Chapter 6
Hayden
“In the end-Linkin Park”
The Dungeon smells like blood, sweat, and bad intentions.
Just how I like it.
Standing in the locker room, I wrap black tape around my knuckles while muffled screams and roaring music shake the concrete walls around me.
Men place bets outside like they’re wagering on dogs instead of people. Somewhere overhead, the crowd erupts as another fighter gets dropped.
The sound almost calms me. Pain makes sense to me now. It’s simple.
But people?
Love?
Hope?
That shit destroys you slower.
I flex my bruised hands once before pulling the tape tighter with my teeth.
Across from me, Harley leans against the lockers scrolling through his phone. His brother, Maverick, walks in and stops when he sees me.
“You’re fighting tonight?” he asks with wide eyes, and I smirk.
“Yep. So place your bets and pray I don’t kill the motherfucker.”
“You nervous?” Harley asks, and I scoff.
“About Augustine?” His eyes lift from his phone.
“About seeing her.”
And that right there shuts me up.
Because yeah, I am.
I’ve spent three years imagining this moment.
Three years picturing Ophelia running into my arms crying because I’m back. Three years replaying every memory of her until they became poison inside my skull.
But the second I saw her at the races… everything changed. Because while I was rotting in Whitestone, she was out here living life. Smiling. Racing. Wearing another man’s ring.
My jaw tightens instantly. “She made her choice,” I say, and Harley snorts.
“Did she?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, glaring at him.
“It means every time I’ve seen that girl around that Augustine shmuck… she looks one inconvenience away from driving her Audi into a fucking tree. Maybe you should stop being a pussy and ask her yourself. There’s things you clearly don’t know,” he says, and I narrow my eyes.
“Like what?” I ask, and he laughs.
“Go ask her yourself. The fact that you don’t know and you’ve been back for six fucking months and still don’t have a fucking clue is absolutely wild to me,” he states, but I look away before he can see the crack in my expression.
Because the truth is… Ophelia never looked happy.
Not once. Not at the races… school or even walking home crying while Brayden probably sat at that dinner table making deals like the good little bitch he is.
Yes, I saw and stalked her. Fucking sue me.
Every time I see her now… she looks hollow. Like someone scooped her soul out and left the shell behind.
And the worst part? Some sick piece of me likes it. Because if she’s suffering too, then maybe I wasn’t the only one destroyed that night.
Losing my best friend, my girl, and my freedom.
A knock sounds against the locker room door before Ryker sticks his head inside.
“You’re up in five.” I nod once as his eyes drag over me carefully. “Try not to kill the rich boy.” He smirks.
“His family pays good money here,” Harley adds.
“No promises,” I say to both of them.
“Hayden, listen to what Ryker is telling you. You cannot kill him. He’s a founding member,” Harley scolds, and I glance at him.
“I know the rules. Chill out. I got this,” I say as I dance from foot to foot. The door shuts behind Ryker, and Maverick clears his throat.
“Everyone is betting on you tonight. I say fuck him up. Give them a show. I hate those pretentious pricks,” he spits, and Harley laughs.
“Pres coming tonight?” Harley asks, but Maverick shakes his head.
“No, not tonight,” he growls, and I laugh.
Rolling my shoulders I let the adrenaline hum beneath my skin. Then the door opens again and Caspian walks in. He’s another brother of Harley and Maverick.
There’s five of them.
“Yo, Hayden… you ready?” He grins, tossing me my black hoodie.
No. Not even close, but I pull the hood over my head anyway and head toward the cage.
The second I step out of the locker room, the crowd loses its mind. This place is packed wall to wall tonight.
Cigarette smoke hangs thick beneath flashing red lights while music pounds hard enough to rattle my ribs. Rich kids mingle beside cartel members, mob bosses, bikers, and killers like Daggerspoint’s entire underground showed up for bloodshed.
Then I see her. And everything fucking stops.
Ophelia.
She stands near the front beside Brayden wearing a tight black dress that hugs every dangerous curve of her body. Long blonde curls spill over her shoulder while those big blue eyes scan the cage nervously.
God, my chest physically hurts looking at her.
She’s beautiful in a way that makes men ruin themselves willingly, but she doesn’t look happy to be here. No fake smile tonight. No perfect trophy-girl act. She looks trapped.
Then Brayden grabs her chin roughly and forces her attention toward him. Rage detonates through me instantly, but I step into the cage as the door slams shut behind me with a loud clang.
The crowd chants my name.
“GHOST! GHOST! GHOST!”
Brayden climbs into the cage across from me wearing designer athletic shorts like this is some fucking country club boxing match.
Cocky grin. Pretty face. Soft hands.
I’m going to enjoy ruining him.
The announcer, which is usually me, but tonight Braxton handles it, shouts into the mic while bets fly through the crowd. Brayden barely even glances at me.
Big mistake. Because he still doesn’t know who I am.
The bell rings, and I hit him so hard his entire body lifts off the mat.
I grin as the crowd goes wild. The crack of my fist against his jaw echoes through the Dungeon like a gunshot.
He stumbles sideways, crashing into the cage wall with a dazed look on his pretty-boy face like no one has ever hit him before.
Blood drips from the corner of his mouth while shock flashes across his features.
Good. I want him scared.
“You motherfucker!” he snarls, charging at me recklessly. His punch whistles past my face.
So fucking sloppy. He’s letting his emotions fuel him. Fucking amateur.
I duck beneath it and drive my fist straight into his ribs hard enough to crack something. He grunts, folding slightly, before I grab the back of his neck and slam my knee into his face.
Blood sprays across the mat and the crowd goes insane.
“GET HIM, GHOST!”
“FUCK HIM UP!”
Brayden spits blood onto the floor and comes back swinging harder this time. Angrier. Still a fucking idiot.
He lands a hook across my cheekbone hard enough to snap my head sideways. Pain instantly laces my mouth where my teeth sliced my inner lip.
For one second, the entire cage goes silent between us.
Then I smile. A slow, vicious smile stained red with blood.
Brayden’s confidence flickers, because now he understands something important.
I like this shit. Prison taught me pain is temporary. Fear is what kills you. And Brayden Augustine has never truly been afraid a day in his pampered fucking life.
I rush him before he can recover. My fist buries into his stomach once. Twice. Three times, making him wheeze while stumbling backwards, but I don’t let him breathe.
Then I grab his expensive shorts and yank him towards me before driving my elbow straight into his nose. The crunch of his bone is sickening yet thrilling as blood gushes over his mouth and down his chin.
The crowd loses their fucking minds as he crashes to the mat clutching his face while I stalk toward him slowly, adrenaline roaring through my veins. All I can see is Ophelia crying over him at dinner. Flinching beneath his touch. Forcing fake smiles while this prick calls her name.
“GET UP, AUGUSTINE!” someone screams, and I laugh as rage sharpens every bone in my body.
Brayden spits blood on the mat once again and forces himself upright. Credit where it’s due… the asshole doesn’t quit easily.
“You think you’re tough?” he pants. “You’re just another criminal piece of shit,” he heaves, and I laugh darkly.
“You have no fucking idea who I am,” I taunt, and he swings wildly again. I let him hit me this time. One punch. Then another.
The crowd screams as blood trickles from my eyebrow, causing him to grin like he’s gaining ground.
Then I grab his wrist mid-swing… and break it. The snap echoes through the cage, and he screams like a bitch. Not a tough scream either. A real one. Sharp. Panicked and horrified.
I twist his arm harder until he drops to his knees as the Dungeon erupts into complete chaos.
People slam money onto the tables while others scream for more blood.
“YOU WANNA TOUCH WHAT’S MINE?” I roar in his face, causing his eyes to widen in pain and confusion. Then I slam his face into the cage wall. Once. Twice. Three fucking times.
Blood smears across the metal links while his body starts going limp.
The bouncers outside the cage begin moving nervously. Ryker’s watching closely from the crowd, because even he knows I'm one bad second away from murdering this boy in front of everyone.
Brayden collapses onto the mat gasping, and I crouch beside him slowly, then fist my hand into his hair, forcing his ruined face upward.
Grinning, I whisper, “She still moans my name.”
He thrashes under my hold but I pull his head back further and someone whistles in the crowd. I know it’s Ryker giving me the signal to cool it down, but I apply just a little more pressure, making him scream out. But most of all, I force his face in her direction.
Toward Ophelia, my Firefly. Then I use my other hand to pull down my hood for everyone to see.
“Look at your fucking fiance,” I snarl.
And that’s when her eyes finally meet mine and the world shatters as I watch the exact moment recognition hits her. The exact second she realized who’s beneath the bruises, tattoos, and darkness.
Her lips part. Tears instantly fill those blue eyes.
“Hayden…” she breathes.
Fuck! That one word nearly destroys me.
The crowd noise disappears completely and all I see is her.
My Firefly. Alive. Breathing. Looking at me like she’s seeing a ghost crawl out of its grave.
Every instinct inside me screams to go to her. To pull her into my arms. Bury my face into her neck and tell her I survived for her, but then another image crashes through my mind.
Her fucking father sentencing me to die in prison. Ophelia never answered my letters. Never visited. Never fought for me.
Pain hardens inside my chest instantly.
No. If she wants Hayden Marks back… she’s too fucking late.
I release Brayden and step backwards while bouncers rush into the cage. The fight is over. Augustine can barely stand. Blood pours from his nose while one eye has already swelled shut.
And still… I only look at her.
She pushes through the crowd towards the cage frantically. Tears streak her cheeks while her hands shake. “Hayden!”
God, hearing her say my name again nearly drops me to my knees.
I hop down from the cage before she can reach me.
For one dangerous second, I almost grab her.
Almost.
Then some blonde girl wraps herself around my arm from nowhere. One of the Croweaters. I don’t even know her damn name.
Perfect.
I smirk coldly and pull her against my side while staring directly at Ophelia. The hurt that flashes across her face is instant.
Brutal. Good. Let her feel it too.
“You’re alive…” she whispers, and her words stun me.
Alive? What does that mean?
But I don’t react, so I shrug, like seeing her again means nothing.
“Looks that way,” I say as her entire body trembles.
“Why would you do this to me?” she yells as the girl attached to me giggles while running her hand across my chest, but I keep my eyes locked on Ophelia’s.
“Do what, Firefly?”
The nickname wrecks her instantly.
Tears spill harder down her cheeks. “You let me think you were dead!” she growls.
There’s that fire I fucking missed so much.
But wait, what? Dead? Dead?
Before I can answer, the blonde opens her mouth.
“Aww, is this the ex?” she asks.
Fuck!
Wrong fucking thing to say.
Ophelia snaps and launches at the girl so fast no one reacts in time.
The crowd erupts all over again as Ophelia drags the girl to the ground by her hair.
“Don’t fucking touch him!” she screams.
Jesus Christ.
For a second, pride swells in my chest.
Damn. That’s my girl.
The blonde screams while Ophelia lands punch after punch until a bouncer finally pulls them apart. Her chest heaves while mascara streaks beneath her furious blue eyes that send daggers straight into my soul.
“You’re a fucked up individual, you know that right?” she growls.
Every ounce of anger in her voice cuts deeper than any knife ever could.
I force myself not to react.
Not to pull her into me. Not to wipe the tears shining in her eyes. Not to tell her I still love her so fucking much it feels like drowning every time she looks at me.
So instead… I become exactly what prison turned me into.
Cold. Cruel, and mean enough to survive.
The monster her father created when he buried me alive.
“You should’ve forgotten me faster,” I fire back.
The devastation that flashes across her face nearly fucking sends me over the edge.
Because Ophelia looks at me like I just reached inside her chest and ripped her heart out with my bare hands.
Then Brayden appears beside her clutching his broken wrist, looking bruised and bloody from the fight. Then wraps an arm around her possessively like he has any right.
“Stay the fuck away from her,” he spits, but I barely even hear him because all I can focus on is my Firefly standing there looking shattered.
Confused. Hurt. Like she doesn’t understand why I’m being cruel to her.
I didn’t do anything. I’m not the one who caused her heartache or whatever this is.
Her father is to blame. Maybe she should go home to her daddy and spit her venom in that direction.
“I hate you,” she yells, and the words hit harder than any prison fight ever has. She starts crying again as Brayden pulls her away through the crowd and like a fucking idiot… I let him take her.
I stand here motionless while the love of my life disappears from sight all over again.
Only this time?
I’m the one who destroyed her.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!