14. Cain #2
I push the thought of why I can sign out of my mind, because the reason behind it ramps my rage up to unprecedented levels. The only rule of the fight club is don’t actually kill anyone. If I think about my brother, I will probably end up breaking that rule. Then I’ll be in deep shit.
I blow out a long, steady breath and focus myself. Climbing into my truck, I turn on the engine and smile as it rumbles to life. This vehicle feels like my second home sometimes. It’s familiar and comforting.
I leave the grounds of Verona Falls, lifting a hand in a wave to the guards on the outer security gates. They recognize both me and my truck and are used to seeing me coming and going. Not that we’re prisoners here at Verona Falls. We can leave whenever we want.
The drive to the underground club passes in a blur, my mind on autopilot.
I’ve got some music on, and the window cracked, and my mood has improved some.
I still find my thoughts snagged on Ophelia, though.
My heart is cracked at the change in her personality.
It’s as though the feisty, robust girl who I’d once known no longer exists and now she’s this fragile, damaged creature.
Could she still be in there? The old Ophelia.
With the right people and environment, could she be coaxed to the surface again?
I’ve never been someone who needed to fix other people, but I can’t help wondering about this one.
She said her parents sent her to Verona Falls to get used to being around people again.
Does that mean she’s been isolated? Or does it just mean people like us?
I want to help her, but I don’t know how. I itch to talk to the other two Preachers about her, but I’m not sure if I can. If Malachi wants to get in her panties, then I shouldn’t involve him, and as for Roman…well, who the fuck knows what’s going on in his head half the time.
The minute I arrive and park in the lot, I get that sense of excitement and buzz that only fighting can give me.
Well, maybe fucking would, too, but I’ve sworn off that for now.
I wonder if Roman would approve of this and imagine not.
I bet he’d say I was giving my power away by doing this.
See it as a cheap indulgence. Well, tough shit for him, because I love it and I’m not going to stop.
The elevator down to the basement level of the big old building the fight club is held in seems to take longer than usual, but I think it’s just because I’m so ramped up and ready to fight.
When I step out, the crowd is chanting loudly enough that I can hear it all the way back here in the corridor.
I turn left to find Eric, the man who runs the fights.
He’s always in his office when they take place, watching on the monitors.
I approach the office door, and the two huge security guards on either side of it give me a nod.
I’m here often enough that I’m familiar with them.
One of them takes out a phone and sends a message. A moment later, his phone beeps. He glances down and then looks up at me. Without saying a word, he opens the door and gestures for me to walk in.
I enter the large but plain room. There’s a huge flatscreen television on one wall, a long bar curved around one end of the room, with four bar stools on this side, and a row of shelves with topnotch liquor on the other side.
Beneath the egress basement windows positioned high in the wall is a large desk with two chairs in front of it.
Behind the desk, watching me, his fingers steepled, is Eric.
He’s a small man, quiet, and pale. The exact opposite of who you’d expect to run a fight club, but no one messes with Eric. The rumors are that if you do, you’ll find yourself disappeared. Or worse.
One guy who allegedly had a beef with him was found dead, his tongue cut out.
“Cain,” he says in that quiet, almost whispering, voice of his.
There’s something spooky about the way he speaks.
“Eric,” I reply. I take a seat opposite him. “Can you get me in a fight tonight with someone good?”
He purses his lips. “They’re all good if they’re here.”
“Of course, but I mean really good. I want to go ten rounds and really have to struggle,” I tell him.
“You want to get hurt?” He raises his eyebrows.
Yes, I do. I want pain to take away all the other crap. I don’t tell him that, though, or he’ll stop me from fighting. He’ll take it as a sign that I don’t know what I’m doing. When the opposite is true.
I lie, the way I always do, to most people. “Of course not,” I scoff. “Just the chance to challenge myself, and anyway, the more brutal fights always earn the best money.”
It’s true. I’ve earned some great money when I’ve been fighting.
Some of it I’m saving for what we’re trying to build here, and I’ll give it to Roman at some point.
But I’ve used some of it for my brother.
To try to support him as best as I can while he’s still stuck in that goddamn awful environment.
He’s only fifteen now, but once we’ve taken over, he’ll come to live with me.
“You’re in luck,” Eric says. “We’ve actually had someone drop out who was going to fight Titus.”
Titus is a beast. Perhaps on any other given day, I’d feel a tad wary at the thought of facing him in the makeshift ring but, instead, I relish the idea of the upcoming fight. I need to burn off the too-intense emotions that seeing my Angel again has stirred in me.
I crack my knuckles. “Perfect.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m surrounded by chanting people braying for blood.
The scent of sweat and the tang of dried blood from previous fights fills my nostrils.
The man opposite me is even bigger and broader than I am.
He must have a couple of inches on my six-three frame, and at least fifty pounds.
We’re both bare-chested, our skin already slick with sweat, and we sport tattoos alongside scars from previous fights.
It doesn’t surprise me that Eric was so quick to let me in the ring—he must have realized what a sight the pair of us make.
Money changes hands in the crowd as bets are still being taken.
Titus dances around me, his lip already split from where I managed to land a punch. He hawks a mouthful of saliva and blood and spits on the ground. He holds my eye and grins around bloodied teeth. He’s nimble for one so big, and I manage to dodge two returning blows, but then my luck runs out.
His huge fist connects with my lower face, hard, and bright shards of pain burst in my jaw and behind my eyes. The crowd roars with bloodlust induced pleasure. I stagger back and lift my hand to the corner of my mouth. I pull it away and see the red dots of blood.
I look back at Titus and grin.