy about this.

"I don't get it," I say. "Why does this matter to you? You're not one of the fighters. You don't even work under Carl. This barely affects you."

Brad's hand slips from my shoulder. "Tyler, you've only been there a year. One year, and you've seen what Carl is capable of. One year. I've been working at that bar for five years. I've seen everything that man is able to do for five whole years. You think you've seen his worst, or you think you know what he can do. You don't, Tyler. That man has the power to do things to anyone he wants to. And he will. Whatever you've seen is nothing, nothing, compared to what he will really do."

His words only make me frown even more. What could be worse than seeing a man being beaten to death?

Movement catches my eye from over Brad's shoulder and I look up to see someone is sitting in the back seat of his car. A young girl's face appears in the open window. She stares at me, her frizzy, black hair pulled back and her clear, brown skin matching her dark eyes.

I stare at her in confusion.

Brad notices me looking and turns to see the girl. "Eliza. I said stay in the back and wait for me."

"I'm going to be late for school again," she sulks.

She couldn't be any older than five.

"In the back," Brad says sternly. "Now."

Eliza huffs and her eyes flick over to me. It's impossible to not see the obvious resemblance between her and Brad. She finally turns away and crawls into the back once again and out of sight.

Brad steps in front, blocking my view. "Not a word," he says.

I know immediately what he's asking of me. Don't tell anyone else. Don't tell Ethan, the boys in the circuit and most importantly, don't tell Carl. I nod my head.

"Why did you bring her?" I ask quietly. "To show me?"

"Shockingly, not everything is about you," he says. "I need to get her to school and you were helpfully on the way there."

"Why can't anyone know?" I glance at the back windows.

Brad sighs and puts his hands in his pockets, rolling back and forth on his feet. "Tell me, does Carl know about your family? Does he know how many people are in it? Does he know their jobs? Where you go to school? Your street name? Your house number? When you get off school? When they get off work?"

I nod a little. "Probably."

"And did you ever consider that things such as that are his ammunition?" Brad asks. "Carl is never the one holding the gun. He won't be the one to shed the blood. He'll put the fireworks in place, make sure everything is in perfect order then fuck off before it blows. His weapon isn't a gun, it's his connections. His ammunition isn't bullets, it's facts like those. He has the ability to know where you are every second of every day. He could walk right into your school and wait by your damn locker."

"He . . . he wouldn't do that—"

"Do you even understand what he'll do? He doesn't give a shit about you. He never has. If you start getting in his way and fucking things up, he'll make sure you're dead one way or another. He'll know the files are gone by now and he's going to go after you and all the other guys fighting down there. And he's going to use your family to do it. You don't have months to get this done. You have weeks. Probably less. There's one tiny hole right now and we can get out. You've given all of the guys down there a chance. Don't screw this up for them."

"What am I supposed to do?" I glare at him. "What am I supposed to do when Carl comes after me? What am I supposed to do when he comes after my family? Take the blame and let everyone else get their freedom? I did this to get myself out! Me. I didn't do this so we could start a damn rebellion against Carl!"

"Do you honestly think you're the only one that wants to get out of there?"

"Of course, I don't."

"Then stop just trying to save yourself. At least half the guys down there want out. You have the chance to help them."

"Why are you telling me all this?" I ask.

"I'm not the only guy in that building with a family," Brad says. "I'm not the only one hiding my family. One day, Carl will find them out and use their loved ones against them. It isn't a pretty thing."

The look on his face makes me believe him immediately. It's haunted and perhaps even a little scared. I nod my head and Brad turns around, heading back to his car.

"Stay safe."

"You too," I mumble as the car pulls away and skids off down the road.

***

The time ticks by as I sit at the table in the coffee shop down by the stadium, where Ethan is competing. It's almost four in the afternoon and he said that he would be here fifteen minutes ago. I have tried to text and call him, but he's not answering.

When he's twenty minutes late, I'm about to get up and go to the stadium to find him when the door opens with a ding.

I look up and my shoulders slump in relief when I see Ethan walking over. But my relief slowly turns to concern. He's stumbling, his head lolls forward and his hand is clutching his stomach. I stand up and when he's a few feet away, I finally see the blood coming out of his mouth.

I lurch forward as he staggers and falls onto the floor. I drop down onto the floor and roll him over. His face is covered with deep, red blood. His stomach is seeping the same fluid, soaking his clothes. I push him to his side so he doesn't choke and look over at the other customers who recoil in shock.

"Call an ambulance!" I yell.

People immediately rush around and I feel their presence surrounding me as well as the sound of someone talking on the phone. Ethan's eyes open and close. I try to keep him awake.

"Ethan, Ethan, come on," I say. "Stay awake. Just a little longer. Come on!"

As I stare down at his bleeding stomach, a piece of paper catches my eye. It's pressed against the hand that isn't covered in his blood and I lift it up. A sheet of paper is stuck to the palm of Ethan's hand by a pin lodged into his flesh.

I wince and gently rip the paper off, deciding that I would do more damage if I tried to remove the pin. I discreetly curl in on myself and read the faint words written on the paper.

11pm, Saturday.

You have a fight.

I crumple the paper up quickly and shove it into my pocket. I try to keep Ethan awake as blood continues to trickle out of his mouth. My skin is as pale as his as Brad's words replay in my mind over and over.

When he finds those files are gone, he's going to go after you.

And he's going to use your family to do it.

- Ellie x