Sylvie
There was no moment of victory for Morgan.
Rick didn’t come and hold his fist aloft and proclaim him the new champion.
The crowd fell quiet—they could sense that things had gone very badly wrong.
Rick’s fighters weren’t supposed to lose, not on their home turf.
Especially when he’d been betting on them.
Morgan slunk past me with an apologetic glance. Al finally let me go and I ran to Alec’s body. He was slumped on his back, his legs bent awkwardly. Shit. Shit! Should I move him? Not move him? Is he breathing? “ALEC!”
No response. But I could see a hint of movement in his chest. He was still alive—just.
What I got was something else altogether.
“Wake up!” screamed Rick. His cane sliced through the air and hit Alec’s leg only a few inches from where my hand was resting. I heard the snap as the bone broke.
Alec jerked but didn’t open his eyes. I flung myself instinctively off him and crawled to one side, my arms up to protect myself.
“You cost me twenty grand, you weak little fuck!” yelled Rick. Oh Christ—he was even more coked up than before.
My brain was trying to come to terms with what I was hearing. How could he blame Alec? But this was Rick. Someone else was always to blame.
“It—It wasn’t his fault,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “The other guy was ex-Army or something. I saw the tattoo.” I looked towards Alec. “Please, Rick—we have to get him to hospital.”
Rick ignored my plea completely. He rounded on his bodyguards. “I told you to check that guy out!” he bawled to Al. “I said there was something wrong about him.”
The bodyguards were smart enough to nod apologetically, even though I was betting they’d had no part in picking Morgan. More likely Rick had chosen him himself during a coke-fueled binge.
Alec’s breathing was growing weaker. I crawled back to him and put my arms around his neck, drawing him close. “Please, Rick!”
“You think I’m letting him walk out of here?” Rick asked. He brandished his cane. “After what he cost me? I got another fight in a month and no one to put on!” He suddenly swung the cane down again, hitting Alec’s ankle, this time. There was a sickening crunch.
I threw myself across my brother’s legs. “Please! Please, no more!”
Rick’s face darkened even more. He was angrier than I’d ever seen him. I saw, to my horror, that even his bodyguards were backing away. He’s out of control. “You’d better move,” he told me. “Unless you want this cane shoved up you.”
I wasn’t crying. I was too scared to cry. He was going to kill Alec. He was going to rip my one remaining piece of family away from me. “Please!”
“He’s better off dead,” said Rick. “If he can’t fight, he’s worthless to me.” He twirled the cane and then raised it over his head. “Get the fuck out of the way.”
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t move.
I knew that me being there wouldn’t stop him.
I knew that he’d just swing that cane straight down and batter his way through me, again and again, until he hit Alec.
But I couldn’t leave my brother to die. I hugged Alec’s legs and tensed my whole body, waiting for the pain to hit.
I searched for something, anything, to say that would stop this.
And as the cane whistled down, my brain finally came up with two words.
“I’ll fight!” I screamed.
The end of the cane smacked into the concrete an inch from my head. For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was the eerie ringing of it.
“What?” asked Rick. He sounded genuinely puzzled.
I was still pressed against Alec’s body. I could feel his breathing—God, so weak. I gingerly raised myself up and twisted around to face Rick. “I’ll fight,” I said again. This time, the words actually registered in my brain.
One of the bodyguards started to laugh.
“I’ll fight, here in The Pit,” I said. “Put me on instead of Alec. I’ll fight whoever you want.”
Rick looked at me with something between disgust and fascination. “You?” He looked at his two bodyguards for help. Al was laughing. Carl just looked amazed.
“Please,” I said. Now the tears had started. I could feel them rolling down my cheeks. “Please. Let me—Let me fight.”
Rick’s forehead wrinkled. “A girl fight?”
“A catfight,” said Al, grinning cruelly.
Rick considered. Then he lifted his cane and poked it under my chin. He used it to lift my head and turn it, examining me from all sides. I let him. “You’ve never fought in your life, have you?” he asked.
I shook my head.
He squatted down so that he was on my level. “That crowd up there wants blood,” he told me. “That isn’t going to change, with two women. Whoever I get to fight you is going to beat the living crap out of you.” He leaned closer. “It goes on until someone can’t get up. You know what that means?”
I nodded slowly. Every loser got beaten unconscious, but death was always a risk. Even Alec had come out of this fight barely alive—he still might die. For me—small, fragile and untrained—the ending would be inevitable.
If I lost, I was going to die.
I looked down at Alec. My tears were leaving dark, spreading pools on his tank top, mixing with the blood from his wounds.
“I understand,” I said. “I’ll do it. I’ll fight.”