GABRIEL
So yeah… I throw the fight.
Eliano Ferro has to be shocked that I basically handed him the win after going undefeated in my division for quite some time, but at this point I don’t even care anymore. The money hits my account, I check it the second it’s over, then slip out through the back corridor.
Unfortunately, the second I try to disappear into the shadows, a hand lands on my shoulder. I turn around and find myself face-to-face with Ennio Ferro. Ennio’s the cousin of the fighter I just beat, and also kinda his manager.
Ennio’s black eyes stay locked on me, obviously trying to figure out what my angle was.
"Don’t know what you’re talking about. Just had an off day."
"Bullshit."
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second as that crushing feeling closes in again, the sense that my life’s completely slipped out of my hands and I’m trapped inside a runaway train speeding straight toward a cliff.
"Fine. I’m done with all of this anyway, so none of it matters anymore. Yeah, if you really wanna know, I threw the fight."
Ennio tilts his head slightly, his eyes somehow looking even darker than before.
"Rocco?"
I let out an irritated breath.
"Who else? You, Ferros, care about keeping your family on top, don’t you? But whatever. I’m not coming back here again. Eliano can enjoy his shot at the title in our division."
"Are you in trouble?"
I laugh under my breath without any humor in it.
"I wouldn’t even know where to start explaining it to you. Honestly, all I want right now is for the whole world to leave me the hell alone."
Suddenly more people start heading in my direction, and at this point all I feel is exhaustion and frustration. But I guess everyone’s curious about my bad performance, so I'm forced to make even more awkward conversation with people who simply can’t comprehend how I could lose.
Then I'm out.
Marlow is already waiting in the lobby, where a crowd of better-known fighters is doing interviews and signing autographs.
I stick close to the wall like always, already having enough of the attention, just hoping to leave without anyone stopping me. My brother waits by the restroom doors, right where we said we’d meet.
And here comes the same question again.
"What happened there?" Marlow starts, watching me with a similar expression to the one Ennio had, desperately trying to understand.
I squeeze my eyes shut, furious that I have to explain this one more time.
"You were just a step away from fighting Mike Tarantona, a title shot in your division, and you just threw that away?"
"You’d do the same for half a mil," I shoot back, my teeth clenched tight.
Marlow swears under his breath.
"Damn… you really sold out?"
I turn on my heel and head for the exit, my hood pulled low over my eyes like I can somehow hide from all this.
"What the hell is wrong with you? Everything you’ve been doing lately is a disaster. You’re all over the place, and your whole life’s falling apart," Marlow mutters gloomily.
"No shit!" I snap, my voice cracking, because I’m so done with all of it and all I want is to get away, mostly from my own stupid decisions.
"This is about him, isn’t it?"
Not this, not this convo!
"Tell me, Gabe! Are you that crazy? The guy doesn’t care about you, he just uses you!"
I halt mid-step, wincing.
"If you want to know, I left the organization. Marcel made it clear there’s no coming back, and after the shit he pulled, I’m starting to question all of it."
I catch that flicker of doubt on Marlow’s face before he mutters,
"You said the exact same thing six months ago after you caught Marcel making out with David at that party, then hooking up with Tom later that same week, remember?
And what about one month ago, when Marcel had your little activist group block traffic and there was a pregnant omega stuck in one of the cars, in excruciating pain?
You said that he crossed a line, that it went too far even for you. And what happened then?"
I turn away and resume walking.
"You crawled right back to that bastard!"
I mutter a curse and pick up my pace, but he keeps right up with me, since the club’s only about a twenty-minute walk from campus, so we’re heading that way anyway.
Marlow’s footsteps follow me.
Feeling fucking miserable, I lengthen my stride. I don’t want to talk about this, not now, not ever.
He wouldn’t get it. Yeah, I tried to walk away from Marcel a few times when things started going way past what I could accept, but Marcel always knew exactly how to pull me back in, showing up out of nowhere, sitting close, talking to me, taking my hand, and suddenly everything felt easier, simpler, almost sweet.
My boundaries would stretch just a little more every time.
Marcel’s fucking magic.
"Gabriel, Marcel is never going to be yours, and even if he was, it’d only last a moment before he breaks your heart. I’m asking you to think this through. Not with this head." He gestures meaningfully to my crotch.
I shoot him a look that could kill, but I don’t say a word.
Yet, he just doesn’t give up.
"Gabs, please!"
"Can you just leave me alone?!"
Marlow lets out a short laugh. "I seriously don’t get what you see in him. He’s this unimpressive, tiny omega with a permanent scowl and a superiority complex…"
That’s it, I explode. "At least he has a personality and isn’t boring like—"
I cut myself off.
I almost said ‘like you’, but arguing like that isn’t my style.
I’ll spare Marlow that. No point kicking someone who’s already down.
His dating life is a whole separate disaster.
And pathetic, depending on how you look at it.
He’s an alpha who’s only into other alphas, which means constant rejection and disappointment.
Oh well. Everyone has their problems.
We’re getting close to campus now, turning onto the path that leads to our dorm.
But the moment we step out from behind a small decorative cluster of trees, all the blood drains from my face.
There’s a police car parked in front of the building.
I stop. Marlow freezes too, uncertainty written all over his face.
"Yeah. I told you. None of it matters. The underground fights, Marcel… it’s all gone with the wind. They’re here for me," I say, strangely numb, almost indifferent, like I’m stating a simple fact.
Marlow puts a shaking hand on my shoulder, his face pale, but I pull away and walk toward the car at a steady, calm pace.
Two officers are just stepping out of the building, probably after asking about me at the front desk.
One of them narrows his eyes, like he recognizes me. I save him the trouble, walk up, and say,
"I’m Gabriel Nolan. Can I help you?"
His pupils widen slightly as he replies,
"Well, that works out. We wanted to talk to you."
◆◆◆
Two months later.
Tick, tick, tick. I watch the hands of the clock on the wall of my cell as they crawl forward. I like staring at them, because time and I have something in common.
You could say I can control it, at least for a few seconds. Sometimes I kill time by tossing a small ball in the air or bouncing it off the wall. When I use my ability, I never miss, I always catch it. When I don’t, it sometimes drops to the floor.
Sitting in a cell gives you far more time to think than anyone would ever need.
You can analyze everything to death, chase your thoughts into a corner, loop through the same conclusions over and over, regret your stupidity, or just give in completely.
I go through all stages of that.
Other than that, prison is quiet for me.
A state jail is a dangerous place, but not in my case.
My ability helps me avoid trouble, and my experience with fighting makes sure I earn respect fast. After a few guys ended up with broken noses and split lips for getting ideas about a young alpha in the showers, people stopped bothering me.
So my days pass without much stress, aside from the fact that I might spend anywhere from ten to twenty years here.
The charges against me are serious, classified as domestic terrorism, even though I don’t have a record.
Everything points to me. Literally everything. Even the fact that I was financially supporting the organization is being used by the prosecutor as proof that I was the real man behind it, while the others were just helping me.
What hurts the most is Marcel’s testimony.
He submits a chat conversation with Edgar as evidence, clearly staged, dated before the incident.
In it, he’s convincing Edgar that they should both back out because the plan is dangerous and could hurt people.
I stare at the screenshots my lawyer shows me and realize that both Edgar and Marcel had actually considered the possibility of getting caught, and prepared a way to shift all the blame onto… me.
The loser.
Unbelievable. What a pair of bastards.
The truth swallows me like ice water. From the start, I was nobody to them, just a resource, a fallback, a convenient scapegoat in case anything went wrong.
I can’t present anything similar in my defense. Marcel never texted me about anything related to the group. Everything was handled in person during meetings. He was careful.
I have a great lawyer thanks to Rocco Ferro’s money, but Marcel and Edgar have equally strong representation, paid for by Edgar’s father.
They’re shaping the case so it all points back to me, and the whole group is singing the same tune, all of them turning on me.
The list is long. Breaking and entering, since I opened the door using my hacking skills.
Carrying the fuel canisters. Buying the van.
Financing their other actions. It all piles up over my head.
I know there’s no way out of this without doing time, and what I’m looking at isn't optimistic. If my lawyer weren’t using the fact that I got people out of the building as a mitigating factor, I could be facing even more years.