Chapter 16 River
RIVER
The Delgados owe a lot to us.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but all that does is evoke the image of Franklin being lifted onto a gurney and taken into the ER, where he’ll never emerge again.
Not alive.
Ezio’s carelessly cruel words, so bereft of empathy, had opened up those wounds, and the bastard is lucky that I hadn’t been willing to throw a punch at him.
Yet.
If he keeps insisting we should tap them for donations, that might change.
Mr. and Mrs. Delgado deserve to be left in peace, far away from Dyschord.
I don’t think Pandora will release whatever secrets she might know about Franklin or his father, but then, this is Pandora I’m talking about.
Pandora.
Pandora, who has copies of who-knows-what of the frat’s business. Of my business. Has she gone through it? Has she seen what happened the night of my hazing?
My hands clench into fists, and the urge to punch something, to punch someone, gets nearly overwhelming.
Maybe I am my father’s son after all.
My eyes dart to my phone, where I have several missed calls and ignored texts from him. I’m not answering them, not now, not until I have to.
The shame of what had happened is still threatening to choke me.
I need to get away from it. I need to escape.
River
Up for sparring?
I need to beat the shit out of something.
Fenrir
I’m in Harmony. But if you want a fight, definitely join me.
His next text is an address, and a picture of a boxing glove. I have no idea what to make of it, but I’m too restless to pass up this opportunity. I get in my car and start driving. Good thing I keep my boxing kit in the back seat.
It ends up being a sketchier part of town, away from the fancy galleries and high end stores. I didn’t even know Harmony had a shittier part of town. It’s not like the students are lacking for money, but I guess somebody’s got to run all the stores and work as an underpaid instructor or lab tech.
For two blocks, I can even imagine that I’m in one of the New Bristol neighborhoods my father operated in. Or maybe where Giulio Pavone has his sleazier strip clubs.
The GPS informs me that I’ve arrived. I don’t see the location, but I park anyway. I huff in amusement at how easy it is to find street parking.
Yeah, this is nothing like even the shit part of NB.
I grab my boxing kit and head out until I spot a staircase down to a basement door. There’s a guy standing guard outside.
I go up to him. “No sunglasses?”
The guy gives me a confused look. “Sunglasses? It’s fucking dark out.”
“I thought all bouncers were required to wear sunglasses,” I say.
Shit, now I sound like Pandora.
The guy rolls his eyes. “Funny. Anyway, it’s a private party. Get lost.”
“I’m invited.” I hold out my phone to show Fenrir’s text. “Fenrir wants me here.”
“Oh, well if Fenrir wants you…” The guy crosses his arms. “You still need to fuck off.”
What was the point of me coming out here if I’m not even allowed through the front door?
I shoot a text to Fenrir and go to sit down on the steps.
While I wait, two other people walk past me.
One of them’s a large guy with bulging muscles, with a woman glued to his side.
The bouncer doesn’t even say a word as he lets them into the building.
What the fuck kind of place is this anyway?
Finally, the front door opens and Fenrir peeks his head out.
“River! Why are you just hanging around here?” Fenrir asks. He glares at the bouncer. “Did you really keep River out? Do you know who he is?”
“Some clean-ass kid who thinks this is the kind of place you bring boxing gloves to?” the bouncer responds. “He doesn’t belong here.”
“No, he definitely belongs here.” Fenrir grins. “But Chip’s right. You don’t need those gloves here. If you’re worried about breaking things or blood flying, maybe go home after all.”
“You wouldn’t have invited me here if you thought I’d care about that,” I retort, getting up.
No, I don’t give a fuck about breaking bones or seeing blood spilling to the ground. I’ve become too inured to all of that from a life wrought of violence and pain, and the idea of coming somewhere that no one else gives a fuck about gloves or safety has my adrenaline spiking already.
Chip the bouncer rolls his eyes, but he finally steps aside to let me in.
The first thing I notice is how warm it is inside. It’s louder too, the distinct sound of crowds cheering filtering through the walls.
“Do you gamble?” Fenrir asks. “If you tell me who you want to bet on, I can get things sorted.”
Before I can answer, we reach the main hall.
It’s a large room, maybe once used as a dance floor. Now it has a fight cage in the center, with crowds of people standing around it, cheering on the fighters.
The two in the cage are going at each other with bare fists. Every blow is met with cheers and boos. An announcer commentates on the match, adding glib one-liners as the fighters take each other on.
I glance over at Fenrir. He’s not dressed to spectate, but I don’t see any bruises on him.
“You know I didn’t drive out here to watch other people beat the shit out of each other,” I tell him. My fingers tighten on the gloves I’d brought with me, but I’m already ready to ditch them and get my hands dirty. “Where do I sign up to fight?”
Fenrir grins widely. “Fuck yeah. Let’s do this.” He leads me through the crowds and towards a table near the far wall.
The big guy I’d seen coming in earlier is there too, signing a form of some sort.
“Fenrir. You’re up soon,” the woman by the table says. “Who’s your friend?”
“River. He’s not as good as me, but he’ll give anyone else here a run for their money,” Fenrir says.
I roll my eyes. The only reason Fenrir has any edge over me is that he’s in a different weight class. “Yeah,” I say. “I want in.”
I need in.
I need relief from the thoughts of Franklin and Pandora and my father, from the grief and the jealousy and the shame, and what better way to do it than to pummel someone else until they yield?
Yeah. I guess I really am like my old man.
“Okay. It’s twenty bucks to enter. You get thirty for every opponent you beat.” The woman holds out her hand.
I fumble for my wallet so I can shove the twenty at her.
“Line’s over there. The only rule is, don’t kill anyone, and if somebody stays on the ground for five seconds, they’re out.” The woman grins at me. “Don’t get too attached to those pearly whites of yours.”
Fenrir claps me on the back. “Nothing like the clean matches we usually fight in.”
“I don’t need a clean match,” I tell him. It sounds like bravado, but it’ll only take a few fights to show that I’m in deadly earnest.
This won’t be the first time I’ve fought in the darkness, where rules are overshadowed by the thirst for violence and blood.
“I’d say wish me luck, but I don’t need it,” I tell Fenrir with a fierce grin. I head to the back of the line, already vibrating with the need to throw a punch at some poor bastard’s face.
It’s not like I’m arrogant enough to think that I won’t come out of this with bruises of my own, but I can hold my own.
I scrutinize those near me. Some of them are big men, but they’ll rely on strength instead of speed.
They always do.
I roll my neck from side to side, then stretch my arms. Having time to do a proper warmup would be ideal, but what about this situation screams safe?
“First time?” the guy in front of me asks, smirking as he looks me up and down like he’s a tiger and I’m nothing more than prey.
I shake my head. “First time here,” I say.
Fenrir gets into the ring. He’s taped up his hands and pulled his shirt off.
I don’t think removing his shirt will help him fight, but it does show off his tattoos.
Besides the wolf on his throat that’s always visible, there’s a wolf howling at the moon on his chest. He removed his piercings for the fight—but I also wouldn’t want to give an opponent an obvious weakness to grab and rip straight out of my skin.
His opponent is about Fenrir’s size, so there’s no real way to say how this match will go. Except I’ve seen how Fenrir fights, and I’m pretty sure he’s always holding back during the official matches.
The ref starts the match.
Fenrir immediately lunges forward.
His opponent seems ready for it, but Fenrir is fucking fast when he wants to be.
The crowd loves the match—while it lasts. Barely a minute in, Fenrir’s opponent is on the ground, wheezing. The ref counts down from five, and declares Fenrir the winner. The crowd erupts in cheers and boos.
Way too easy.
Fenrir gets out of the cage and gives me a wide grin. “Think you can win faster than that?”
“I know I can,” I retort. I don’t know who my opponent is going to be, but it doesn’t matter. I’m every bit as fast as Fenrir is, every bit as strong, and I can take someone down in seconds too.
“All right kid, you’re up!” somebody says. He pushes me toward the ring.
The big guy I’d seen walking in is there too. He gives me a once over and laughs.
“Scrawny thing like you? I’m gonna snap your spine easily,” he taunts.
I flash him a grin. “You can try.” I settle into a defensive stance, but the second the ref shouts at us to go, I’m on the move.
I’m no coward.
Boxing has a lot of rules. In a proper match, with referees and points, I’d have to watch my stance and where my blows land.
But here, now? The only thing that matters is coming out on top.
I’ve had enough of being beaten down in my life. Maybe it doesn’t make sense that I’d seek it out on my own, but it’s always been cathartic to me.
It helps that I can fight back.
The first jab at my shoulder only clips it, and I move out of the way. The slight edge of pain does wonders to pull my headspace into the here and now instead of dwelling on what had driven me to fighting in the first place.
I focus on trading blows, the crowd’s cheers ringing out distantly in the background. They aren’t important.
Only winning is.
The guy and I keep trading blows. I take a knee to my gut, but I counter with a punch to his face. Back and forth, back and forth. A sour taste rises on my tongue, but I ignore it in favor of moving, in favor of fighting.
When my opponent stops to gather his breath, I rush forward. He tries to meet me halfway, but I extend my leg to trip him. He cries out and falls to the ground.
I kick him in the side, and he yelps again.
When he tries to get up, I punch him in the head to force him back down.
“Looks like the fan favorite is down!” the MC announces.
The audience boos loudly. I raise my arm to throw another punch, but somebody grabs it.
“Let go,” I growl, looking over my shoulder.
It’s Fenrir.
“Chill. You won,” Fenrir says with a wide grin. “Not that Ricky doesn’t deserve a few extra punches, but if you’re going again tonight, you need to pace yourself.”
Pace myself.
I couldn’t care less about pacing myself.
All I care about is the allure of violence, the grunts and the yells and everything else that comes along with a good fight.
“Yeah,” I say anyway, shaking Fenrir off as Ricky gets up.
I eye him, half-expecting him to throw another punch at me, but he keeps his hands to himself.
The next challenger steps up.
This one, I demolish, taking him out faster than Fenrir had taken out his target. But he gets a good hit to my gut, and I shake my head instead of taking on a third fight even though my mind screams in protest at the idea of passing up on the opportunity to have more of this.
Adrenaline still courses through me, and I’m aware that when it wears off, the blows I’d taken are going to hurt like a bitch.
Might as well be smart about it.
I find Fenrir, quirking a brow at him. “That good enough to be able to get back in?”
“Definitely.” He gives me a dark grin. “I knew I was right about you. You really should have joined Hell instead of those fuckers at Chaos.”
I probably should have.
Pandora’s done more than I have in the search for Rachel’s killer, and it feels like joining Kappa Alpha was fucking stupid in retrospect. What have I really gained from it? I’d have fit in better with Fenrir and the others on the boxing team.
But I made my choices, and the only way out is through.
I shrug. “They’re not so bad, when they’re not on fire or pissing themselves.”
“So, that’s never, right?” Fenrir laughs and drapes an arm around me. “Fuck, I wish I’d been at that party. Tate the piss-drinker.”
“That was the only exciting part,” I tell him, letting him guide me farther away from the fighting.
It’s tempting to change my mind, to go back and pummel someone else, but my phone pings with a new text.
I pull it out, seeing Pandora’s name, then promptly shove it back into my pocket.
I’m not ready to deal with her again yet.
She’d only crush this high, like she’s dead-set on crushing everything else.
Instead, I make plans to go to a local bar with Fenrir.
At least he doesn’t want to drag me down.