Chapter 25 - Damien
I stand near the ring, the voices of patrons bellowing my name: The Killer.
Yet, I don’t feel like a killer. Instead, I feel dead inside—lost, hurt, sad. Genevieve hasn’t called me since she disappeared. I know she asked for time, and I want to give it to her, but I still yearn to tell her those three words—I love you.
I roll my shoulders to loosen my tight muscles. This is it. The fight’s about to begin, and I can’t afford to lose focus. Especially not today because this is it—my last fight.
It’s my last because of one simple truth. I realized I have better things to fight for. Once I walk out of this ring today, I’ll never return, instead fighting for things that truly matter, like getting Genevieve back.
I begin to stretch out my arms when the wretched investor who tried to scare Genevieve and me walks up next to me.
“Alexai,” I stare at him, right in the eye.
“Rumor has it that today’s your last fight,” he glares at me.
“Yes, it is,” I reply evenly. “I have more important things waiting for me beyond this ring.”
“In that case, our deal comes through today. If you lose, or forfeit, the land’s mine.”
“Fair,” I nod.
“Except…” he adds slyly, “Since this is your retirement plan, care to up the stakes?”
I am still angry at him for what he put us through on the streets with the chase. But he does dangle a lucrative deal. Feeling confident of my victory and wanting to land him one final blow, I step forward and tower over his short frame.
I arch my brow. “To what?”
“Double or nothing. If you lose, you give up control of two pieces of land instead of one. If you win, you get two underground rings instead of one.”
My blood thrums with anticipation as I consider the deal. Double the risk, double the reward. Just the way I like it.
I extend my hand. “You’ve got a deal.”
“I’ll enjoy taking back what’s mine.”
I bare my teeth in a smile. “Over my dead body.”
With a scoff, Alexai releases me and turns on his heel.
Alone again, I close my eyes and take a steadying breath. Everything rides on this fight. Two more underground rings, and that’s enough to put me into managing instead of fighting. Freedom at my fingertips.
And Genevieve.
Guilt flares, a brief spark I ruthlessly extinguish. I can’t afford distractions, not now. Once I’m done, I’ll go fight for her.
But first, I must win. Squaring my shoulders, I stand. It’s time.
***
The crowd’s roar greets me as I enter the ring, a beast with many heads. Their shouts blend into a wordless cry, hungry and savage.
My opponent stands opposite, masked and brooding.
I’ve never seen him before.
He’s new around here. Must be from out of town. He’s bigger than most, with the scars to prove it.
He growls at me, trying to scare me off. Someone else might have trembled.
But he hasn’t faced anyone like me.
I peel off my shirt, muscles rippling under the dim lights. Tattoos stark against my skin, a map of where I’ve been and who I am.
Who I’ll always be.
The referee’s shrill whistle pierces the air.
The final fight begins.
***
“Ready to lose, pretty boy?” he taunts.
“Keep dreaming,” I retort.
“Talk is cheap,” he sneers, stepping closer to me.
“Then let my fists do the talking,” I reply, cracking my knuckles.
He laughs, a deep, mocking sound, but I refuse to be intimidated.
“Bring it on, pretty boy,” he sneers, raising his fists in a challenge.
I take a deep breath, steadying my racing heartbeat. Before I have time to dwell on my fears or doubts, I launch myself at my opponent. We exchange powerful blows, each of us unyielding, unwilling to give an inch.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he hisses, landing a solid punch to my ribs.
“Far from it,” I spit out, pain flaring in my side, but I refuse to let it slow me down. Just as he’s about to strike again, I sidestep and deliver a devastating blow to his jaw, sending him staggering back.
The next punch comes quickly, a blur of movement that slams into my cheekbone before I can react. Pain radiates through my face, and I stagger back, momentarily disoriented.
It shouldn’t hurt this much. That punch was weak.
“Come on, Zolotov,” he jeers, smirking as he dances around me with ease. “I thought you were supposed to be good.”
“Got something better than that?” I snarl, trying to regain my composure. Sweat beads on my forehead, but I push the sting from my eyes and focus on my opponent. He grins wickedly, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
“Much better,” he confirms, launching another series of small jabs at me. My body tenses, muscles straining as I attempt to fend off his relentless assault. His fists are like sledgehammers, each hit causing my skin to shudder beneath his fists.
“Keep it up,” I manage to spit out between breaths. “You’ll tire yourself out eventually.”
He laughs, a harsh sound devoid of humor. “We’ll see who tires first, Zolotov.”
The bell signals a brief respite, and we separate to our corners. As I lean against the ropes, panting heavily, doubt creeps into my mind, fogging my vision and making it difficult to concentrate.
What’s going on? Why is every little jab hurting so much? Is he truly a better fighter, or am I underestimating the strength of his hits?
Or am I just getting weaker?
***
I head to the changing room during the break, thinking I need to sit in a quiet space to collect my thoughts. I barely make it, feeling dizzy as I walk.
Am I getting sick?
I find a bottle of electrolytes and take slow sips, my head pounding as I rest it against the wall behind the bench I sit on. My vision feels blurry, and the blood rushes to my head, aching my ears.
Something feels very, very wrong. Have I caught something? Have I lost the strength to fight an opponent his size?
While those seem like reasonable explanations, my intuition tells me that it’s something else, something I’m not able to place a finger on yet… but what?
Those little jabs shouldn’t hurt like knives. In fact, no punch should hurt like knives.
I take a few deep breaths and begin to feel better. I’m about to stand and go back to the arena when the door to the changing room slams open. I turn to see a few figures approaching and do a double take when I observe who it is.
Boris, Lev, Anoushka, and Genevieve are storming in, their faces full of urgency. Their presence is a shock. No one knew of this fight today. In fact, Boris shouldn’t even know I still fight.
My siblings and wife reach my side.
”What were you thinking?” Lev demands, brows drawn together.
“Taking on that brute alone!” Anoushka smacks my arm, eyes flashing. “You could have been hurt, and none of us would have been here to help you, you foolish man!”
“Guys,” I ask, shaking my head. “What the hell are you doing here? How’d you even find out? And you… Boris?”
Boris steps forward, his expression grave. “Anoushka told us when she found out about the event,” he gestures to his sister, who glares at me unrepentantly. “She said you needed our support, and she wasn’t going to let you handle this alone.”
I look at Anoushka, who looks across at Genevieve. “Well,” Anoushka begins. “We’re here to support you, Damien.”
“Handle what? Someone tell me what’s going on, now,” I say, my voice catching in my throat. None of my siblings have ever supported me in my fight. What changed?
“It was Genevieve,” Anoushka admits. “She called me and asked for my help. She brought us all together today and made us swear that no matter what happens, we’ll stand by your side.”
Genevieve? She brought everyone together just to support me? My heart begins to pound in my chest at the thought that maybe we still stand a chance.
“Why?” I ask, turning to Genevieve. I thought she was mad at me. I couldn’t sleep all night yesterday; I couldn’t eat all day. To see her now is a blessing from the Gods themselves, and it takes everything in me to not envelop her in my arms, to not tell her I love her. But before all that, I need to know what’s going on.
“Damien,” Genevieve says, stepping closer and taking my hands in hers. She looks up at me with those beautiful green eyes, and I drown in them. “You don’t understand. I was wrong to let my father get between us. There’s something you should know. My father has been spying on you. He learned about your underground fights, and I’m afraid he might be trying to sabotage you,” she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “He wants you to lose, and he might even go as far as to harm you. Maybe even kill you…” her voice trails off, and tears form in her eyes.
The weight of her words hangs heavy in the air, casting a shadow over my last fight. My jaw tightens with anger at the thought of Gerald’s interference in our lives, in my fights.
“He’s playing dirty, and I couldn’t stand by and watch. I had to do something,” she continues.
“Are you certain of this?” I ask before making a decision.
“I can’t be certain for sure since I have no evidence. This is just the conclusion I’ve made from the facts I’ve gathered, but if I know my father, then he’s sabotaged your fight.”
I sigh and run my hands through my hair. “It’s my last fight,” I say with sheer clarity. “I can’t just let it go.”
My brain goes in circles, trying to make sense of all that’s happened. My unknown opponent, the pain in his jabs… I begin to put two and two together.
Before I can speak, Boris steps forward, his voice low but commanding. “Damien, regardless of how I feel about underground fighting in general, we trust you. You’re our brother, and we will stand by you no matter what. We’ll support your decision to finish this fight if you so wish.”
“Do you?” Anoushka leans forward, her touch gentle on my arm. “Do you wish to finish this fight?”
I look up at them all, a grin on my face. “Hell yeah, I do—and I know exactly what I have to do next.”
***
I bid goodbye and leave the changing room. Just before I’m about to enter the arena, Genevieve calls out to me, breathless.
“Damien,” she says, “Wait.”
I pause, turning to face Genevieve as she catches up to me, her green eyes searching mine. Despite the urgency in her voice, there’s a softness to her features that makes my heart ache with longing.
“Genevieve,” I murmur, the name like a prayer on my lips.
“I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt,” she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m tired of not speaking my thoughts out loud. I miss you, Damien. I’ve been a fool to push you away.”
Her words hit me like a physical blow, and all the emotions I’ve been suppressing come rushing to the surface.
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” I admit, reaching out to cup her cheek tenderly. “I love you, Genevieve. More than anything.”
“And I love you,” she mutters, getting on her toes to give me a sweet kiss. “Go give this last fight your all, and come back safe to me. Remember, there’s a girl waiting for you backstage, and don’t you dare disappoint her.”
“Never,” I say, kissing her one last time before entering the arena.
What I don’t tell her is that she has nothing to worry about. I already know what tactics I must use.