Becoming the cartel leader’s trophy

"KNOCK THAT RUSSIAN BITCH OUT!" Carla shouted the second the bell rang, her voice cutting through the noise around us.

I glanced at her, a bit surprised.

She was completely locked in.

Her body leaned forward, elbows on her knees, fists clenched tight as the muscles in her arms tensed. Even the veins along her forearms stood out, her whole focus glued to the fight like she was in there herself.

"COME ON!" she yelled again, louder this time.

The crowd around us was already going wild, reacting to every punch thrown, every dodge, every close hit—but Carla stood out even in all that noise.

She looked like she might actually jump into the ring if given the chance.

I couldn't help but let out a small breath, shaking my head slightly as I leaned back into my seat.

Meanwhile, I just watched.

The redhead—Canela—moved aggressively, pressing forward with fast combinations, trying to break through the Russian fighter's guard. The sound of gloves connecting echoed sharply, mixed with the crowd's constant roar.

Carla kept reacting to every exchange, her energy almost contagious.

Me?

I stayed seated, eyes on the fight, watching it unfold while she practically lived every second of it beside me.

"Just two more rounds left and it's over," I said quietly, glancing over at Carla.

She had been yelling non-stop for what felt like forever—same phrases, same intensity, like she was running on pure adrenaline alone.

"Hopefully she doesn't get a sore throat," I muttered under my breath, watching her bounce slightly in her seat, completely hyped.

Then it happened.

Canela slipped past a jab and landed a clean shot straight to the Russian fighter's face.

The impact echoed.

The Russian staggered, her balance breaking for a split second—her knees dipping like they might give out.

The entire arena reacted at once.

"OH SHIT—" I leaned forward instinctively.

Before the Russian could recover, Canela stepped in again—

And cracked her with a brutal right hook.

The kind that ends fights.

The Russian dropped.

Flat.

The referee rushed in immediately, waving it off as the crowd exploded into cheers, people jumping to their feet all around us.

Carla shot up instantly.

"YEAHHHHH!!!! LETS FUCKING GO!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, throwing her arms up in pure excitement.

People around us turned, some laughing, some cheering along with her.

Then she added, completely serious but somehow still sounding comedic—

"I'M HER COKE DEALER!"

I blinked, then let out a laugh, shaking my head as the arena continued roaring around us.

"You are insane," I said, still laughing a bit as I looked at her.

Meanwhile, in the ring, Canela stood victorious, her hand raised as cameras flashed nonstop.

"That was fun, wasn't it?" Carla said, leaning in close to me, her voice still carrying that leftover excitement.

A smile spread across her face, and I could see the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead from how worked up she'd gotten during the fight. Even now, her energy hadn't fully come down.

"Yeah... it was definitely something," I replied, adjusting the strap of my purse on my arm as I glanced around the arena.

People were still on their feet, cheering, recording, some already starting to move toward the exits while others stayed, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fighters or their teams.

"Do we leave or..." I trailed off, looking back at her.

Carla followed my gaze toward the ring for a second, then back to me, clearly thinking.

"We can," she said, her tone more relaxed now. "Or..."

A small smirk tugged at her lips.

"We could go see her."

She tilted her head slightly toward the ring—toward Canela, who was still being surrounded by cameras and her team.

Her eyes flicked back to me, gauging my reaction.

"What do you think?"

"I guess saying hi really quickly wouldn't be that bad," I muttered, still a bit unsure as I glanced toward the ring.

Carla didn't hesitate.

Her hand grabbed mine and she pulled me up from the chair in one smooth motion.

"Come on... before they announce the winner," she said, already moving.

I barely had time to react before she was leading me through the small gap near the front, guiding me toward the stairs that led up to the ring.

My heart picked up a little as we got closer.

People were still crowded around—camera crews, officials, team members moving in and out, all focused on Canela as she stood near the center, catching her breath while the announcer prepared.

"Carla..." I murmured under my breath, squeezing her hand slightly as we approached.

This felt... like a lot.

But she didn't slow down.

She moved with confidence, like she belonged there, weaving us through the edge of the chaos until we were right near the steps leading up.

The lights above the ring were blinding from this close, heat radiating down onto us as the noise of the crowd pressed in from every direction.

Carla finally stopped near the base of the stairs, still holding my hand tightly.

"Relax," she said quietly, glancing at me for a second.

Then her attention shifted back up toward the ring.

I stepped up the stairs, my heart beating a little faster with each step, the noise of the arena somehow feeling louder now that I was this close to the center of it all. Carla followed right behind me, her presence steady as always.

We stepped into the ring.

For a second, I didn't know what to do with myself.

Bright lights poured down from above, cameras flashed from every angle, and people moved around us like we were part of the show. I just stood there, a bit stiff, waiting for Carla to take the lead.

"Come on..." she said, gently guiding me forward.

We moved toward Canela, who had just finished celebrating with her team. The moment she noticed Carla, her face lit up instantly.

"¡Carla!" she called out, walking over quickly. "Ha pasado tanto tiempo." (Long time no see)

Carla met her halfway, the two of them shaking hands firmly.

"Dirigir el negocio familiar es mucho," (taking care of the family business is a lot) Carla replied with a small smile.

Canela laughed lightly, clearly still riding the high of her win, before her attention shifted to me.

"¿Y quién es este?" (And who's this?) she asked, her eyes landing on me.

I felt a sudden wave of anxiety hit.

All the noise, the lights, the attention—it all pressed in at once as I stood there, unsure of what to say.

Carla didn't hesitate.

"Este es mi amante, Miguel," (this is my lover, Miguel) she said calmly.

I blinked, my face warming slightly at the bluntness of it.

Canela's expression softened into a friendly smile as she extended her hand toward me.

I reached out and shook it, my grip a little more careful than usual.

"Nice to meet you," I said, my voice quieter compared to everything happening around us.

"Nice to meet you too, Miguel," she said, her voice warm, her thick Mexican accent still carrying through even in English.

I nodded slightly, still a bit overwhelmed by everything—the lights, the noise, the fact that I was literally standing in a boxing ring moments after a knockout.

Carla didn't linger.

"Hablaremos otro día, necesito irme antes de que el tráfico empiece," (we'll catch up another day, I have to go before traffic picks up) she said smoothly.

Canela nodded in understanding, already being pulled back into the chaos of cameras and her team celebrating around her.

Before I could even process it fully, Carla's hand found mine again, firm and grounding.

And just like that, we were moving.

We turned and headed back toward the stairs, stepping out of the ring as quickly as we had entered. The noise followed us, but it started to dull with every step we took upward.

I glanced back once.

Canela was already surrounded again—lights flashing, people cheering, the moment continuing without us.

By the time we reached the top of the stairs, it almost felt like we had slipped out of something unreal.

We made our way through the hallway, the arena noise fading into a distant echo again as we headed toward the exit.

"That was... insane," I muttered, still trying to process everything that just happened.

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