25. Santiago
SANTIAGO
Sitting on my bed with the money I’d earned spread around me, I counted it. In just one month, I’d made six grand, and that was without my salary from the hotel. Sick, wasn’t it? When I used to box professionally, even winning first place didn’t give me as much, not even close.
“It’s not about the belts, Santiago,” Dad said, crouching to eye level with me.
“Or about the win at all. It’s about how you get there and about this.
” He knocked on my head. “That’s where your willpower lurks.
” He pressed his fist to my chest. “And this. Your heart. Make sure it always stays pure.”
Taking a deep breath, I puffed out my chest. “Corazón de luchador.”
A big smile spread on Dad’s lips right before he ruffled my hair.
“That’s right, pibe. A fighter’s heart.”
Slumping down on the mattress, one hand tucked behind my head, I stared at the ceiling.
Dad would be disappointed if he’d watched me in those last fights.
Even though I played by the rules—despite Ariyan’s words—I was still fighting in an illegal underground club.
But then again, Dad hadn’t bothered watching me fight while he was still alive, at least not after booze became his priority.
My stomach clenched with the memories.
There were times he didn’t dare to miss my fights and would always be there, sitting in the front-row seat, cheering me on.
It gave me confidence, reassurance that if I looked down there, I’d find him—until it stopped, and he no longer showed up.
But even then, I’d still glance at the empty chairs, hopeful.
So yeah, maybe I’d made some bad choices, but why should I care about his legacy when he ruined it while still alive?
A fighter’s heart, my ass. What fighter started a bar brawl only to get his ass kicked and die all alone in a back alley?
Not one I should look up to, that’s for sure.
But thinking about it now, wouldn’t it be sweet to have Ariyan in those first rows? My chest tightened with the thought, and I turned to my side. That asshole was one mean son of a bitch, making money off me, but at least he saw my potential. No one ever had in years, and that… that was something.
So next week, when you get into that cage, I want you to imagine fucking me, Mr. Rivas.
Fuck me, did I take him up on his words.
It was the first time I’d thought about sex while fighting, but somehow, imagining thrusting inside him at the same time my knuckles turned red from blood made sense.
I imagined my hips smacking against his skin to the sounds of my fists hitting my opponent’s face, and it’d gotten me hard.
The same rush that took over me then got me all worked up now, and I slipped my hand down my body to cup myself.
A low groan escaped me, and I squeezed my cock, which was slowly getting harder—
The sound of the front door shutting, followed by Nacio’s voice, made me jump.
Looking around, I saw the cash was still spread around me, so I quickly collected it from the bed and shoved it back into the shoe box I kept it in.
I managed to place the box under the bed right before my door opened, and Nacio jumped in.
“Sup, bro?” he said, a dumb smile on his face.
“Nothing much.” I coughed, hoping it wasn’t obvious that I was a second away from jerking off. “You?”
Slumping on the bed beside me, he rested his head on my shoulder.
“It feels like you’re never home anymore,” he pouted, and I rolled my eyes because—
“You need money?”
He nodded.
“Forget about it.”
He got up from the bed and moved on to sit on the floor before me, his palms pressed together.
“Please, Santi, I’m short a few bucks. I’ll do anything, I swear.”
The sight of him begging made me uneasy, and I huffed.
“What about your job?”
He looked down at the floor and muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?”
“I got fired!” he whined, looking up.
I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
“Nacio—”
“What happened to your knuckles?” he cut me off, eyes focused on my hand.
I quickly brought it down and got up.
“Nothing. Sparred a bit too hard.”
Still on the floor, Nacio’s eyes followed me around the room.
“Who did you spar with?”
I shrugged. “Just someone at the gym.”
His brows pulled together. “You went to the boxing gym? I thought you hated it there.”
Fuck. What was up with all of his questions?
“How about we talk about you losing your job instead? Sounds a bit more important to me.”
He huffed, then got up from the floor. “Well, in my defense, working there was a bitch. Besides, I can do better. Tess said she can hook me up with a job, too.”
Like hell she will.
“Ain’t no fucking way I’ll allow that.”
He held his hands up. “Well, if you refuse to give me money, I have no other choice—”
“Fine,” I cut in. “I’ll give you some cash. Just promise you’ll find a decent job.”
Already chuckling and rubbing his palms together, I doubted he heard a word I’d just said.
“Nacio?”
“What?”
“Did you hear me?”
He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, find a job.”
“A decent job.”
“Yes, decent. Whatever you say, bro.”
Like I was in the position to lecture him, but still.
Unlike me, he hadn’t made any mistakes yet, and it was my job to make sure he wouldn’t either.
But then again, what if this illegal fighting landed me back behind bars—who’d keep him safe then?
So hyped over fighting again, I hadn’t stopped to think about that possibility.
It was all fun and games until it wasn’t, and I had no doubt Ariyan would toss me under the bus the first second he could.
“It was also my birthday, and you didn’t get me a gift,” my brother said, reminding me he was still here.
Looking at him, he was now talking about this new video game that had come out, the cutest smile on his face. Despite the shit life had us go through, he was still just a kid. A stupid, sweet kid who just so happened to be my little brother.
Ain’t no way I’d risk it all for that devil Ariyan. So, tonight, after I won my fifth fight, my debt to him would be finished, and I’d never have to see him again.