Conflict Of Laws
Beneath the glare of fluorescent warehouse lighting, sweat formed pools and rivers on Devin's taut, shirtless torso. He strode forward like an Old Testament prophet parting a sea of scarred and tattooed bodies as he entered an imaginary squared circle.
None of Devin's friends, family, or coworkers knew about his secret life. By day he was a successful corporate lawyer, but by night he was a member of New York's most dangerous underground fight club, a club so secret that even its members knew nothing about each other, not even names. The men surrounding Devin tonight were anonymous instruments of violence.
Devin briefly wondered who would emerge from the shadows on the other side of the room to face him. Last week he'd fought a small, stocky man whose hands were faster than hungry cheetahs. Fortunately for Devin the man's chin hadn't been as imposing as his fists.
A tall, sinewy man with a shiny bald head stepped forward and cracked his bare knuckles.
The judge ignored him. To do otherwise would be a violation of the code that bound this place together. Never mind the code of ethics or judicial conduct that governed them both in their everyday lives. None of that mattered here. The law of this place eclipsed everything else.
Casting sudden doubts aside, Devin stepped up to meet his foe. He was here to fight, regardless of who stood before him.
Fists flew. Bones cracked. Devin lost himself in a world of violence.