From Bullets To Billions

Chapter 490: Trapped (Part 1)

The fight in the cage was shifting into a higher gear, and the crowd was eating up every second of it. Up until now, most of the matches that involved either Na or Evon had ended in short, brutal finishes, knockouts so decisive that the audience barely had time to blink.

This time, it was different.

Instead of a fast, clean victory, the exchange between them dragged on and on, turning into something the spectators weren’t used to seeing: a genuine back-and-forth war.

Roars and whistles bounced off the metal cage as the two traded blows. Na’s earlier punch had literally lifted Evon off his feet and sent him crashing into the fence like he weighed nothing. Moments later, Evon was back on his feet, knocking Na’s fists aside and firing counters that snapped Na’s head back.

The people watching on the other side of the bars had no frame of reference for any of this. To them, it didn’t make sense.

How can one punch send a grown man flying through the air, and then a second later that same man casually parries attacks and answers back like nothing happened?

They didn’t know about exoskeleton tech hidden under leather jackets. They didn’t know about Vows or superhuman traits. They had no idea about billion-dollar families or Syndicate-level gangs backing these men from the shadows.

All they saw was violence that bordered on unreal.

Inside the viewing area, Aron’s attention was split in two directions. His eyes constantly flicked between the cage and the room itself. While everyone else focused on the clash in the center, he was scanning the edges, the guards, the exits, the behavior of staff, even the way the other guests reacted.

Next to him, Sheri swallowed hard. Her fingers had been tightened around the edge of the table for so long that her knuckles were beginning to ache.

"I have a question," she said quietly, voice catching as she forced herself not to look away from the fight. "We put quite a lot on this match, right? I’ve been doing the maths in my head..."

She hesitated, then pushed past the knot in her chest.

"If Na loses here, we’ll end up at a loss overall. We’ll have less money than when we started. If that happens, doesn’t that mean we’ll have failed Max too?"

The realization had crept up on her slowly. Losing the last big bet, when Na was supposed to take the fall and didn’t, had thrown their carefully stacked calculations out of balance.

They’d assumed that was going to be his last fight of the night, so she’d gone in heavier than before to get a final bump in winnings. Instead, Na had accidentally knocked his opponent out, and the result had ripped a huge chunk out of their profits.

Because they were trying to make that loss back, she’d been forced to bet more aggressively on this final match. The numbers in her head were clear enough now: if Na lost, they didn’t just walk away with a little less, they walked away in the red.

"And on top of that..." Sheri’s eyes drifted back to the cage as Evon’s fist slammed into Na’s face again. Blood flickered through the air. "I’m worried about him. If this keeps going, will Na be okay? He’s... he’s not going to be seriously hurt from all of this, is he?"

For a moment, Aron stopped watching the perimeter and fixed his gaze on the fight properly. He took in Na’s footwork, the way his guard shifted, the rhythm of Evon’s traps and counters.

"I don’t think Evon is the type to take things too far on purpose," Aron replied, thinking about the way Evon fought, efficient, controlled, not wild. "But that doesn’t mean he can’t get carried away. Especially if something, or someone, is pushing him."

He remembered the moment earlier when Evon had been summoned away by the staff, and how he’d come back with a different look in his eyes.

"They dragged him off before," Aron continued. "Had some kind of talk with him. I don’t know exactly what was said, but it’s obvious there’s more going on inside this venue than just gambling and fights. Whatever that was... it might end up changing how this whole thing plays out."

Sheri didn’t fully understand the layers he was talking about, but she could tell from his tone that it wasn’t good. She pressed her lips together and nodded. Right now, she had to trust him. Out of the two of them, Aron was the one who understood this world.

He reached over and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"You’ll be safe," he said firmly. "Don’t worry. Everyone’s eyes are glued to the cage. No one is paying attention to you right now."

That much, at least, was true. The guests were leaning forward, shouting, waving their hands, reacting to every blow. A cheer rippled through them as Na managed to push forward again, only to get tagged by another sharp counter from Evon.

"But I need to go confirm something myself," Aron added. "I’ll be right back."

He turned away and slipped out from their table. As he moved through the crowd, he could feel the guards’ eyes tracking him. Their posture hadn’t changed, but their focus had.

They weren’t just watching for troublemakers. They were watching everyone.

Aron headed first toward the toilets. Even that small walk told him what he needed to know: staff and guards hovered just a little too close to the walls, their shoulders tense, fingers twitching slightly. That wasn’t the body language of waiters ready to serve drinks.

It was the body language of men ready to draw weapons.

He stepped into the bathroom, let the door close behind him, and deliberately took his time. Once he was done, he didn’t go straight back. Instead, he drifted toward the staff corridors, the less glamorous side of the venue.

Back here, the polished luxury faded quickly. Narrow halls, cleaning trolleys, crates stacked along the walls, this area looked more like the back end of a hotel than a secret underground arena.

From experience, Aron knew these kinds of places always had multiple exits. Even if the venue was hidden behind a fake ATM entrance, fire regulations and basic survival meant there had to be other ways out. Emergency doors to alleyways. Service routes to trash collection points.

Otherwise it really would be a death trap if something went wrong.

’Even crooks have to pass health and safety checks, right?’ he thought bitterly.

He pushed open one of the doors at the end of the hallway. Cold air licked at his face. On the other side was exactly what he expected: a back exit, a short stairway leading upwards, and,

Two men standing guard.

Both wore Black Hound insignia on their clothes, their arms folded, eyes hard.

"Hey," one of them said immediately. "What do you think you’re doing?"

Aron didn’t flinch. He put on a tired, annoyed expression instead.

"Relax," he said. "I just wanted a quick smoke. Away from my client."

The guard snorted.

"Smoking’s allowed inside," the man replied. "Choke the place up if you want. No one is allowed to leave the venue until the event is over."

The way he said it left no room for argument. It wasn’t a suggestion or a request. It was a clear rule.

Aron held his gaze for a second, then nodded like it didn’t matter to him. Pushing here would only cause problems.

"Got it," he said lightly. "I’ll enjoy my smoke inside then."

He stepped back through the door and let it shut behind him. As he turned into the corridor again, he noticed a couple of staff members further down pretending to check a cart. Their eyes, however, were on him.

They’d followed his movements from the toilets to the back hallway.

’So it’s not just certain people they’re watching anymore,’ Aron thought, walking slowly back toward the main hall. ’It’s everyone. No one in this room is leaving until they say so.’

That meant if they needed to escape, that exit was a possibility, but only after those guards were removed or distracted. Right now, it was sealed like every other obvious route.

He slipped back into the main viewing chamber. Noise washed over him again, chants, curses, laughter, the metallic clang of fists hitting the cage. The fight between Na and Evon was still going strong. That, at least, was good news.

For however long he’d been gone, neither of them had fallen yet.

Aron threaded his way through the crowd and returned to Sheri’s side. Her eyes snapped to his immediately, searching his face for answers even before she spoke.

"Well?" she asked. "Is... everything okay?"

He sank into his seat, leaned slightly closer so he didn’t have to raise his voice.

"We’ve got a problem," Aron said quietly. "This place isn’t just hosting an event tonight. They’re locking it down."

He glanced around, making sure no one was close enough to hear.

"I checked the back route. The exit’s guarded, and they’re not letting anyone leave. Not just us, anyone. That means they want something from the people here. Maybe it’s just money... or maybe it’s more than that."

Sheri’s fingers tightened again on the table. The fight raged on in the background, but the noise felt distant all of a sudden.

"So what does that mean for us?" she whispered.

"It means," Aron replied, eyes moving from the cage to the guards lining the walls, "that whatever the Black Hounds and the people above them are planning to do... they want us here when it happens."

****

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