26. Santiago
SANTIAGO
With my hands raised to protect my face, I calmed my breathing, waiting for the right moment to strike back. Tonight, more than anything, I wanted this fight to last for as long as it could, because once it was over, that was it.
Five fights and I’m free—that was our agreement.
Once this fight was over, I’d never experience the rush of a crowd cheering for me or taste the win on my lips.
Soon, the blood would dry from my knuckles, and the skin would heal, leaving no memory of this mere madness.
And not just that, I’d never crave to have his golden eyes on me again, observing me from the shadows like a creature of the night.
Hungry for him, I looked up, chest tightening at knowing he was there, watching me. What a shame I wouldn’t get to fuck him in the end, huh? A real fucking shame, because despite it all, that devil was hot as hell.
Back to the fight, I focused on my opponent, some loser they called the “Shark.” I wondered how I hadn’t gotten a lame nickname thus far, although it didn’t matter now, did it?
He was out of breath after I played with him for a while, and yet, he’d just launched into another attack—a front kick aimed for my head. It wasn’t hard to deflect; same went for the other kick he sent toward my leg, which I also avoided before going for one of the classics.
1-1-2.
A double jab that took baby shark by surprise, followed by a cross punch that finished the job.
The hangar erupted with the crowd cheering once the Shark’s back hit the canvas, making the place fucking shake, and someone tossed something into the cage.
I lifted my hand on instinct in time to catch a beer can.
It was still cold, with icy drops coating it, and high on fucking life, I opened the can and emptied the beer in a few long gulps, the crowd screaming the whole time.
And when I was done, I smashed the empty can in my fist before raising it in the air, savoring every moment.
Then, like thunder carrying through a storm, they began calling a chant, and it got stronger and wilder until the whole hangar cheered one name.
El Embriagado.
The Drunk.
From all the names I could have gotten, this was the one? Smiling at the irony, I shook my head and then lifted both arms in the air, accepting the name. After all, it was already over, anyway.
* * *
I waited for Ariyan in our usual spot behind the docks, where we always met after a fight. The nights were getting colder and longer, and impatient, I checked my phone for the time. He was taking longer than usual, which had me worried.
The sounds of clapping, followed by footsteps, made me look up in time to see him walking toward me.
“Bravo,” he said, finishing off with one last clap. “Earning a nickname this fast? Not the best thing to be called, I’ll admit, but the name quite suits you, don’t you agree?” He stopped right in front of me.
“I don’t give a shit.” I pushed back from the wall so I’d loom over him.
Checking me out with his evil eyes, he smirked.
“El Embriagado.” The name rolled off his tongue with a perfect accent. “How poetic.”
He placed his hand on my neck.
“Such a majestic word to describe a drunk, isn’t it?”
I shoved his hand away. “Like I said, I don’t give a shit.”
His smile grew, and he leaned closer. “Is that so?”
Annoyed with his bullshit, I grunted.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Rivas? Acting so cold for a change,” he hummed.
“It was my fifth fight.”
“It was.”
Annoyed by his answers, I clenched my jaw. “So my debt’s finished.”
“It is.”
“And you deleted those videos?”
“I did.”
He pouted his lips, eyes dropping down to the strings of my hoodie.
“What a shame, isn’t it? Quitting when the fun has just begun.” Grabbing the drawstrings, he started playing with them. No, not playing, but fixing, so they would be of equal length. “And to think they just told me they want you in the big league.”
I grabbed his wrist, forcing him to stop.
“The big league?”
He looked up to meet my stare. “Yes. Where the real fighters are.”
My brows drew together. “The fuck you mean?”
His lips curled up, his eyes narrowing before he chuckled.
“Don’t tell me you thought those lame losers you beat without a sweat were the real thing. They’re just weeds to feed the sheep. The wolves, well, they’re hungry for much more than just grass.”
Confused even more, I tightened my hold on his wrist. “What do you mean by wolves?”
“The rich people running the show. You don’t think they’d bother themselves coming all the way down here, do you?” His eyes studied me in detail, making me feel fucking naked. “They’re where the real fights are being held, and you were invited to participate.”
My blood spiked with rage because fuck this man. Did he let me compete with the fucking rookies?
“You’re full of shit,” I snarled.
Once again, pouting those damn pink lips of his, he stared at me. “Why would I lie?”
The mockery in his eyes drove me nuts just as much as his words did, and I only grabbed him tighter.
“Because that’s what you always do,” I hissed through gritted teeth as he moved closer, so close that now he was shoved against me.
“Just because you fail to see the truth doesn’t make me into a liar, Mr. Rivas.”
His breath on my skin made my body weak, and I swallowed hard, trying to resist the urge to pin him against this very wall and—
“I noticed it before, but you changed your shampoo, didn’t you?”
My eyes widened before my brows snapped together.
“What?”
“That awful peach scent, it’s all gone… Thank God.”
Weirded out by the change of subject, I released my hold on his wrists.
“D-do you like it now?” I asked, feeling my heart beating wildly with my question.
“Well, it doesn’t matter if I do, does it?” He gave me a teasing smile. “After all, our time together has come to an end.”
I wanted to shout a roaring no and hold on to him, which was fucked-up. But thankfully, I had enough sense not to, and instead, I nodded.
“Yes.”
He pursed his lips, looking almost innocent.
“What a shame… we could have had so much more fun together.”
I held back from moving a muscle when he patted my chest.
“Well then, Mr. Rivas, if that’s the case, I wish you the best.”
He moved back, and I could finally breathe in relief when I remembered something.
“What about my money?”
He half turned to look at me, his eyes filled with amusement.
“I’ll give it to you when you stop by at the hotel to give back your uniform.”
Rage bubbled under my skin, and I took a step forward. “Why?”
He chuckled. “Who knows, perhaps I’d like to see your face again?”
In seconds, my anger turned into something else, and I just stared at him, my face a bit hotter. He, on the other hand, chuckled again.
“El Embriagado. That name really does suit you.”