Sylvie
Al, one of Rick’s bodyguards, was watching from the little side room. He held his arms out to block me, a solid wall of suited muscle.
“Stop the fight!” I screamed. “He’ll kill him!”
He shook his head. “You know how it works. Crowd have paid their money. It’s over when it’s over.”
When one of them can’t get up. I could feel the bile rising in my throat.
Behind Al, I could see Alec being driven back by a flurry of blows.
His head rocked left, right, left. I imagined his brain being hammered inside his skull.
All that delicate artistry that made him him: his personality, his kindness, his memories of our parents. It was being wiped out, punch by punch.
I launched myself at the pit. I’d throw myself between the two of them, if I had to. But then Al caught me easily around the waist and held me back. I stretched, clawing at the air, reaching for Alec. “No!”
The punches kept coming. Alec’s legs went to jelly and he fell to his knees, his head lolling forward. He’s going to go down anyway. Stop, now! Stop! Please stop!
Morgan didn’t look cruel as he did it. He didn’t gloat. He was just like Alec, trapped in the system Rick had created. But he needed to win, just as Alec had.
I remember screaming as he drew his arm back. Alec’s eyes opened for a second and I thought he looked at me.
Then Morgan’s fist smashed against the side of his head and he fell to the floor.