Chapter 9 - Damien
The heavy metallic door to the underground fighting ring swings open, and I step inside for the fifth time this week, my heart pounding like an eager drum. The familiar scents of sweat, blood, and testosterone fill my senses, and my muscles tense, the thrill of the impending fight already pumping adrenaline through my veins.
I take a deep breath and adjust the towel around my neck before breathing out and walking toward the crowd. People notice me enter, and their roars surround me, a cacophony that fuels my adrenaline.
“Zolotov!” someone shouts. “You got this!”
“You better win tonight, man. I got a grand down for you,” another one bellows.
I nod in acknowledgment at these strangers before turning my attention to the ring. As I stretch my muscles, warming them up for the brutal fight ahead, my thoughts drift toward Genevieve. An image comes to mind of her naked with her golden blonde hair spread like a halo on the pillow, and the unwanted desire to fuck her makes me freeze.
Since we’ve been forced into this arranged marriage, her presence has become both a challenge and a temptation I can’t resist. I’ve spent all these nights to get her off my mind, but God, how I crave her.
Suddenly, sheer rage overcomes me at the thought of what I almost did. Fury swells within me, consuming me like wildfire. How could I have nearly ruined her? How could I have been so careless, so reckless with her innocence? My rage, directed at myself, admonishes my fiery passion that blinded me to the fact that she was a virgin. I was about to take her with savage aggression, all because she was naked in front of me, and I couldn’t feel beyond the blood rushing to my cock. I finish stretching, but the angry restlessness keeps at me. I clench my fists and begin rapid footwork exercises on the spot. I keep thinking of Genevieve and how close I was to feeling my cock in her.
I want to fuck her still, and I’m afraid of myself. If I stay around her, I don’t know how long I can hold out. Another fantasy comes to mind—one where I slam her around on her knees, taking her from behind, and I groan out at the distracted and illicit thought, almost tripping over.
I feel sore and tense. It’s one of those rare feelings of trepidation I get, and for a brief second, I wonder if I should just head back to the changing room and call it a night before the fight begins.
But people have been watching me for four nights in a row and are expecting tonight to go just as well. If I back out now, the bettors would get pissed, and I’d lose my reputation for being dependable.
It’s almost like the universe is screaming at me to call it a night because, just then, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to find Razor looking down at me. His skin glistens from the fight he just won. His face looks gruesome. I feel his pain as my own, despite his victory being what I should focus on. I touch my jaw, where the ghost pain forms, looking at the stitches he’s going to need.
“Damien,” he nods at me.
“Razor. Good show tonight,” I acknowledge his performance.
He nods back, gratitude glinting in his eyes. “Thanks, man. But you know me, I always give it my all.”
“That you do,” I nod. I think the conversation is done. I am about to turn my back to him to finish my warm-up when he grabs my upper arm, forcing me to turn back.
I look up at him, eyebrow raised.
Razor smiles, his eyes hard and cold. I tense up with that same feeling of trepidation, fearing he’s going to say something I don’t want to hear. Razor’s no hobbyist. He’s been through the wars and then some, and today was no exception. He is a wolf in human Butcher’s clothing, one that I admire and also fear at this moment as I begin to wonder what he wants.
I was right to be nervous when he starts to tell me he gives it his all only when he’s sure he can.
“What are you implying?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“We ain’t fighting each other, man,” he shakes his head. “We’re friends, and tonight, I’m on your team. I noticed you tripped on your footwork. I’ve been watching you the last four nights, kid. You’re playing with fire being here every night. Every good fighter knows he needs to recover.”
His words echo through my mind, weighing down my every thought. Razor’s scrutiny is as unnerving as it is insightful. I swallow hard, feeling the knot in my throat grow tighter. I knew Razor had been watching me, but I didn’t think he’d noticed my struggle.
I shake my head and begin to stretch my wrists. “Well, I’m here for the fight,” I cover my tracks. “The win doesn’t matter.”
“It’s not the win or loss that troubles me, kid. You could seriously get hurt out there,” he nods toward the ring.
I don’t want to admit it, but he is right. I’m losing my stamina with each passing fight and have difficulty maintaining technique and strategy. I’m tired, emotionally and physically. But what other choice do I have? How can I explain that this is the only way I know to protect Genevieve from myself? To protect myself from the hold she has over me?
“That’s a part of the game,” I say nonchalantly, biting my inner cheek as Genevieve again plays in my head.
Razor nods, his gaze unwavering. “Whatever you say, kid. I’m just sayin’, If I noticed you ain’t conditioned, others might too. If your opponent thinks you’re weak, you are.”
“The only way my opponent would think I’m weak is if he hasn’t seen me fight before,” I say, rather ferociously. I do believe I have the capability to put myself up for a win with my power of belief.
“A’ight. If you say so. Fake it ‘til you make it, eh?” He smacks me playfully on my shoulder before leaving me to my own devices. He knows he tried, and Razor’s the kind of guy who knows when to leave a fight.
I turn back to focus on myself, his words still spinning in my head. I close my eyes and imagine the roars of the crowd when I win. By the time I open my eyes, I convince myself I’m going to win and that I’m conditioned from the years of fight in me. What were the decades spent in underground rings across Moscow and Philadelphia for, if not this very moment? I convince myself that the trepidation I feel is excitement, and with that thought, I turn all skepticism into belief.
The bell dongs for us to take our places.
As I climb into the ring, the noise of the crowd intensifies, their faces and bodies a blur of excitement, cheers, clapping hands. Yet, amidst the chaos, I find my focus narrowing, zeroing in on my goal: victory.
“Alright, boys,” the referee announces, his gravelly voice cutting through the din. “Keep it clean and give ‘em a show.”
“Of course,” I mutter under my breath, knowing full well that in this world, there’s no such thing as a clean fight.
The smoky haze of the underground fighting ring fills my lungs as I watch my opponent stride in, muscles rippling beneath his sweat-slicked skin. He’s known for his dirty tactics, and the menacing smirk plastered on his face tells me he’s eager to put them to use tonight. Adrenaline courses through me, and I can’t help but feel a shiver of excitement at the challenge ahead.
“Ready to dance?” he taunts, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a predator stalking its prey.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” I reply, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. My determination hardens, fueled by thoughts of Genevieve—her soft touch, her fiery spirit. I need this man to help me stop fantasizing about the very image of her.
The bell rings, and the first round begins. I waste no time analyzing his movements, searching for weaknesses to exploit. He lunges forward, aiming a vicious hook at my head, but with a quick sidestep, I dodge the attack and counter with a sharp jab to his ribs.
“Is that all?” I taunt, keeping my tone light even as my mind races with strategies. I need to stay one step ahead of him if I’m going to win. But I am so lost in my thoughts that I don’t notice his next move until it’s too late.
He feints a punch to my face, but instead of striking, he pulls back and sweeps his leg around my waist, sending me crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust. I feel the sting of the impact as my shoulder connects with the cold, hard floor of the ring. I struggle to get up, but he’s already on me, grappling for a chokehold.
“You think you can just walk in here and take me out?” he sneers, his breath hot and heavy in my ear. “You’re nothing but a kid, playing at being a fighter. I’ll teach you the hard way what happens when you mess with the big dogs.”
I can feel the desperation rising within me, the realization that I’m in a losing battle. I stay down for this first round as the referee counts down, and the bell rings, signaling the end of the first round.
He gets off me, and I jump to my feet with more power than I should exert, my ankle hurting from the stress of it. Yet, I keep a straight face as I walk to my corner.
Just then, I see Alexai walk over from the corner of my eye. He leans against the boxing ring and his pale gaze rakes over me, cold and calculating as he waits for me to acknowledge him. I straighten under the scrutiny, refusing to show any weakness.
Shit. He thinks I’m not conditioned for this fight.
The realization hits me like a freight train. The failure of the first round tonight has not escaped his notice. I’ve grown complacent, too focused on Genevieve to properly concentrate. I’ve grown tired, fighting four nights in a row, but I’m not willing to pay the price.
This man is the greatest gambler in here, and he’s the only one I know I can exploit for the thrill of the win. He’s also one of the most asset-rich guys in here, and if I want any chance to lay the foundation for my business in the boxing world, I need him.
If I fail to give him what he wants, the chance at a bet, he’ll just find another boxer to lay down a bet with. No matter what happens tonight, I can’t allow him to lose interest.
“Hey,” I say, leaning back against the ropes and nodding at him.
“Hey, Champ,” Alexai says. “Ready for another win?”
“Always,” I say, without skipping a beat.
“I have a deal for you tonight,” he says, choosing to turn my weakness into his strength. I narrow my eyes and brace myself to hear what he has to say. “If you lose tonight, you return the last piece of land you won off me.”
I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. Lose my land tonight? To him? It’s not an option. I need to use that land to build a boxing ring. I’ve been betting my way into an underground boxing business all because Boris would never loan me the money for it, knowing I might fight, too.
I’m all I’ve got to make my dreams come true.
“If I win, what’s in it for me?” I ask, my voice steady despite the pounding in my chest.
Alexai smiles, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “If you win, you get to ask for anything. What is it you want most?”
His words are like a drug to an addict, and in that very moment of greed, I convince myself I’ve got all it takes to win. One match. I just need to win this one match and I could have my dreams come true.
I have to do something bold, quickly, before I lose this opportunity. He has just what I need to launch my boxing empire, and this is the one shot I can’t afford to squander.
Squaring my shoulders, I get off my stool and turn toward him. He watches me approach with a raised brow, silently questioning. I stop in front of him, meeting his gaze steadily.
“I want the underground ring you just set up. The land, the venue, the operations. Everything.”
The words are a gamble, but one I’m willing to take. I hold his stare, refusing to back down. For several long moments, he says nothing. Then, a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Zolotov.”
“So we have a deal?”
“Indeed. We have a deal.”
Satisfaction washes over me as we shake on it. I’ve secured my place, and just laid the most important bet of my whole, entire life. One win, this win, and I can finally own my first-ever boxing ring.