Chapter 13
NERO
That fucker from Saint Thomas.
Their star player.
Fucking Gio.
The sore loser, who had almost gotten into a fistfight with me after the away game.
He approached me, having seen me wave to my mother and Cosette from the bleachers, and since I wanted to ask him if he was alright after my tackling him, I offered him a handshake.
Instead of taking my hand, he acted like a complete asshole, talking about how I must have been able to knock him down because I was practicing on ‘that thick chick’.
I should have known he would be into shit like this. While his opponent remained unconscious on the mat, he celebrated amidst the audience’s cheers on that ring, exhibiting behavior that made him seem like an absolute fucking psychopath. I don’t even need to look at the DSM-V for that diagnosis.
“What are you talking about?” Cosette asked me, and that’s the only time I tore my eyes from the sick fuck. My gaze didn’t land on her, though. I’m scared of what I’ll see on her face.
“I’m fighting him,” I said, looking at Dex and Siege. “You can just tell them I’m an Azul, right?”
“Hey, man. I don’t know what drug you’re on, but you’re not fighting,” Dex said, as if it was so utterly ridiculous that I volunteered.
“I’m fighting. It’s my prize from the earlier bet. I’m using it, or whatever the fuck you need to hear. Just let me fuck him up.”
Cosette was moving in front of me, catching my eye because I was so hellbent on avoiding her gaze.
“What is wrong with you? Are you crazy? You’re not fighting!”
She clearly didn’t recognize him.
How could she? The fucker approached me after the game with his helmet still on as if he wanted the protection it could give him if I threw the first punch.
A suited man, with his hair waxed back, approached the four of us, putting a halt to the conversation as he greeted Siege. “My man! You ready? That was the last match before the grand finale.”
This must be the bastard running the entire event. He really has a thing for theatrics, even showing jazz hands as he said ‘grand finale’ like it was all an entertaining show.
“I’m fighting for the Azuls,” I said, and Cosette turned to me, her nostrils flaring, while Siege just stared at me with a deadpan look on his face.
“Is that so? I guess it was too good to be true to have Siege fight tonight.”
With a comical frown, his mouth turned down as he shrugged his shoulders.
“Eh. The Azul men have enough cred around these circles, anyway. What’s your name, my guy?”
“Nero.”
The guy looked at me head-to-toe, and he slowly nodded. “Good, good. You two are definitely a match built-wise. You’ll do,” he said before squeezing my and Siege’s shoulders, then walking away to head towards the announcer as he called out, “As long as you’re sure, Nero! No backing out!”
Like hell, I would.
Dex faced me, looking just like Cosette as he had her nostrils flared, eyes wide shot and trained on me. “You listen to me. The only rule inside that ring is that there are no weapons allowed. Everything else? Fucking fair game. You better tell me right now if you’re really up for that shit.”
With a simple nod, I steeled myself, my jaw locked, fingers curling, consumed by the need to smash my fist into Gio’s face.
“Follow me.”
The air, growing heavier with the stench of sweat and dried blood, hung thick as Siege and Dex led the way to the lockers. I tried not to mind the musky smell, as my head was already beginning to feel light.
Siege closed the door to the locker room, and I took it upon myself to peel off my shirt as I let my eyes wander.
Upon glancing around the room, my gaze landed on a clothes rack that was filled with fighting attire.
The presence of bloodstains on some of the clothing clearly showed that although this venue was where the elite observed the fights, the people who fought in the ring were not members of their social class.
Siege was supposed to be an exception because he was on Exodus and he couldn’t officially send one of his men to fight. But, now I’m here.
Dex continued to sift through the rack despite the ragged state of the clothes, hoping to find a decent pair of shorts that would fit me.
He chose red boxing-looking shorts before coming back to hand them to me.
One whiff and I was already shaking my head.
“Do you want to get beaten up? Your jeans will put you at a disadvantage, dumbass,” he said, his hand unmoving.
He had a point. I did not want to lose because of something as mundane as clothing.
The moment I unbuttoned my pants and pulled the zipper down, I was suddenly so aware of someone’s unwavering stare. My attention was drawn to Cosette then, and I saw that her eyes were eye-fucking my groin.
As if wondering why I paused, her brows furrowed, and slowly, her gaze climbed up my body. She jumped as she saw I was looking at her, and then she hurriedly turned around to face the wall.
Despite her annoyance at me for pushing through with this, my lips curled into a smirk as I took off my pants and put on the fucking shorts.
If I suddenly develop a rash anywhere near my dick, I’m going to murder Dex.
Once I had the shorts snug and in place, I let myself sweat for a short while, shadowboxing, jumping on my toes, and doing some stretches while Cosette and her guys watched.
I may be a trained athlete, but so is Gio, and who knows what extra training he has outside of football?
After a few minutes, a bell sounded outside, and Siege straightened up from the locker he had been leaning against.
“It’s time.”
Anyone who’d be able to feel my sweaty palms would know that I was getting nervous, feeling the anticipation build as we stepped out of the room and into the bustling main hall.
But the moment I saw Gio’s effortless climb over the ring ropes, I instinctively began cracking my knuckles, my muscles buzzing with eagerness for the fight to start.
Before my feet could carry me up the ring’s steps, a hand, tight and cold, clamped around my wrist, and I spun to face an irate Cosette. “You better win, or I’m kicking you myself, Combs.”
“Gee, thanks for the confidence, C,” I said as I reached up to ruffle the top of her head, giving her a confident smirk before I finally climbed up the ring.
The guy from earlier with the jazz hands followed suit, his grin widening as the roar of the crowd echoed around us, and he started to talk about bets and other bullshit underground fighting terms.
I think he even gave me a persona at one point.
“Ready?” Jazz Hands finally asked Gio after his whole spiel, to which Gio just grunted and beat his chest with a fist, smiling like a goddamn lunatic.
I nodded before Jazz Hands could even ask me, and he made his way off the ring before the bell went off again, signaling the start of the fight.
Gio didn’t waste another second before he was barrelling towards me, hellbent on taking me down.
He was wrong if he bet I would plant my feet on the ground and wait like a sitting duck. I sidestepped, shoving him to the side as he ended up grabbing onto nothing but air.
Gio’s initial strikes were clumsy, fueled by adrenaline and raw power.
I weaved, I ducked, I dodged.
The fact that he has been acting offensively while I have been forced to play defensively has been an utter embarrassment.
“Start throwing punches, Combs!” I couldn’t bear to look at C. Not right now. Nonetheless, her screaming, cutting through the crowd’s heckling, actually spurred me to do something.
The moment Gio tried to give me another jab, I dodged and immediately let my bare fist connect with his cheek with a resounding thud.
He staggered back before he let out a groan, followed by a furious roar, and what C’s cheer did for me was what the contact did to him.
It awakened him.
The fire in his eyes burned so fiercely that I could almost feel its heat. It was in the way he moved more swiftly. Efficiently. Blow after blow, his punch would land on my jaw or my stomach until I was coughing, feeling the breath drawn out from me.
Withdrawing, I moved in a circular path to gain some space, panting as I attempted to get some air.
The only sign that I even managed to land a blow was a small trickle of blood from his nose, and it was utterly humiliating, while I could feel my cheek throbbing with pain, and I couldn’t tell if what was running down my lips was blood, sweat, drool, or perhaps a combination of the three.
“I can’t believe you brought her here,” he said, an arrogant smirk finding its way to his mouth. “Though it makes sense. The piggy does belong in a barn.”
My vision went red.
My ears were ringing, hearing the rush of my own blood.
A bellow of pure rage escaped me as I charged toward him, and I finally struck him again, this time squarely on the nose.
The douchebag attempted a counterattack as he swung back wildly, but after yet another dodge, I was able to dance around him, and I threw a punch across his goddamn face.
He stumbled back a few steps, losing his footing, and I took the chance, jumping on him as I pinned him down.
The darkness came back, and I clearly saw the irony that the one who should bring me out of it with her light was responsible for it this time. For making me feel so goddamn protective of her that I want to murder the fucker who tried to belittle her.
With renowned focus, I welcomed the pain of feeling the skin on my knuckles split open, as I hovered over Gio, my fists raining down on him. I watched the blood turn from his to a sickening blend of his and mine, the crimson staining my hands.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the fight, and I managed to get one more punch in before Dex was forcefully pulling me up and off of Gio.
I could barely hear Jazz Hand’s voice because I was so focused on Cosette’s face in front of me, so close to mine as she looked both proud and worried while wiping my face with a cold towel.
“I’m still mad at you, but you look frickin’ badass, Combs,” she said, now offering me a smile.
I grinned back at her, but my teeth must’ve been covered in blood if she was cringing, her lips drawn back and nose wrinkled in a disgusted snarl.
God, please don’t let her think I look like shit.
Please look at me and think that I look just like the bad boys you’re dating.
I tried to suck it in, but I did not like the rusty taste one bit.
It must’ve been the frown on my face that followed after her look of revulsion, because she was then giggling at me, like we aren’t in the middle of a goddamn illicit fight club.
“Come on. Let’s get you out of here so we can fix your face.”