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As soon as the elevator doors open, I’m hit with the scent of sweat and blood. The mix of smells immediately sets me at ease. This is where I’m in my element, where my mind is clear and I can actually think straight. Ironic, given my past in the fighting cage. But down here neither the outside world nor my own chaotic thoughts can touch me.
Lingering near the back, I watch the rest of the match. The crowd goes wild with every punch and kick that lands, some of them rooting for one opponent over the other, but mostly they’re here for the blood.
And that’s what I serve them, brutality. The air is thick with testosterone, and they eat it up. These fights are ruthless. They bring in good money.
I watch the local favorite, Ireland, as his body language alters and I can picture the glint in his eye from back here. He’s done playing with his food. He’s given the crowd the show they came for, now he’s going in for the kill.
Sure enough, the other guy doesn’t stand a chance as Ireland comes at him mercilessly, landing hit after hit. His opponent goes down and stays down. The crowd cheers and shouts as he raises his hands in victory. He smirks, showing bloody teeth.
I make my way to the ring and congratulate him on his win. “I’ll try to find a more challenging opponent for you next time.” I glance at the guy who’s groaning on the floor.
Ireland slaps me on the back. “You can try. Either way, I’ll be back next month.”
“You keep drawing in the crowds like this and we’ll keep that arrangement,” I tell him. He makes good money for the club.
“Will do. Maybe someday you’ll get in this cage with me and we can see who’s the better man.”
It’s my turn to smirk. “I’d take you up on that offer, but I don’t want to wound your fragile ego, Ireland. We both know you can’t stand losing.”
“Which is why I never do.”
“And neither do I.” I lift his hand into the air for one last round of praise from the audience before he exits the ring.
I’d enjoy a match with Ireland, he’d be an equal, and I’m honestly not sure which one of us would win. But if he lost, that would damage his reputation. And if I lost, I’d have no choice but to kill him. So, it’s best we avoid fighting each other.
I stand in the center of the cage and nod to the announcer. He knows what’s on my mind tonight, because I only take this stance if I’m after one thing. Blood.
His voice booms through the room. “We have a surprise fight tonight! Twenty thousand dollars goes to any man brave enough to face Dimitri “Knockout” Kozlov in the cage. Do we have any takers?”
Of course we have takers. This crowd is so full of bloodlust, at least one of them will want to get their hands dirty. Ireland knows I won’t fight him, so he doesn’t bother volunteering, instead he folds his arms and watches the audience.
However, the man who steps into the cage, and claims that spot for himself catches me by surprise. Boris, my second-in-command. I carefully eye him. Not only is he one of my men, he’s also in his late-forties, though solidly built. I know he was a boxer in his day, so I don’t dare underestimate him.
“Boris, what the fuck are you doing?” We both know that I can’t let him beat me, or the rest of my men will begin to question my place as their leader.
Or is that what he wants?
“I’m doing what I need to do.” He seems to deliberately leave off the word Pakhan. His lack of respect doesn’t go unnoticed, but I also don’t point it out.
“Is it the money you need?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. What I need is your attention.”
“Well, you fucking have it.” I spread my arms wide. “You want to do this, publicly? Fine, we’ll do it.” Apparently my second needs to be shown his place.
His grin doesn’t reach his calculating eyes. “Let’s do this.”
The MC announces our fight. “Place your bets now, we’ll start in ten minutes.”
I head to a private locker room to change, as does Boris. That fucker really wants to meet me in the ring? What am I missing? How is beating the shit out of him going to make him happier to serve under me?
Ever since Uncle Vadim’s death, Boris has been questioning my decisions and overstepping. If this is what he needs in order to know that I belong in charge, then so be it. I’ll happily cover myself in his blood.
By the time I step into the ring, I’m both furious and looking forward to this fight.
I can’t lose. If I do, then I’m not fit to lead the Bratva.
Boris wears a smug expression on his face, knowing exactly what kind of predicament he’s put me in. I’m going to wipe that grin off with my fist.
