Chapter 4
Baron
I face off against Arpad in the underground parking lot on the outskirts of London. What had started months ago as a means for the seven of us to let off steam has snowballed into a crowd puller.
Guys—and girls—turn up every week to watch us, knowing they are guaranteed a good fight. One of us going up against the other, until someone is knocked out cold. Or close to it.
After I’d accepted Archer’s invitation to lunch, we’d chatted.
Turns out, he’d enrolled in the Army a year ago, at nineteen, had been deployed to Afghanistan.
He’d returned from his first tour and couldn’t wait to get back.
The excitement in his voice, the zeal, the focus, his pride in being part of something larger than himself.
.. All of it had come as a breath of fresh air.
I’d left, convinced that this was the route forward for me.
To channel my angst, my hatred, my anger at what happened to me into something that would serve my country and benefit so many others.
Also, the challenge of pitting myself against the rigors of making it through the recruitment process.
More than half of the applicants either drop out or get dropped, or so Archer had told me.
He’d asked me if I was up to the challenge?
And of course, I’d decided right then, that if I do decide to enlist, no way am I not making it through the recruitment phase with anything less than flying colors.
By the time my ride arrives, I am convinced that this is my future.
I haven’t mentioned anything to the Seven, though.
Not even to Edward. It’s not like this is a secret, just..
. I prefer to keep my cards close to my chest. The rest of the Seven all but live in each other’s pockets, the way they hang out with each other.
Me? I prefer to keep to myself. Not that I have anything against any of them.
Hell, I owe it to them that I made it through the days following the incident.
My family had grappled with it, tried to work out how they were going to deal with a son who was so clearly traumatized.
Their answer? To throw money at it. I’d received the best therapy, the best help possible…
Everything, except my own parents spending time with me.
My sister had wanted to help, but they’d decided they didn’t want me to corrupt her with my presence.
As if just being with me would result in something similar happening to her.
So, they’d shipped her off to boarding school, and they’d have done the same to me, except my therapist made it clear that it wouldn’t help me at all to have so much change thrust on me while already being a fragile state.
So, they’d let me be; let me exist in that massive home of theirs.
A place I hate almost as much as I’ve begun to loathe them.
It’s another reason shipping off to the army makes so much sense.
I won’t have to see them for a long time again.
Not until the time comes for me to access my trust fund, and if I’m lucky, not even then.
It’s money my grandfather left me and which I will be able to access when I turned twenty-one.
Money I can use in whatever way I see fit.
Money which will make me completely independent.
Money which I will inherit, provided I make it through this round with the asshole I am taking on.
I throw up my fists, circle Arpad. Around us, money exchanges hands as the spectators bet on either of us.
Not that the Seven have any lack of access to funds, considering the billions that their families share between them.
It’s the principle of the thing, though.
They want to watch us fight, they have to pay.
And the people are more than happy to do that.
After all, the privilege of seeing one rich brat kick the shit out of the other is more entertaining than reality TV, which is what they’d be binging on instead, if they didn’t have this.
I move slowly, lock my gaze with Arpad as I circle.
Draw in a breath, as I bide my time. Wait.
Wait. Arpad scowls; sweat beads his forehead.
His shoulders bunch and his biceps twitch.
Asshole can’t wait to fight. He’s quick to the draw, impatient.
Me? I am happy to draw him out. To extend this encounter for as long as it takes.
That’s my strength; I have infinite patience.
I can wait for the other man to make a mistake, before I make my move.
All I have to do is bide my time. So, I force myself to relax, empty my mind of all thoughts except the focus in my opponent’s gaze.
His nostrils flare and the tendons of his throat move as he swallows.
His gaze narrows and the hair on the nape of my neck rises.
I sense his intent to attack a few seconds before he charges me.
I swoop to the side, pivot, throw my arm around his neck, and yank.
The force of it has us pitching backward.
I release him, hit the ground and roll to the side, just as he hits the ground where I’d been.
The vibrations from the fall travel through me as I push up, turn, and straddle my fallen friend.
I bury my fist in the side of his face and blood gushes from his mouth.
I pull back, land another to his shoulder, to his side, back to his face.
He blocks me, with his left arm, grabs my shoulder with his other, shoves me back with enough force that I lose my balance.
Instantly, he’s on me. He flings me off. I hit the ground on my back, and it’s his turn to straddle me, to land a fist in my shoulder, then swipe one in the direction of my face. I block him, hit out and get him with an uppercut.
The force of my hit throws him off. He lands on his back only to spring up to his feet at the same time as me.
This time we both rush at each other. Our chests collide as we wrap our arms around one another, fighting for good arm and hip position.
My chest heaves and my entire body hurts from the beating I have taken so far, but I don’t give up.
I dig my heels into the ground as we both jostle for a chance to take the other down.
I rear back, head butt him in the cheek.
Arpad growls as blood rains down his face. I pull back, bring up my knee to his mid-section. He grunts as the air whooshes out of him. He stumbles and I step back, only to reach down, grab one of his legs, lift it off the ground and topple him.
He hits the ground with a thud, only to scissor his legs and grab me around the waist. We grapple in that position for a few seconds.
Then I lunge my upper body forward. Slide my legs apart for leverage.
Grab his face between my forearms as I bracket his neck between my elbows and begin to choke him.
He gasps, tries to draw in a breath, fails, and his entire body shudders.
"Give up," I growl, "I’ve won this."
He shakes his head, and I lean my entire body weight into the position. His face grows purple and the veins at his temple bulge. Then he taps my arm. I loosen my grip and he lets go of me. I straighten, shake my head, turn to the stunned audience.
I raise my arms, throw my head back and yell.
And it’s like a signal to the rest. The crowd roars; men raise their fists.
A few girls surge forward, only to be stopped by the rest of the Seven, who have positioned themselves at strategic positions around the perimeter of the makeshift circle that forms the fighting ring.
Sweat drips off of my face as I take in the crowd of faces.
Most are screaming, hanging onto the temporary barriers that cordon off the fighting ring.
I spot one guy staring at us. He’s our age, tall and skinny, with gaunt features and dark circles under his eyes.
He looks familiar. Where have I seen him before?
He’s wearing jeans and a hoodie covers his hair. His gaze bores into me. He stares at me, then at Arpad on the ground. Takes in the rest of the Seven before his gaze darts back to me.
Something about his features, the way he stands... I am not sure what, but my hackles rise. I take a step toward him and he stiffens. He steps back and is swallowed up by the rest of the crowd. Huh. What was that about?
Then I see Sinner walking toward us as Arpad staggers to his feet. He grabs our wrists, glares around the crowd for a second, then raises my arm. "We have a fucking winner," he shouts. "Take your winnings, or forever hold your piss."