Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Krew
W hat, the, fuck .
I thought I was seeing things, with how the adrenalin was running rampant through my body. My heart was pounding and a new kind of feeling—a nervous excitement, was filling the spaces between my ribs. I was ready to fight until the last person I expected to see in this place fractured my focus.
Regina K. Morton—my Regi was here.
Regina was one of the past loves of my life. The one I lost years ago.
She might be grown up now, and her features were slightly different, but I could never forget Regina’s beautiful face.
Her hair was short, a rich brown instead of the honey wheat blonde I remembered. And those eyes; they belonged to only one girl.
It had been years since I’d seen her—not since that sorry day when Decker, Regina and I climbed into a vehicle my brother Teke had stolen—though, we didn’t know it at the time.
We’d figured out soon enough, when the cops started chasing us, but by then it was too late.
That was the last time I saw her, or Decker.
To this day, I hated Teke for irrevocably tearing away the people I cared about the most in this world.
Now here I was, fighting at the whim of the brother I despised, for money my father needed for his healthcare.
Win or lose, Dad would get what he needed and I would walk out of here with empty pockets and a shit-ton of bruises.
Still, it was a shock seeing Regina here, in this abandoned, crumbling concrete building, amongst the elitist and the rich, the snobs who paid good money to watch us fighters beat the hell out of each other.
By the time my brother drew close and blocked my view of Regi, I completely lost my pre-fight focus.
I had no choice but to redirect my attention to Teke, who was glaring at me. My brother’s eyes were both the same golden shade as my right one. My left eye? It was hazelly blue shade with a small brown spot on the iris. I suddenly remembered Regina used to say it made me special.
“Focus,” Teke grated out and flicked my forehead like he’d done since we were children.
“You do that again and I’m going to cut off your fucking finger. Now, get out of my way. You’re blocking my view,” I growled.
“Of what?” he scoffed. “I want you to focus on knocking this guy out—not some cunt—do you hear me, Krew? He needs to go down this round.”
“Regi’s not a cunt,” I leaned in and growled.
Teke stiffened, and a frown slid across his face as he quickly looked around. He then turned back to me and shook his head. “It’s a fucking mirage. Now get your head out of your ass and into the fight. We’ll make bank tonight when you win.”
Not if , but when . And we’ll make bank— ha! I knew my cynical, egotistical brother all too well. Most of the money earned from this fight would go into his pockets.
I wanted to knock the shit out of Teke for calling Regina a cunt. Yet, punching him right now wouldn’t give me the satisfaction I needed to curb my ire.
Besides, Teke wouldn’t have a problem starting shit in this ring. The bastard was stubborn, selfish, and downright surly—a real fist-up kind of asshole.
I was the opposite.
I shoved Teke to the side and glanced back to where I’d seen Regina, but she was gone.
Teke clamped a hand onto the back of my neck and shook me. “Focus, or this bastard will clock you first. Do you want to lose all that money for Dad?” Even though Teke sounded earnest, I knew he pocketed most of the fight money.
I shifted my eyes to the fighter, who was notorious for his hard, right upper cuts. Though, that was all he had. I was stronger, faster, and s fuck-ton meaner. “I’ll win.”
“Are you sure?” He tapped hard at my temple with the edge of his coke-fingernail, purposefully cutting my skin.
“Jesus Christ.” I yanked my head away, but I still felt the dull bite of pain.
I’d dealt with Teke’s verbal and physical jabs for years.
It was how I learned to fight. From the day after I turned twelve until I was sent to juvie at seventeen, my brother regularly beat the shit out of me.
My father used to set us against each other for bare-knuckle fighting, solely for his enjoyment.
It might have been fucked up, but I learned.
I survived. Maybe I should thank them—at least, I was well prepared for juvie and my two-year stint in prison
The announcer called us fighters and our managers to the center of the mat.
“Knock the motherfucker out,” Teke repeated, then backed out of the cage.
I ignored my brother and centered my focus on the beast of a man across from me, who was getting his own last-minute pep talk from his manager. My opponent looked like he had hams for hands. There was no doubt his hits were going hurt. Even so, I was determined to walk out of this cage the winner.
Forget Teke. Forget the crowd… But Regi . Forget her, too.
I shook her image out of my head, knocked my wrapped knuckles together and growled, “Let’s do this.”