I better win this fight for him.
He taps his neck subtly. A snapped neck tonight. He doesn't always give me commands. It’s something I can’t refuse, or he threatens my family. Bile rises in my throat. I nod in understanding. I’m here to make him money. Morals have no place in an arrangement like this.
The only rule we have to follow is continuing fighting until one person can’t get back up. It doesn’t matter if we knock them out or kill them. As long as there’s only one conscious fighter left, it stops. I’m not sure what they do with the bodies. Sell their organs on the dark market, if I had to guess. I’m hoping I never have to find out for myself.
I kiss the golden chain around my neck, letting my fingers rub over the L and N hanging from it. My opponent enters, and the crowd erupts as he saunters in. He’s tall, taller than me, and packed with tattooed muscle from head to toe. Even his eyelids have ink. He looks scrappy, unlike the inexperienced man from last night.
I’m not sure where they find all these fighters. From thecocky grin on his face, I would bet he’s here of his own free will. Maybe to make some money.
It won't be an easy fight, but that doesn't matter. Losing isn’t an option. I look him over for any weaknesses while his team wraps his knuckles and lubes his face up with ointment.
I bounce on the balls of my feet when I feel a faint tap behind me. When I turn around, the same young boy beckons me over. He motions for me to lean down to his level.
“Matteo told me to give you this,” he whispers. I don’t have time to question what he means when I feel the sting of a needle plunged into my upper thigh. I jerk, but he empties the liquid into me and withdraws the needle.
“What was that?” I hiss, waiting for something to happen. I feel it immediately.
The boy shoots me apologetic eyes. “He wanted to ensure you win.”
“What was it?” I grit out, anger and something else taking hold of me. Rage?Adrenaline. My heart beats wildly in my chest, my breaths labored. I could run a marathon right now. My palms are slick with sweat, my tape slipping around.
“Epinephrine. A dose of adrenaline. It should give you an edge against your…” He looks over at my giant of an opponent. “Him,” he says with a gulp. He runs back to Matteo like a good little boy.
I grind my teeth. I’m anxious as hell right now; my head spins with each step. I feel revved up like a caged beast, exactly how they want me to be.
An animal.
Theirmonster.
For Laine. For Nova. I can do this.
The ref stands in the center ring when the clock strikes twenty seconds to go. My opponent squeezes between the ropes, hopping in with murder in his eyes. I crack my knuckles and step to the center, the ref separating us—if you could even callhim that. He’s not here to stop any dirty moves. He’s another goon on the mafia's payroll.
Jumbled words are yelled in my ear, and then a whistle sounds. I don’t see or hear anything except the man standing in front of me. The crowd's screams fade to the background. My heightened senses track this man like he’s my prey. And, in a sense, he is. He’s an order given. He probably pissed off the wrong person, and I’m the hitman hired under the guise of a ‘fight’.
I don’t really care. It’s him or me. I’ll always choose myself.
The adrenaline has me vibrating as we circle each other a few times, neither wanting to make the first move. He grunts and lunges at me, swiping his leg out. I dodge, but he lands a jab to my shoulder while I’m distracted. The pain doesn't even register. I feel invincible and smile at him.
My opponent's face screws up in shock. Like the gentleman I am, I let him sit with that for a few seconds before I pounce, unleashing powerful blow after blow to his face. It’s messy and carnal, but I let my frustration of being under the mafia’s thumb fuel me. I can fall apart later.
Swing. A broken nose.Swing. A busted eye, the word lover tattooed on his eyelid splitting in two in the most ironic way.Swing. His jaw hangs unnaturally to the side. He’s a bloody, unrecognizable mess.
He retreats a step with each blow until his back is pressed against the ropes. I have a thirst for blood like I’ve never felt before. I can’t stop the adrenaline flowing through my fists. Ineedto win.
“Mustang! Mustang! Mustang!”
I look over to the chanting crowd, feeling like a caged beast losing control. I’m terrifyingly reminded we aren’t alone. My eyes catch on Matteo's. It’s so subtle, but I watch him push his palm towards the floor, telling me to slow down. He wants a show.
I shake my fist out before my next jab. It givesmy opponent just enough time to land a blow of his own. It catches me right above my eye. Blood pours down from the wound and into my eyes, obstructing my view. It throbs, but no pain registers. I let him land another blow to my gut, grunting when he knocks me back a step. I think that won me a bruised rib.
I let him think he controls the fight, deflecting most of his blows but still letting him land a few that will cost me the least amount of damage. Each jab, I let him gain an inch of ground.
We exchange blows for five more minutes before I’ve had enough. I can feel the crash coming, side effects of the adrenaline, and know I need to finish this. The crowd is eating us up, but they are ready for a winner. A killing blow. They want their money.
One quick look at Matteo, and a following nod has me taking my foot off the brakes. There’s blood everywhere. I can taste the adrenaline tearing me apart. My opponent's eyes blow wide when he feels the shift in me, how my punches come down harder, more accurately now.
Death blows.
