Chapter 24
When the iron-clad fist met his jaw, Henry knew that this night would end with his death and he welcomed it. His head lolled back against the ropes of the boxing ring. Golden globes like a million glow-worms flickered in the ceiling.
He blinked.
The glowing haze dissipated, revealing a dozen lamps hanging from the wooden beams of the pub’s ceiling. The ringing in his ears vanished and he was welcomed back by a roar of the crowd.
Henry wiped the blood from his lip and faced his opponent.
Topless with thick black suspenders, the man was a lanky brute with cropped brown hair and a splitting gash across his nose.
“Is that all you’ve got, you fucking sod?” Henry spat. “Go on, hit me for Christ’s sake!”
His opponent came quickly. Henry darted to the side and socked him in the ear. With a growl, the man whacked Henry’s chest hard, who in return pushed his opponent against the wall and battered his fists repeatedly into his face. After a resounding swing to his temple, Henry’s opponent crumpled to the floor in a bloodied mess.
Someone rang a bell.
Henry was pulled away by his shoulders. Hand raised, he was declared a winner for the second time that night.
But it was not enough. The need for violence coursed through his veins like thick molasses.
“The man’s a bloody monster!”
“I bet a shilling on Asheford next.”
“Hear, hear! Make your bets now, gentlemen. Make your bets!”
Henry went to the side of the ring closest to the bar and slapped his palms against the wooden frame. “Someone fetch me a blazing whisky!”
Moments later, a small boy handed him a glass of amber liquid.
Henry downed it in one go. He handed the glass back to the boy and wiped the excess from his chin. “Who’s bloody next!”
The crowd’s frenzy lowered to a hushed murmur.
“Will no one challenge me?” Henry exclaimed, flinging his arms up. “This is your chance to pummel a gent into the dirt. I know the fucking lot of you would love to.”
“I shall,” a man declared.
Henry spun around to see another brute with black, greased-back hair.
“It’s about time someone brought down this cocky son of a bitch,” the man said.
“An American?” Henry laughed.
“A New Yorker to you.”
The American removed his shirt. A large tattoo of a bludgeon marked his forearm. The bell rang. Both men lifted their fists and began to dance around the ring. The American advanced quickly and swung his fist at Henry’s face, but Henry counter-attacked with an uppercut to the man’s ribs and tackled him against the wall.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Henry whispered harshly into his ear.
A swift slap fell across Henry’s face. They wrestled against the wall until Henry was firmly pushed back by the shoulders and a jab shot to his stomach.
Henry’s breath left his lungs at once.
“Stick to your tea, ya Limey,” the American said.
With a curt nod, Henry’s skull met the American’s nose. Upon impact, a sickening crack echoed out, followed by a splatter of blood.
The American stumbled backwards. Horror flashed in his dark eyes as he cupped his nose.
“It would seem I’ve broken it.” Henry laughed and slapped the wall again. “Where the devil is my whisky?”
A young boy shoved a glass into Henry’s hand. “Here, sir.”
While Henry gulped back the whisky, he continued to glare at the American. There was something distinct about the man that he did not like. It did not help that the lights of the room were starting to play tricks on him. They turned the crowd into shadowed demons and his opponent into the very devil himself. Surely, this was hell and he was on trial.
Henry snarled and threw his glass at the devil.
The crowd erupted.
“Are you as childish as you are a drunken ass?” the devil said.
“At least I am not a loser.”
The devil rushed forward.
For a beat, it felt like Henry had been chained to the dirt floor. He could not react quickly enough to avoid the fist that came barrelling toward him.
A punch belted his right eye.
The room spun, until it stilled.
Henry fell against the ground with a thud. The aching pain expanded across his flesh. It seeped deep into his muscles and bones, piercing straight to the core of his heart. It was euphoric.
Lifted by his suspenders, Henry was forced up by the devil. Red-faced, with blackened horns, he spoke words in a tongue Henry did not understand. The creature’s claws found their way around his neck. This was the end, he thought. His sweet release from this world would come now.
Henry grinned.
The bell rang out and the crowd booed.
A rush of panic gripped Henry. He began shouting, “Go on, then! Give the crowd what it wants!”
The devil’s blazing eyes narrowed into black slits. He retreated.
Why does he retreat? Why does he show mercy?
“Hit me once more, you bastard! Make me suffer … put me out of this damned misery.” Henry choked on a wave of unexpected tears. “I beg you not to leave me to eternal damnation!”
The devil snarled. “You’re enjoying this. Not only a childish drunken ass, but a sadistic pervert.”
“Yes, yes…” Henry’s head lolled back. “Add that to my long list of sinful, dishonourable traits.”
The crowd began to boo.
“They grow impatient!” Henry yelled. “Do you not want the glory of killing the last Asheford heir?”
“You beg like a whore and it’s disgusting.”
Henry blinked. As his drunken haze momentarily dissipated, he realized that his opponent was not the devil, but a mere mortal.
An American with the tattoo of a bludgeon.
A bludgeon? Was this man involved in organized crime? A sudden strength that only hatred could fuel invigorated Henry’s core, willing him to stand.
The American gestured that he was finished with the fight. With a hand against his nose, he turned away. The crowd went wild with jeers.
Henry staggered after him. With a deafening roar, he kicked the American behind the knees, forcing him to fall forward. The haze returned, the devil retook his shape and now was the moment to avenge Henry’s broken soul; hell be damned, he would kill its king. He would destroy all evil. Glaring down at the beastly creature, he raised his boot and—
Henry was pulled back so violently that he fell to the ground.
“Stop this madness! Enough!”
The tawny-brown hair of his friend appeared like a halo beneath the sky of glow-worms. Henry could not yet decide whether he was a demon or an angel.
“Let me get a good smack across his face!” the devil roared.
“He’s drunk!” Elias shouted, holding up his flat palm toward the devil. “Enough of this, both o’ ye’s!”
“I couldn’t give two shits. He dishonours the damned sport—”
“Ye won the match, did ye not?” Elias gestured to the referee and turned to Henry. “Come wi’me at once.”
“Fuck off.” Henry brushed away Elias’s hand.
“Och, ye wee fool. Stop havering like a mad jimmy and let me take ye to my place.”
Elias pulled Henry to his feet and firmly supported him. As they made their way out of the pub, the crowd of demons threw slop after them, taunting them with abusive slurs. They entered a darkened alley next to the pub.
Henry’s legs failed him. He fell against the sooty wall. “Leave me be, Elias, I beg you.”
“What has gotten into ye?”
“Leave me be.”
“Christ, Henry,” Elias said. “I cannae let ye alone like this.”
Henry’s head fell back against the wall. He tried to peer at the stars in the night sky, but they were not visible. It was miserably black, like his beaten soul.