Chapter Twelve
Roman sat next to Ezra, who’d taken to attending the arena bouts in their entirety. Roman never wasted his time watching the preliminary shows, the casual competitions, the filler entertainment. He used that time to rest and relax, but Ezra used that time to parade his authority. Ezra never portrayed himself with an air of arrogance or authority, always relying on subtly and sly suggestions to get what he wanted as champion, something Roman still didn’t fully grasp. But one thing Ezra did weigh heavily on was the claim to his throne.
It was large and made of stone, like something out of a fantasy world. There were animal skulls adorned along the top of the chair going all the way down to the butt of the seat, which would make sitting back uncomfortable. Not that Ezra did. He leaned forward for the matches, hands on his knees and legs spread wide. The armrests went unused, which again benefited Ezra since they were covered in spiked bones to add to the mystique of the throne.
Roman would’ve found it silly if he weren’t already so conditioned to love all of Ezra’s whims. Life was just easier when he learned to laugh, learned to accept the whispers and finger pointing. Especially since a few in the audience snickered at Roman, who sat on the floor beside Ezra’s chair. He had a plush pillow to rest on so his knees didn’t hurt in this position for so long and a clear view of the competition, but Roman realized almost immediately how unequal he and Ezra appeared. His stomach twisted in knots at the idea of how he looked like nothing more than a pet. But when Ezra played with his hair and made conversation in between rounds, Roman smiled and did his best to be grateful.
“We’ve got quite a lineup before the champion’s chance begins,” Warden Sadler announced. “Levi Pierce versus Landon Montgomery.”
Roman’s heart jumped a beat. What the fuck was happening? He turned to Ezra, whose expression had barely shifted. He was seemingly aware of this match, which made no sense to Roman. Levi was soft and sweet and too sensitive for the arena. Everything Roman did after escaping The Pit was to ensure Levi’s safety. Yes, his own well-being mattered, but he’d long since accepted his fate. He sat up, searching the crowd of inmates in attendance, even the authority of spectators above, but didn’t see his friend anywhere.
“What’s happening?” Roman frantically turned to Ezra, poorly hiding his concern. “I thought you had Levi under your protection.”
Ezra smiled at Roman. “I do.”
“Then why’s he being dragged into the arena?” Roman’s heart surged.
“What people choose to do on their own time is up to them,” Ezra said dismissively. “I can only do so much, Princess. I have to allow folks to make their own choices.”
No one came down here by choice unless they relished the violence. Only desperate fools willing to accept a beating for a chance at some extra cash ventured down here. Had Levi become one of the fodder inmates? Someone chosen purely for an easy beatdown so the audience could have a laugh with their blood sport? Usually, only the junkies did that. They were often the only ones desperate enough to fight actual fighters with zero experience.
When Levi finally revealed himself, he seemed so much bigger than the last time Roman had seen him. He’d also shaved his chestnut brown hair short, barely longer than a buzzcut, which would make grabbing all the more difficult. Their paths didn’t cross much, with so much of Roman’s time spent at Ezra’s side. Levi had always been big, but Roman learned early on that Levi was only muscle pretty, not muscle strong. The fitness training at the gym was for his aesthetic, not for combat. He’d removed his glasses, which was good since Landon was probably about to break poor Levi’s face. Still, there was something hard in Levi’s eyes as he squared up across from Landon.
Roman watched the fight unfold and immediately recoiled when Landon leaned in for a quick jab. To his surprise, Levi evaded the strike, pivoted around, and clocked Landon in the jaw. Roman’s head tilted in curiosity and surprise at Levi’s move sets. These were things Roman had attempted and failed to teach Levi countless times over the years. There were other techniques Roman was familiar with but didn’t apply to his own style. It was almost as if Levi had pulled and adapted to other fighter styles from all his observations on the sidelines. Unfortunately, making himself a Jack of all Trades only went so far, and Roman noted how sloppy Levi’s overall form was. His stamina still outlasted Landon, and eventually, Levi cleared the round with a victory.
The warden announced the win and showed a tally of Levi’s current stats. He’d won seven rounds and only lost four.
Roman didn’t know what to say, what to think, how to feel. He was so damn proud and perplexed. Mostly, he was worried. If Levi chose this life, Roman was happy he’d finally found himself growing out from under Roman’s shadow, but if he was somehow forced into this because Ezra’s protection wasn’t enough, then Roman feared the lengths he’d have to go to ensure Levi’s safety.
“He’s really okay?” Roman finally asked, looking up at Ezra with sad eyes.
“Yes, he’s fine.” Ezra smiled. “People grow and change. Take a look at yourself.”
Roman didn’t consider his change growth. He felt like he’d shrunk and crumbled the last six months. He was a weak flower withering away in the harsh winter.
Levi looked at Roman only once. His cold blue eyes turned glossy for a moment when he locked onto Roman, but then he blinked away the sadness, and Levi’s eyes turned stoic again before he vanished into the thicket of the crowd.
Roman sat quietly, burying his concerns for Levi, and barely focused on the rest of the arena battles. That was until they called for the champion.
Ezra stood tall, taking in the roar of the crowd, then turned to Roman, who remained knelt on his pillow. Brushing aside ruffled pink bangs, Ezra kissed Roman on the forehead, much to his shame. It wouldn’t have been half as humiliating if the crowd hadn’t ooooed and snickered.
Since Ezra invited Roman to join him at the arena moving forward, it proved difficult in every way. This was his former stomping grounds. This was a place he held in check for a year. This was a place where people from across the world gathered to watch him fight. Now, the elite clientele who watched from the balcony in animal masks held no regard for Roman. Worse, some of them held pity or pleasure in his circumstances.
Ignoring the feelings and everything else that consumed him, Roman did what he did best in life, what he was made for in life: he cheered on Ezra. He hoped for the best and gave words of encouragement in between rounds. Ezra’s happiness was Roman’s happiness, and when an opponent got a lucky shot in and cracked Ezra’s ribs, Roman trembled.
Ezra treated Roman well, Roman learned to behave, and life had gotten so much better. But when the crowd turned against Ezra, when someone taunted him just right, Ezra would sometimes be swept with rage that lasted the entire night. Roman didn’t enjoy himself on those nights, and he tried his best to make Ezra forget the slights, the insults, the injuries. It only occasionally worked in his favor.
Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Ezra to turn the match around and win back the crowd. He pummeled his way through the next set of opponents, and when the Challenger’s Chance rounds started up, Ezra unleashed all his fury on those foolish enough to come for his crown.
Roman breathed easy at that, grateful the anger had subsided.
After the final challenger had lost and no one else was left to fight, Ezra basked in the roar of the crowd, walking the arena and circling close to the crowd of inmates in attendance. Roman spotted Levi a second time for the night, standing close to a guy with a furrowed brow and a hateful expression. It looked like Levi was trying to talk the guy down; Roman recalled how Levi often brought levity to difficult situations, deflecting conflict with humor. But it wasn’t working with this guy. Levi slipped away in the crowd again, and the angry man leapt forward when Ezra crossed his path.
From out of nowhere, he swung a knife, slashing Ezra’s face. Blood splattered. Red filled Roman’s vision. The crowd went silent. Rage and hatred consumed Ezra’s expression. Roman trembled. He didn’t know what to do or how to help. He watched Ezra leap back, evading the erratic swipes of a knife. An actual knife. This wasn’t some shiv. This man somehow got ahold of a fucking eight-inch kitchen knife. The crowd went wild. The authority above disappeared into darkness. Guards funneled inside. Chaos controlled the inmates, and they blocked a path, drawn to random violence over any type of civility. Ezra was on his own, dodging the knife, and clearly a bit too winded from so many rounds throughout the night.
Finally, Ezra managed to knock the knife from the man’s hand, but before he could drop him, the outraged inmate reached for a second blade, this one a short shiv, which would still prove difficult for Ezra. Roman saw it on his face, the annoyance over the concern, but Ezra raised his fists and prepared to knock away the second weapon.
Only he didn’t have to. Order hadn’t been restored, but someone swept in close behind the deranged inmate and stabbed him in the chest with his kitchen knife. Whoever it was took their tattooed hand and squeezed the shiv out of the inmate’s other hand before forcing him to grab the knife and knocking him to the ground. By the time the guards broke a line through the crowd, it appeared as if the man had fallen onto his knife.
Roman’s eyes went wide when he saw Jake standing over the corpse, a smile on his face and a hand on Ezra’s shoulder.
The friendly words of gratitude Ezra gave Jake were all Roman heard before the noise of the crowd flooded his hearing.