Endo (Full Send #2)

Chapter 30

30

REIGN

Dangerous State Of Mind - Christian GateS

It’s funny how pain becomes a familiar friend. You hate it, but it’s the one thing you can count on to show up, no questions asked. Right now, it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

The stench of sweat, stale beer, and blood fills the air, thick enough to choke on. It’s a cocktail of violence and desperation, the kind of atmosphere that clings to your skin and doesn’t wash off. The Iron Pit hasn’t changed. Same grimy basement, same crowd yelling for blood, same stench of lost bets and broken dreams. The cage in the center is like an altar to chaos, and the people gathered around it? Worshippers.

I haven’t been here in months. Not since the crash. Not since her . But now? Now, her words are the only thing I can hear.

“It was all a mistake.”

Each syllable cuts deeper than any punch I’ve ever taken. The ache in my chest twists, sharper than the pain in my leg when I shift my weight. Rehab’s been doing its job, but the scars left by her rejection? There’s no fixing those.

I push my way through the crowd, their shouts and laughter grating against the raw edges of my nerves. People recognize me, clapping me on the back, placing bets in loud, drunken voices.

“Varkov’s back!” someone yells.

“Five hundred says he drops the guy in under three minutes!” another chimes in.

The noise is deafening, but it’s better than the silence waiting for me when I leave.

I shove past Mason, who’s grinning like I just walked on water. He’s already holding out a bottle of whiskey, the amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

“Figured you’d need this,” he says, thrusting it into my hand.

I take a swig, the burn sliding down my throat like an old friend. “How thoughtful,” I say dryly, shoving the bottle back at him. “What’s next? A welcome-back banner?”

He laughs, slapping me on the shoulder. “Nah, but the crowd’s missed you, man. You’ve got ‘em all worked up. They’re betting big tonight.”

“Great,” I mutter, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint my adoring fans.”

The announcer’s voice booms over the chaos, calling my name. Mason nudges me toward the cage. “Go give ‘em a show.”

I step into the ring, the roar of the crowd swallowing me whole. The guy across from me looks like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life. Wiry build, scarred knuckles, eyes that gleam with a dangerous hunger.

Good. I need this.

The bell rings, and he’s on me in a heartbeat, fists flying like he’s got something to prove. I duck his first swing, the movement sending a sharp jolt through my leg. Rehab might have helped, but some days it feels like I’m being held together by duct tape and bad decisions.

He swings again, and this time, I counter with a jab to his ribs. The satisfying crack of impact reverberates through me, but it’s not enough. Nothing ever is.

The crowd erupts, their cheers and jeers blending into a chaotic symphony that drowns out the storm in my head. I duck, weave, and land a hook to his jaw. He stumbles, but the bastard doesn’t go down.

“Come on,” I growl, the words dark and sharp.

He smirks, coming at me again. This time, I sidestep, driving my elbow into his ribs. He grunts, staggering, and I follow up with an uppercut that sends him crashing into the chain-link wall.

But he’s not done. He pushes off the fence, slower now but still dangerous. His fist connects with my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs. I double over, gasping, but I don’t falter. I can’t.

“Not bad,” I mutter, straightening.

The guy doesn’t respond. Doesn’t have to. His next swing is wild, desperate, and I see my opening. One sharp hook to his temple, and he drops like a sack of bricks.

The crowd loses their minds, the noise hitting me like a tidal wave. Mason is at the edge of the cage, grinning like he just won the lottery.

“Still got it, man,” he says, clapping me on the back as I climb out. “That was brutal.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, grabbing a towel and wiping the blood from my face. The adrenaline’s already fading, leaving behind that same gnawing ache that brought me here.

I grab the whiskey bottle Mason’s still holding, taking a long pull before pushing past him “Cheers,” I say bitterly, the word like acid on my tongue.

The chaos of the room presses in on me as I weave through the crowd, ignoring the offers for drinks, the pats on the back, the congratulations. None of it means anything. Not tonight.

The cool night air hits me like a slap, but it doesn’t clear my head. Nothing does. I lean against the wall, staring up at the stars. Her words play on a loop in my mind, sharp and relentless.

“It can’t happen again, Reign. It was all a mistake.”

I bark out a humorless laugh, the sound bitter and sharp in the quiet alley. “A mistake,” I mutter, shaking my head.

She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get what it’s like to claw your way back from the edge, to lose everything and still be standing. To want something so badly it feels like it’s the only thing keeping you alive, only for it to slip through your fingers.

But maybe she’s right. Maybe this was all a mistake.

I glance down at my bloodied knuckles, the ache in my chest so much worse than the bruises blooming on my ribs. The fights don’t fix anything. Neither does the pain. But it’s all I’ve got right now.

I take another swig from the bottle, the whiskey burning its way down.

And if I can’t have her?

I’ll take the hurt.

The ride home is a blur of bad decisions and worse instincts. The night air bites at my skin, the rumble of the bike under me steady and unrelenting, like it’s the only thing tethering me to the earth. The whiskey burns in my veins, and the world tilts dangerously with every turn, but I don’t care.

I’m too drunk for this. Too angry. Too hurt.

The streets pass in a haze of headlights and shadows until I find myself on her block. I don’t even remember deciding to come here, but of course, I did.

Where else would I go?

I kill the engine, the silence deafening in its aftermath. Her apartment windows are dark except for the faint glow of a single lamp. I know which one is hers.

I always know.

Leaning forward, I rest my forearms on the handlebars and tilt my head back, the bottle of whiskey dangling loosely from my fingers. The stars above seem dimmer here, drowned out by the city lights, but the ocean isn’t far. I can smell the salt in the air, faint but constant, like a memory that won’t let go.

I take another swig, the liquid fire sliding down my throat as I look up at her window. She’s there, moving through her living room in a small tank top and shorts. Her hair’s pulled back, messy like she’s been running her hands through it all night.

Her nipples press against the fabric of her top, peaking in the cool air, and it stirs something in me—something raw and aching. But it’s her face that guts me. The furrow in her brow, the way her lips press together like she’s holding back tears. She’s upset. I don’t need to hear her voice to know it.

She’s a storm bottled up in a human body, waves crashing just beneath her surface. And I’m drowning in her, like I always do.

Why the hell is she pushing me away? She knows—she knows —that whatever was between us was the only thing keeping us both afloat. We were the lighthouse for each other, the thing guiding us through the wreckage of everything we’ve lost.

And now she’s turned off the light. Left me adrift in the dark.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, dragging me out of my thoughts. I pull it out, squinting at the screen. It’s the group chat thread—one of the guys from the strip.

Kenzo: Don’t forget guys. The race is back on. Saturday night. The strip. Bets accepted till midnight. No later. Gonna be a wild night, yo. Be there.

I scoff, shoving the phone back in my pocket without replying. Of course I’ll be there. Nothing else for me to fucking do, and I know the guys will be there. She wants to act like this was all a mistake? Fine. I’ll show her just what kind of mistake she really made.

I take another swig, the whiskey almost gone now. For a moment, I consider going up there, pounding on her door, making her look me in the eyes and say all of it again. Tell me to my face that it meant nothing.

That we meant nothing.

But I don’t.

Instead, I rev the engine, the roar shattering the quiet night as I peel away from her building.

My apartment is dark when I stumble inside, the whiskey and the ride swirling in my head like a riptide. The silence is oppressive, and I’m too wired to sleep, too hollow to sit still.

I strip off my gear and head to the bathroom, the fluorescent light harsh against the tile as I turn on the shower. The water’s scalding, but I barely feel it as it pounds against my skin, washing away the blood and sweat but not the ache in my chest.

My head rests against the cool tiles, my breath fogging the air as I close my eyes and replay the last few weeks spent with her.

The ocean isn’t grounding to me like it is to Lena.

It’s chaos. Relentless, unforgiving—waves crashing and tearing away at everything they touch. That’s what it feels like now. Like I’m stuck in the middle of it, no land in sight, no lifeline, just the constant pull of the current dragging me under.

She was supposed to be the one thing that made it stop. The one person who could calm the storm. Whether she wanted to or not, she became my reason to keep my head above water.

And now? Now she’s gone, and I’m sinking faster than I can swim.

The whiskey burns, numbing the edges just enough to keep me from breaking apart completely. But it’s a shitty fix, and I know it. The ache is still there, hollow and aching, growing with every second she’s not mine.

Nothing fills the space she left. Nothing makes it better.

The water pools at my feet, swirling around the drain in dizzying circles. I keep my eyes closed, the heat of the shower burning my skin, and I wonder how much longer I can keep treading water before I just let it pull me under.