35. Santiago
SANTIAGO
The fucker I was up against tonight was one ugly son of a bitch.
To top it all, ever since I stepped into the cage, he’d been spitting insults at me, thinking I gave a shit. He could call me the F slur all he fucking wanted because in a few moments, I’d break all of his teeth anyway.
A glance at the crowd told me tonight was busier than usual.
I guess the rumor about the new fighter had spread like wildfire, and all those rich fuckers had come to check me out.
Bet they came here, hoping to see me fail.
Well, sorry, assholes, ain’t no way it was happening because I was about to beat this motherfucker without breaking a sweat.
In fact, I was sure I could knock him out faster than I did with Cas—
My train of thought cut off the moment I spotted my white fox in the crowd.
His eyes landed on me immediately, driving my body into a trance. Like a shot of tequila that burns down your throat and goes straight into your system, that was how I felt when he looked at me.
I told you I liked it rough, didn’t I?
Fucking asshole.
Did he really fuck someone? Or was he messing with my head—
“Shit,” I hissed after I dodged my opponent’s fist by mere chance. Lost in thought, I didn’t even notice the fight had started.
Gathering myself back together, I quickly raised my hands to protect my face from his jabs.
He was quick and ruthless, not sparing me from his kicks that soon followed.
He was also aggressive, forcing me to keep my defense up.
I moved forward, hands up and elbows in as I avoided his body shots.
Still, I couldn’t dodge them all, and some sacrifices had to be made.
But for each blow he landed on me, I hit him back twice as hard.
Using the brief second I had after he’d taken a blow to the liver, I glanced at the crowd.
He’s still there.
Another punch came, but I blocked it, then threw a few jabs before my eyes went back to look at him.
Get your hands off of me, you rabid dog.
My stomach flipped, just like it did then, and this one moment of distraction earned me a hit in the face.
Fuck.
Shaking my head to make the pain go away, I moved down, missing his uppercut, then used the momentum to hit him back with my left hook.
He took the blow to the right side of his face, and I watched the cut forming there, blood already sliding down his jaw and mixing with the sweat.
Refusing to back down, I went for another combo, a left hook to his body, then another one to his head.
Both hits were successful, yet the scumbag refused to go down and went for a series of low kicks.
He was trying to get me to the floor, but I refused.
I refused to back down.
Not to him.
Not to anyone.
And especially not to fucking Ariyan, who was still there, looking at me from a crowd of faceless men.
My jaw twitched, and I bit hard on the mouthguard, my vision going red with anger right before I went into my attack.
With jabs and blows, I pressured him until he was pushed against the cage.
He tried protecting his face for no use, as I came onto him hard.
Blood splattered with each hit, and as the sound of my fist colliding with his skin reached my ears, I only went harder and harder until he collapsed, face-first, as he hit the canvas.
I was rigid, fucking livid as every part of me throbbed with the need to keep on hitting the bastard. But no. I wasn’t like them, like those scavengers who came here for a bloody show. I was better than this guy, passed out on the floor. From those masked men and from—
Where is he?
My blood froze after I failed to spot him in the crowd. When did he leave?
Just because you fight for me doesn’t make you any less disgusting in my eyes.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Why did I keep remembering his words? Why couldn’t he give me a fucking break?
My pulse quickened, and my skin turned cold, and needing to be out of here, I quickly found myself in the back room, packing my shit to go home. I thought tonight would make me feel better, but if anything, it only made it worse.
Not in the mood to face people, I refused to be checked by anyone despite the state of my hands, and decided to treat myself. Only I did a shitty job. The skin around my knuckles was completely peeled off, and sanitizing the wounds made it burn like hell.
“Shit.” I flinched after trying to wrap clean bandages around my hands.
“Need any help?”
My jaw tensed at the sound of his voice.
“No,” I hissed, my back facing him. I didn’t even hear him walk inside the room.
“Are you sure? It looks like you do.”
“Fuck off.”
“What did I say about swearing?”
Ignoring him, I continued wrapping the bandages.
It was a task I could normally do in my sleep, but now, it seemed nearly impossible.
Either it was the pain or the fact that I could feel his stare digging holes in my back, but one of the two made my hands shake, and I struggled like some fucking rookie.
Finally done, I grabbed my bag from the floor and tossed it over my shoulder. As I turned to walk away, I sure as fuck made sure not to look at him.
“Mr. Rivas.”
I reached to open the door.
“You fought well.”
I stopped, my fingers hovering over the handle.
“Don’t you mean, I fought well for a rabid dog?”
The atmosphere in the room turned thick until he cut it off with a snort.
“Who knew you were this sentimental?”
I gritted my teeth, fighting to keep calm.
“Don’t tell me… you want me to apologize? Is that why you’re acting like such a pussy—”
My hand was around his neck before he could insult me further, and I had him pinned against the wall even faster than that. Fury burned through my veins as I held him by the throat, yet not hard enough to hurt him.
“Such a fragile soul you have…” He pouted. “What now? Are you going to hit me like you hit that guy out there? Beat me to a pulp?”
The cold smile on his lips nearly dared me to do so, but—
“Just ’cause I can doesn’t mean I will,” I said before letting him go.
I didn’t wait for his response and instead walked out of the room, feeling like crap.
It drove me nuts, the constant mockery in his stare, that was, alongside the certainty he judged me with.
To him, I was trash—a rabid dog he’d get rid of the second he could.
Only I wasn’t. At least, not with him. But for some reason, he refused to acknowledge that I was anything more than that.
Whoever hurt this man to make him this fucked-up sure did a number on him.
He was incapable of seeing the good in people.
Not that he had a say in the matter, considering he was a piece of trash himself.
And yet, I still yearned for his attention, no matter how cold it was served.
* * *
“There you go, sweetheart,” said the waitress after placing a plate of waffles before me.
“Thanks.”
“Need anything else? Some coffee, maybe?”
I shook my head, and she smiled at me before leaving to take care of the other customers. Not that there were many, as it was past midnight.
After leaving the club, I thought carbs would cheer me up. But now, staring at the mountain of warm waffles, syrup dripping down onto the crispy bacon underneath, I’d lost my appetite. Which was a first, I’d admit.
Pushing the plate aside, I leaned back in the chair while sending my legs forward. My hands still hurt, and all I could think about was him, that damn Ariyan with his pretty face and shitty personality.
I’d agreed to fight for him, subconsciously hoping it would make him change his mind about me.
Not only did it not, but it seemed as if his hatred toward me grew stronger with each passing day.
My thirst for him kept me hooked, like an addict constantly waiting for their next hit.
This suffocating desire lodged in my throat made it impossible to break free.
So much so that despite spending three years behind bars, I’d never felt more caged in my life before.
“Fuck,” I grunted, then pulled out my phone.
The screen was still full of cracks. Despite now having money from the fights and working at the hotel, I chose to save up and not spend it on useless shit like a new phone.
I’d earned five grand from my first fight alone, not to mention the money I’d made early on.
At this rate, I’d be able to move Nacio and me to a better place and give him more options in life.
Speaking of the brat, we hadn’t spoken today.
Seeing how he’d sent me a few texts earlier about what he’d like to eat, I pressed the call button only to have the line ring several times before going to voicemail.
Given it was Saturday night, he was probably with that bitch, Tess.
Going through my other messages, I went back to the one Gabriel had sent me earlier this week.
Gabe
It was nice seeing you on Thanksgiving. Hope my mom didn’t ask too many questions…
My uncle said you’re still hitting the gym pretty hard.
How about we spar together? Last time was nice.
Anyway, give me a call…
He sure as fuck didn’t know when to give up, but I guess he and I were in the same situation, both of us wanting a guy who didn’t want us back.
Although I guess he had it better, considering we’d actually dated.
Ariyan and I… hadn’t. The closest thing we had to a relationship was committing crime.
Gabriel would be pissed. The thought made me laugh, and I shook my head.
I really was risking it all because of that deranged psychopath.
And for what? For feeling like a useless piece of crap?
Just thinking about the way he dared me to hit him tonight made me grit my teeth.
Fucking asshole. As if I’d ever hurt him.
Looking back at my phone, I bit my lip before I began typing Gabriel back. I didn’t really want to see him, but I also didn’t want to go back to an empty house—
A loud thud made me look up from the screen to see someone place a helmet on the table a second before Ariyan slumped his ass down on the sofa before me.
My brows drew inward, and confused, I stared at him, unsure if I was imagining shit after being hit in the head one too many times tonight.
But no, he was actually right here, sitting in front of me with his arms crossed and his lips pursed.
“Do I have something on my face?” he snarled after I’d stared at him for too long.
I shook my head. “No.”
He tsked, then pointed at my plate. “Are you sure all that sugar is good for you after a fight?”
“Eh… no?”
He rolled his eyes when something occurred to me.
“How did you know I was here?”
Looking at me with a raised brow, he seemed unimpressed. “Do you really want to know?”
I nodded.
He sighed, sat back on the sofa, and pointed at my phone. “I placed a tracking app on your phone.”
My eyes widened, and I quickly grabbed my phone from the table and slid it open. “What? When?” I asked while swiping through my apps to find it.
“On your first day at the hotel.”
“Seriously?” I looked up to see him checking his nails.
“Of course. You expected I’d allow you to run loose?”
I bit down on my tongue, fighting the urge to snap when he looked up to meet my stare.
“Oh, don’t give me that pitiful look… instead, be grateful I keep an eye on you.”
I’d have to find that app and delete it later, but for now, I placed my phone back on the table.
“Do you want some?” I cocked my head at the waffles. “I still haven’t taken a bite.”
He sighed. “As if I’m going to share a meal with you.”
Bitterness clenched my jaw, and I gritted my teeth.
“If you’re here to mock me some more, feel free to leave.”
Staying silent, he just… stared at me, lips sealed as if he knew a joke I wasn’t in on.
It made me feel small and unworthy, and just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, he grabbed his helmet from the table and got up.
My heart sank with disappointment as I watched him walk away, and not wanting to seem too pathetic, I looked down at my hands.
The fact that I experienced some shred of hope from him being here was so fucking lame. But what was new? Around him, I was always a joke.
A white porcelain mug was placed on the table, and I looked up to see Ariyan sitting down. After he was settled, he didn’t say a word, just cupped the mug in both palms and looked around the nearly empty diner.
The anger and agony I’d felt so far vanished, and for the first time in the last few days, I felt like smiling. With relief also came my appetite, and without saying something that might ruin the moment, I reached for my plate and pulled it close.
“I bit myself,” he said, just as I picked up my fork.
“Huh?”
Still not looking at me, he took a deep breath.
“The bruise on my lip, that’s how I got it. I bit myself.”
My chest tightened with warmth, and for the very first time, I felt like he saw me—Santiago Rivas, the man, and not the image he had of me that he despised so much. Whatever made him confess to me right now meant he did care.
Knowing it was beneath him, this was probably the closest thing I’d ever get to an apology from him. I wanted to tease him about it, but not wanting this precious feeling to flee, I instead grabbed my fork and began eating.
He didn’t say another word throughout the night, nor did he actually drink his tea, but he did stay with me until I was done and only left after I told him good night. And somehow, his silence tonight said more to me than his words ever did.