2.
I take a wide turn and enter Cornelia Circle , then twist the throttle and change gears on my Harley so that I can breeze past the quiet suburban houses on either side of me.
The air is perfectly cool today, and crisp rays of sunlight are reflecting against my sideview mirrors, casting prismatic shadows on them.
I spare brief glances at the neighborhood, and can’t help but think about the one I grew up in back in Riverside.
It was always noisy there, with occasional accidents, cop visits, and what not.
Whereas here, all I can hear is peaceful silence, and all I can see are freshly manicured front yards and neatly parked cars.
I twist my neck side-to-side and look ahead, then sigh as a gust of chilly wind whips by me.
Reaching the end of the street, I notice a man standing in front of a dark grey shutter that’s all but hidden behind a small alleyway.
The word ‘CLOSED’ is spray painted diagonally on it, with the teal paint dripping down it haphazardly.
“Dorran?” he says, his voice gruff. Another gust of icy wind blows by us, messing up his shoulder-length blond hair a little.
I park my Harley on the other side of the alley, then turn off its engine. “Yeah.” Getting off it, I set my helmet on the sissy bar, then walk over to him.
He’s as tall as me, and is built like a goddamn powerlifter or some shit.
As I get closer to him, I quickly scan him from head-to-toe.
A fitted green t-shirt and jeans, so no secret places for him to hide any weapons.
Relaxed posture. Wide stance. Open expression.
His jade eyes seem clear, too. No signs of anxiousness as well, which means he isn’t looking to come at me. Good .
He brings a hand forward when I stop in front of him, and I lean in before shaking it. “Magner,” he introduces himself.
I nod. “Nice to meet you.”
“Please, follow me.” He gestures towards the shutter, then walks over to it. He enters a passcode on the digital panel that’s next to it, and a second later, I hear a muffled whirring as the shutter starts rising, revealing a darkened room beyond.
I unzip my leather jacket and fix its collar. “Aren’t you gonna check me for weapons?” I ask.
He enters the room. “I’m offended that you think I’d check a killer for weapons.”
I chuckle. “Touché.” I briefly bring a hand to my right back-pocket, where my switchblade currently is, then push it down further so as to keep it hidden.
I step into the room, just as Magner turns on a single, flickering light that’s hanging on the center of the ceiling. He then enters another code, this time on the inner panel, which results in the shutter to close.
This…space feels more like an abandoned storage area than it does a room .
The smell of mothballs is overbearing in here, along with cobwebs and layers of dust, which makes my nose burn.
There are broken crates and wooden planks surrounding the area, but the floor in the middle seems smooth – like it’s well walked-on and often cleaned.
The overhead light flickers, casting unnerving shadows against the concrete walls. Magner walks further into the room, then types in another passcode on yet another panel towards the very end of the room.
“You coming?” he asks me after a metallic door all but whooshes open before him.
“Yup.” I jog over to him, and let out an impressed whistle when I see a set of gleaming black-marble stairs, illuminated by golden lights, leading to a clear opening below. There’s Bad Omens playing downstairs, and I can practically feel the vibrations of the music chattering my teeth.
“Sweet, isn’t it?” Magner says.
“The transformation really got me, man.”
He chuckles. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” He climbs down the stairs, so of course, I do, too.
The song changes when I enter the arena, and as I look around, I can’t help but feel a sense of awe at what I see.
The entire place is like fucking Disneyland for someone like me, with posters of boxing legends plastered on the walls, and glass armoires showcasing boxing equipment manning the two front corners of the massive arena.
There is a wide seating podium to the right, meant for the audience and bettors, and to its immediate left, I see a locker room, which is currently vacant.
The entire arena is lit up with pale lights, which does make the dark walls and floors seem washed out, yet somehow, it just works with the vibes this place has.
“You know, I was planning on asking you for a proper, one-on-one match, but Magner here said I should act civilly, since this is only our first meeting, so I guess I’ll have to wait to cash in on my request.”
I turn around at the sound of that familiar voice, and find Aras sitting on a metal chair in the middle of the massive ring that’s in the very center of the arena.
There’s a small wooden table in front of him, and an empty chair just opposite that.
An overhead sign, glowing a bright fluorescent color, reads ‘REIGN’, which I’m assuming is the name of the arena.
The lights effectively accentuate his boyish features, and even with the distance that separates us, I can easily notice his vibrant, dual-colored eyes. His right eye is hazel, while his left is a rich shade of green. He looks to be my age; perhaps a year or two younger, if not more.
I make it to the ring, then place my hands on its edge before pushing myself up and on it. Straddling the middle rope, I then bend and enter the ring area, feeling pumped up just by knowing where I am right now.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Aras states.
“The best of her kind.” I run my fingers over the sturdy top rope and padded turnbuckle, then finally face Aras, who gives me a knowing smile.
“Please have a seat,” he tells me, then fixes the collar of his grey sleeveless hoodie.
I settle down onto the empty chair, just as Magner enters the ring with three large envelopes in hand.
“I’m a little out of practice, but if I wasn’t, I would most definitely have accepted your challenge for a match,” I say to Aras.
He nods. “I understand. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
His words take me by surprise, and my instincts make me sit up straighter. I maintain a neutral expression, though, and make sure my body language isn’t dictating my inner confusion.
“Solo,” Aras provides, which does put me at ease.
If Solo felt comfortable sharing such a thing with him, then Aras really must be someone he trusts.
But it’s strange nonetheless, since I’ve known Solo for over half my life, and yet he never mentioned being acquainted with a mafia family.
But then again, the old fuck knows a lot of things; has seen a lot of things.
And for as long as I’ve had him in my life, he’s done his best to keep me safe.
“Chase Adler was a deranged motherfucker,” Magner says, having now taken his place behind Aras.
“You’ve met him?” I can’t help but ask, because hearing his name makes every vein in my body burn with rage.
“We’ve had the displeasure on more than one occasion, yes,” answers Aras.
“He wanted to be an exclusive sponsor for one of my underground arenas, but I’d heard of his scheming and manipulative ways of doing business, and refused his offer.
I knew he was a man who lacked morals, but what he did to his own daughter and your best friend…
” He trails, and despite my bravado, I still feel a slight tightness in my chest at the mention of Jayce.
I like to think I’ve grown a lot – mentally, I mean – ever since I lost him.
I may still act like a careless prick, but I’ve also learnt to be more focused.
I do love putting myself in danger, though, because that’s the one addiction I’ll never get over.
And I know if Jayce were here right now, he’d be the one standing next to me, studying Magner and Aras’s every move just so he could give me a detailed rundown of their ticks later.
He was a part of me; an extension of the man I am, and always will be.
But he’s gone now, and all I can do is honor him by not getting myself in sticky situations, or worse, getting myself killed.
“Cignette lost someone that night, too,” I say, then run a finger under my nose before shaking my head. “The asshole hated me, but I respected him for how much he cared for her.”
I also feel like somewhere down the line, it is my fault that Maverick is dead. But I know for a fact that if I said that to him on his grave, he’d break out of it just so he could tell me to go fuck myself.
“I’m glad Chase got what he deserved, and so did his sister,” Aras remarks.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat when my voice breaks a little, then run a hand over my mouth before shifting in my chair. “Anyway. Let’s get down to business, shall we? It’s why I’m here, after all.”
Aras nods. “Of course.”
Magner drops the envelopes he was holding, on the table, and Aras waves a hand at them, silently asking me to proceed.
Goosebumps of delicious anticipation prick my skin as I pick the first envelope and read the details printed on it in small, monospaced letters.
KILL #1
JEDEDIAH RUSSEL
36. PROFESSIONAL BOXER.
PHYSICAL OVERVIEW INSIDE.
“He’s one of the best boxers I had. Until he decided to quit on me after having raped one of the ring girls that works at Reign .”
Ice crawls up my spine at Aras’s words, and memories I do not wish to relive threaten to resurface, but I try and push them back. My hands shake a little, so I grip the envelope tighter, making a noticeable dent on it.
The pain I had endured.
The sleepless nights in my room.
My mother’s hateful voice.
The growling of my empty stomach.
Cignette’s tears after she killed Riley for what he tried to do to her.
And the pain… So much fucking pain .
“Dorran?”
I look up, and see that both Magner and Aras are watching me with concerned expressions on their faces.
“The girl Jedediah, uh, raped…” I swallow. “Is she okay?”