10 - Fear The Reaper #2
“Cox,” he says, head tilting to the side in recognition. “Long time no see.”
“Aye,” I nod. “Still here, I see, Silas?”
He shrugs. “Part of the bloody furniture, me. Someone gotta pay the bills, right?”
The kids who come here aren’t usually the privileged kind. Most of them are from struggling neighbourhoods with crime rates higher than average. Where drugs and violence are a consequence of everyday life, and dreams are shattered before they have a chance to even begin.
“Signing up?” He asks, holding a biro out to me.
I take it, tapping the end against my stubbled chin. Behind him, they’re selling merch: hoodies, bandanas, hats, posters. My logo winks at me from between two colourful t-shirts, the familiar tombstone peeking through.
“For my sins,” I drawl, scribbling my name on the list.
“Good to have you back, Reaper,” Silas smirks.
“Good to be back.”
But that’s a lie. Because whenever I return to this place, it’s because my life has gone to shit.
I strip out of my jeans and pull on a pair of gym shorts. My top comes off next, and I’m not shy to admit my body draws plenty of attention. I spend enough time working out; it damn well deserves it.
I wait for the cleanup crew to prepare for the next battle.
That’s got to be one of the shittest jobs in the world.
Scrubbing up people’s bodily fluids and disposing of stray limbs and missing teeth.
Grim. My opponent is standing on the opposite side of the cage, flexing his biceps to the small crowd gathered around him.
When I used to fight, I’d pack this place out.
To my left, there’s two guys in green paramedic’s uniforms, on standby. The cops know about these illegal fights, but everyone’s got their price. Offer enough money, drugs, women; and they’ll turn a blind eye to anything.
“Good evening, all you beautiful people. Have we got a fight for you tonight!” the rumble of the commentator projects over the speakers above our heads. “Our first challenger, a regular at The Vault, and here for your entertainment. The Chimera!”
Everyone cheers for the guy who’s pretending to spar an imaginary contestant. Pretentious prick.
“And facing him tonight, back from a long overdue hiatus, is The Reaper!”
The crowd knows the name and gets behind it quickly. I don’t turn around. All I want to do is get in there and get my head kicked in. The gates rise simultaneously, like a castle drawbridge opening for an impending battle. We both step forward, and they seal us inside.
“Logan! What the hell?”
My head jerks at the sound of the familiar Italian twang.
“Get the fuck outta there, Cox,” Clarke growls from somewhere close by.
“Too fucking late, mate,” I bark back, smirking at my opponent, sizing him up.
He seems in decent shape, with the remnants of a deep scar straight across his hairy chest. We all carry scars, some visible, others not.
I’ve got a huge one, just to the right of my spinal cord, where the bullet impaled me.
The starting bell rings, and it’s game on.
We skirt around for a minute, circling, provoking each other to make the first move.
Clarke’s flinging profanities in Spanish out, left, right and centre.
Ez is yelling something about having a fight with him instead.
But my focus isn’t on them anymore, and soon their voices fade into the buzz of the booming crowd.
I steal the first hit. Diving in and ducking at the last second to crack the guy in the ribs. He flinches but doesn’t falter. My punches are hard, but so is he. He gets the next one in, a strategic uppercut to the jaw that knocks my head back. I shake it off.
“Fucking kick his ass, Teddy!” A short, dark skinned girl screams, bouncing up and down behind the bars.
Teddy? That’s this kid’s real name?
I think I just worked out how to rile him up. Most don’t bring their close family or partners to their fights, too easy for shit to go south. Put someone they care about on the outside and suddenly the stakes are sky high.
“Teddy?” I spit mockingly. “That your girlfriend? Sister? Mother?”
That last one makes him grow a few inches.
I snort a laugh. “Wanna know what I’ll do when I’m done with you, Teddy?”
The kid takes the bait like candy to a baby. He raises a brow, levelling me with a glare sharp enough to cut. My eyes dart over his shoulder to the girl and back again.
“I’ll bed your little fangirl,” I drawl, watching the shift of darkness in his eyes. “That’s right. I’ll fuck her good. Then, I’ll shove my dick down her throat. That’ll shut her up.”
Teddy watches my every move, biting down on his lip so hard he’s drawing blood. He must be a newbie; this is the oldest trick in the book.
“Cox! Enough!” Clarke growls close to my ear, but I brush him off.
“How does she like it?” I carry on goading him, lips curling into a smirk. “I bet she’s a missionary girl. She looks sweet, innocent. But I guarantee I could get her filthy,” I grab my crotch and shake it. “Hey. Maybe once we’re done, I’ll stick it up her— “
That gets the reaction I’m after. Teddy erupts with a guttural roar. The back of my head bounces off the concrete, and I see double. His fists rain down on me, hard, relentless, pummelling me from every angle. A jab to the face, a fist in the chest, a knee to the nuts.
I lie there and take it. Even when all I see is fucking stars. Even as the blood flows, thick and fast, from my nose and mouth. I don’t care. Because I feel more alive than I have in months. And I’m getting the punishment I deserve.
“Get him outta there!!” My best friend is screeching at security. If he’s not careful, security will kick him out. I’m welcome here. The rest of them? Not so much.
Besides, he should know they won’t interfere once a fight breaks out. I’ll tap out when I’m close enough to the edge. When I’ve endured enough to make me forget. Probably.
The Chimera is still bludgeoning me when the crack of gunfire rings out. Shouts and screams explode from the frightened crowd, amidst the sound of scrambling feet, and desperation. The blows stop coming, and Teddy howls in pain.
“Open the fucking door.” Clarke’s voice is non-negotiable.
The doors open, and the deadweight of the other fighter is off me in a flash. I can just about make out Clarke and Ezio’s pissed off faces.
“Mierda.”
“Merda.”
They both mutter the word shit in their own language at exactly the same time. I blurt out a laugh, ending up choking on my own blood.
“You absolute moron,” Clarke hisses above me. “You really think this helps?”
Then they’re grabbing my arms and hauling me to my feet. The motion makes me want to vomit as they drag me from the cage.
“Don’t you be sick on my shoes, fucker,” Clarke grunts, purposely keeping up a punishing pace.
They bundle me into the lift - no chance of me getting up the stairs when I can’t even weight-bear.
“Your dad’s going to kill you,” Ezio says dryly, “for pulling a gun in a public place.”
“The whole joint is unlicensed,” Clarke snorts back. “Besides, it was that or let lover-boy over here die. Simple decision to make.”
“Shoulda… let me...die,” I choke out, my throat feeling like it’s tearing with every single word.
“Shut the fuck up!” Clarke snaps, and I hiss when his palm connects with the side of my head. The world spins again.
“You’ve got it bad, amigo,” Ez drawls.
And I don’t bother retaliating, because he’s fucking right. I’m totally crazy about Cordelia Rousseau. That alluring little temptress. That seductive little vixen with the false innocence in her eyes, trying to outsmart me at every turn.
I know one thing for sure. Without a shadow of a doubt.
I’ll make her mine.