Chapter Twenty-One
The lead-up to the next Challenger’s Chance haunted Roman. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t even probably feel past the guilt he carried for causing this. Every part of him secretly thought back to how much he deserved his fate, how karma had finally come for him after what he’d done to Stacy, but to learn Ezra came in karma’s stead. To know that Ezra made it his mission to take Roman and break him, make him love the servitude, expect the pain, and show gratitude for everything he’d been forced to endure for months.
He thought about how Ezra warped his understanding of friendship, how he used friendship to punish Roman, and now would take the only friend Roman had left in the world and kill him.
Roman swallowed hard as he followed a small crowd being escorted to the fighting arena. Would Ezra honestly murder Levi? The warden didn’t tolerate competitors getting slick and pressing their luck by killing a fellow inmate. There was no profit in casual murder, and the warden was a businessman, after all. But accidents happened, and this was a rough, no-rules arena where every fighter came with their own shady background of breaking the law.
Ezra could easily make it look like an accident. Hell, maybe it had nothing to do with their fight at all. Roman scoured the crowd, searching for threats. Ezra might have someone in the audience ready to gut Levi, just like the inmate who’d come for Ezra with a knife all those months back.
Roman dwelled on that moment, that incident that cemented Ezra’s friendship with Jake. Had it been real? A real altercation Ezra merely capitalized on, or a ruse meant to justify his fake friendship with Jake? Roman didn’t know the truth, didn’t know if he wanted to know. Ezra had said he’d always planned to break Roman and pass him off to Jake. Had he really been planning it from day one? Roman’s mind was lost in the layers of manipulation, the web of lies, the fog of deceit. He couldn’t see through any of it, not truly, and he worried he never would.
“Welcome to another evening of the most riveting competitions you’ll ever experience,” Warden Sadler came on the mics and livened up the crowd. “Normally, we warm you all up with a few preliminary battles, but tonight, we have something mighty special. A Challenger’s Chance made by Levi Pierce and graciously accepted by Ezra Delgado, our strongest champion.”
The crowd booed Levi’s approach, offering no support, but the stoic expression he wore didn’t falter for a second. Ezra stood from his gaudy throne chair, raised fists to fuel the crowds’ cheers for a moment, and then quickly took his place. Neither man had come tonight with the intention of putting on a show. All they wanted was to strike down the other.
Warden Sadler sounded off the match, and both fighters moved in to attack each other. Ezra came in fast and hard, not bothering to conserve his strength because this was the only fight that mattered to him. Roman could see it in his hateful green eyes; he could see it in every brutal punch, in the swift kicks, in the dangerous fake-outs. Ezra moved with deadly force.
Levi kept up, though, unsurprising to Roman since he’d seen Levi hold his own against Ezra—at least for a little while. But he also knew Levi fought with an air of deceit for the last several months. Everything he did steered him to this match-up without actually giving away his true talent. That power revealed itself in every heavy punch he landed, in the solid counters he led Ezra into, in the godly speed he wielded. Roman’s eyes darted to keep up with Levi, shocked to see a man so bulky move with more speed than Ezra.
It panicked Ezra, too. The way Levi bulldozed his way from one end of the arena to the other. He already had height and weight and muscle on Ezra, but now he revealed he had the speed, too. Not only that, but his secret training shone through in every move set. Ezra continued making sloppy strikes, continued falling short of evading blows, and looked so exhausted Roman could almost breathe easy.
Almost.
Every cell of his body told him he’d never be free of Ezra, that he belonged to him. His stomach even twisted in knots, filled with guilt and remorse at the idea of cheering for Levi’s success. His own body turned against him, shaming him for yearning for Ezra’s defeat.
It didn’t matter, though. Levi continued winning ground, leaving Ezra more and more vulnerable. He might really win this, become the next champion, and free Roman.
The thought was shameful, to see how far he’d fallen, to feel this pitiful and desperate, but Roman didn’t know any other way.
The crowd roared with excitement when Ezra landed an uppercut. It wouldn’t win the fight, but it forced Levi back, forced him to pause and breathe and collect himself while Ezra did the same.
Levi backed up, gathering his bearings, but too close to the crowd for Roman’s liking. The crowd was never a safe place to breathe. When a man low to the ground swept in between others at the front line, Roman panicked.
“Levi, move!” Roman screamed.
Not soon enough. The glint of the blade shimmered under the lights, red flashed across the concrete, and Levi shouted.
The surge of pain dropped him to one knee, buckling under the weight of pain that tore into the heel of his ankle. It only took seconds for Levi’s face to go from winded to washed out and exhausted, but Roman moved through the crowd, furious and worried and unthinking.
Ezra didn’t waste the fortune of his staged interference. He rushed at Levi and punched him across the face. Again. Again. Again. Each hit was more brutal than the last. Roman shouted almost as loud as the cracks against Levi’s face.
“Stop it!” He shoved Ezra off, consequences be damned.
Roman lay beside a bloody and beaten Levi, unwilling to let him die here for something as pitiful and pathetic as Roman himself.
“You’re okay.” He cradled Levi’s head on his thighs, keeping his bloody face away from the pool of blood still pouring from his ankle. “You’re okay, now.”
“I don’t think it’s a win yet,” Ezra said, encouraging the crowd to rage with him. “He might be faking it. I better finish this.”
“Stay away from him,” Roman said with an angry edge of a growl. “Stay the fuck away from him!”
“Mouthy.” Ezra chuckled. “Thought I’d fucked that outta ya by now.”
Roman glared, every fiber of his being burned with rage.
“Guess I can endure a few more rounds with you,” Ezra said with smug hatred. “Before passing you along, of course.”
“Interference with the competition has seemed to bring this match-up to a halt,” Warden Sadler chimed in, ready to smooth things over with the authority above, the elite clientele, who probably cared more for the drama unfolding than the declaration of a winner.
“You can take him,” Levi wheezed.
“I could never.” Roman shook his head, carefully looking up to Ezra. It was already too bold, too reckless to interfere with this much. But Roman couldn’t watch Levi die. “He’s already beaten me twice.”
And a hundred times since then. Every time they trained, Ezra won. Yes, Roman held back, but only because he knew his place. Ezra beat him at everything. He had thoroughly fucked Roman into compliant submission. It was all Roman knew now. Fighting for victory or valor, they seemed like faint dreams of a past life, another man, someone surely stronger than Roman ever was.
“He only beat you because of underhanded tricks.” Levi spat blood as he spoke.
“The chokehold was tricky, but I still should’ve been prepared,” Roman said dismissively, not even noting his other pitiful three-hit loss during their rematch.
“Maybe,” Levi wheezed. “But he only beat you the second time because he drugged you.”
“What?” Roman’s eyes went wide, memory searching back to when it happened, how it happened. So much had happened over the course of this year that he hardly recalled anything outside the sex, violence, and servitude of his days. Was Levi speaking the truth? Impossible. “You can’t know that.”
“Jake’s a chatty snake when he screams…” And with that, Levi passed out.
Roman had so many other questions, but it became apparent either Ezra planned to drug Roman from the start with Jake’s assistance or shared that detail after the fact while preparing to pass Roman off as a used car.
“Let’s finish this,” Ezra said while taking careful breaths.
“Lets.” Something inside Roman snapped at Levi’s announcement.
Roman waged Levi probably never wanted to share it because Roman was so delicate and broken. He wondered if Levi would tiptoe around him like this forever; he wondered how he even wondered about a life after Ezra. But he did. He could see it clearly now and craved it more than he’d been trained to crave Ezra himself. After every grueling effort made to break Roman’s spirits and teach him to behave, he finally snapped out of it.
After all, what was the worst Ezra could do? Roman sought death more days than not. Roman lived only to endure pain. Roman had been fucked and used in so many ways his brain couldn’t very well keep track of how much abuse his holes had endured for the pleasure of sadists.
There was nothing left to take from Roman at this point. Except maybe Levi. But if he didn’t act now, Roman would surely lose him.
“If you take one more step, you’ll have to go through me.”
Ezra laughed. He laughed so hard, he had to brace a hand against his aching ribs. “You? Go through the bitch I’ve broken in in every way conceivable? Honey, there’s nothing left to go through. You’re broken and cheap and just plain pitiful trying to look tough.”
“If you take a step forward, it’s me you’ll face.” Roman’s jaw clenched as he spoke slowly and enraged. “I won’t go easy on you for the sake of your ego. This isn’t a workout, after all.”
Ezra glared, making no effort to bring up his actual victories against Roman, his two wins that cemented his reign as champion. Roman considered this the closest thing to a confession he’d ever received from Ezra about the deceit.
“Fine, fine, fine.” Ezra shrugged. “But two on one isn’t very fair.”
“You’re the champion. Thought you could handle anything.”
“Come on, Roman. I’m not you.” Ezra smiled. “I can’t just take everything thrown at me, in me, on me.”
Ezra mouthed “slut” and Roman didn’t flinch. It was a tiny victory, but it helped Roman straighten his shoulders and stand taller. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t look up at Ezra.
Roman rolled his eyes at Ezra’s blatant posturing, then looked to the unconscious Levi, who served as the second fighter of the competition.
“Fuck it. Tag a friend.” Roman squared his shoulders and lifted his arms. “I’ll take both of you.”
Ezra snorted. “The number of times you said that to Jake and his crew.”
It should’ve unnerved Roman, should’ve filled him with shame and guilt well past his limit. He wasn’t truly ready to face what had happened to him that night, what Jake and the others had done, but for this fraction of a second, he didn’t blame himself for what they had done to him. And he thought of the worst thing ever.
“Well, hell, I needed someone who could fuck me right.” Roman smiled, daring himself to be ugly with his words. “I’m guessing that’s why Stacy screwed every person she could get her hands on, too.”
Ezra cut his gaze at Roman and shot him a look that, under any normal circumstances, would’ve made Roman collapse to the ground and beg for forgiveness. Now, though, it fueled him.
“Maxwell.” Ezra snapped his fingers. “Put this little bitch back in his place.”
The towering man who’d nearly bested Roman every time they crossed paths stepped through the crowd. Roman had barely beaten Maxwell King when at his best. He couldn’t fathom fighting this titan when he could barely stand on his own two feet.
“When I’m done with you,” Maxwell said, cutting his gaze to Levi, “I’m gonna finish him, too.”
With that, the world fell away, and Roman unleashed months of pent-up fury. He didn’t see his movements, didn’t feel them. Something in his body snapped, and he ignored it in favor of the thread of rage that led him forth.
Blood. Screaming. Pain.
None of it made Roman falter. He continued until his mind became his own again, and he stood over Maxwell’s crumbled, whimpering body. It made no sense. Roman couldn’t figure out what he’d done, even in a primal, blacked-out state, but he hoped someone might explain it later. Might explain it after he finally bested Ezra.
Ezra, who stood in shock and anger, was probably more insulted by Maxwell shaming him with such a loss than by Roman daring to speak up. The crowd had backed away a few steps, offering Roman and Ezra more space, their expressions wary perhaps for Roman’s actions or Ezra’s anger. Roman didn’t know for certain if he could still strike fear in others.
“Say the thing that’ll piss them the fuck off,” Stacy’s words came to him like a vision. “Once you got them by the emotional balls, you own that fucker.”
The memory was faded and random and weird. It didn’t make any sense at the time, her encouraging him to provoke someone over something petty. But now her words hit with purpose, with drive, like maybe she’d always known Roman would land here faced with Ezra in a dark basement surrounded by criminals.
“Seriously, I get that you were in love, but are you as bad at finding the G spot as you are at hitting my prostate?” Roman chuckled, forced and ridiculously loud, but it drew silence from the crowd. “Imagine swinging a dick that big and still lacking when it comes to hammering in a good fucking time.”
“Shut your whore mouth!”
“Ooooh, guess I hit a nerve there.” Roman quivered with dramatic flair, almost smiling at how much it pissed off Ezra. “Said every guy, gal, and nonbinary pal when they fucked Stacy, and she actually came.”
Not his best attempt at slut shaming Stacy, but he wanted to really drum in the fact that she fucked around with everybody who caught her eye. It was actually what Roman loved about her, admired even, craved when she granted him time at her side or in her bed without the distraction of another partner. He’d known who she was from the first day their paths crossed. She was honest and uninhibited and never submitted to norms that didn’t fit her way of life. It made him a little sick, bad-mouthing her as she lay dead in the ground—because of him—but the posturing hurt Ezra more, which fueled Roman.
He could almost hear Stacy whispering words of encouragement, ways to cut down her memory. She’d never liked bullies, and if Ezra had acted like this when she was alive, she would’ve never tolerated it.
“I almost feel a little better about offing the bitch, knowing she doesn’t have to endure your cheap ass version of what love is.” Roman slapped his fist into his open palm and made a splattering noise.
He let his fingers mime Stacy’s corpse dancing in the air the same way he recalled it a billion times before when drowning in his regrets. Only this time, there wasn’t shock on her face before the truck slammed into her. No, she smiled in Roman’s memory, blew him a kiss even, and reminded him that no one ever deserved to suffer.
Stacy loved love and believed in joy and pleasure above everything else. Wallowing in pity for his actions would be admirable to a different soul, but chances were, Stacy shook her head at Roman for not living his life and moving on. She was too fucking wise for him, which was why he never convinced her to really date him. Ezra never convinced her either, hence why she fucked Roman and so many other partners up until the day she died.
“I gotta ask, are you trying to break me for revenge, or are you hoping I’ll be as easy as your dead not-a-girlfriend?” Roman gave a minxy grin, doing his best to imitate Ezra. It probably didn’t work, probably looked silly on Roman, but he stayed strong the same way he had during every gala and event and pretentious party he’d attended with Stacy.
“And if you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll reward your efforts,” she would whisper when dragging Roman somewhere outside his world of possibilities. “Just fake it until you make it, baby.”
She kept calling out to him, reminding him how true strength looked. He repeated the mantra to himself silently until Ezra bolted toward him and walked right into an easily avoidable strike. Roman knocked him away with a punch to the face and a trip of his leg.
Roman could win this. He saw it now.
They continued clashing, and Roman thought back to every sparring match he held back, every time he intentionally faltered, every time he stood silent and listened to Ezra’s lectures on things he already understood. Roman pummeled him, outmaneuvered him, and bested him in every way conceivable. There were techniques Roman had long since forgotten, but his body reminded him through pure instinct, instinct he’d trained himself to quiet. Now, he let his body rage, let himself shine, let himself be the best he could possibly be.
Roman stayed close to Ezra’s right side, almost feeling guilty at how easily exposed he kept himself. But Roman had warned Ezra a thousand times over, and he never heeded the advice. Why would he? He was champion, and Roman was just some cheap hole meant to serve. Now, though, Roman put away all the shame he carried and hit Ezra harder each time.
A flash of Stacy’s corpse struck his mind when he hit Ezra in the jaw, and he glimpsed Levi in the corner of his eye. The silent dread of failure sparked for a moment. Just a moment. But that was all it took. Roman had been down this path of failure too many times before.
“Got you, bitch.” Ezra wrapped an arm around Roman’s throat and prepared to beat him the same way he had the first time they met.
Roman didn’t hesitate. He defended himself and blocked Ezra’s arm before he stole Roman’s breath. Once he’d secured himself, he shifted his position ever so slightly and shoved Ezra away.
And then the impossible happened. Ezra stumbled and tumbled on nothing in particular. It was as if Roman’s defense carried more force than anticipated, or some ghost in another realm knocked Ezra’s footing off. Roman didn’t believe in ghosts, but he also forgot to believe in himself and his strength. It was easier to think a ghost had rescued him than that he’d rescued himself.
Ezra’s head hit the arm of his throne chair with a powerful crack and a heavy thud as his body slammed onto the floor. His neck had twisted too far before landing on the ground. Blood streamed too much.
It was over. It was really over. Just like that. A careless misstep with a push harder than expected to stop a trick that’d ruined his life once before. Roman had defeated Ezra and left him bloody, broken, and unconscious on the ground.