I don’t fucking freeze. “And you’re so sure, how?”
“Because I…” he trails off, eyes glazing over to the other end of the table. “I enjoy watching you.”
11
Kingsley
Whoever came up with the idea of Fight Club is a genius.
Crowds gathering to watch two fools fight in a ring, with massive bets hanging and little to no regulations? Stellar idea. Who wouldn’t find it entertaining to watch unhinged fuckers beat the hell out of psychopathic fuckers? Pussies, that’s who.
But being one of the deranged fuckers that fight in it? Not as fun.
I’ve been fighting in the ring since I was thirteen. Dad used it to test out the skills my sisters, cousin, and I learned in lessons at the base. When I was younger, it was the one day a week I looked forward to. Every other child against me was no match for me, and winning every time gave me the ego boost of the century.
But then I grew taller, gained muscle, and developed facial hair, and Dad decided it was time to put me up for a real challenge. I was fighting grown men at a mere fifteen years old. I won some; I lost some, but the losses weren’t the reason I stopped enjoying my time in the ring as much.
When you’re fighting grown men, you’re fightinggrownmen. Not all grown men stick only to their fists.
I’ll never forget the fight that left me incapacitated for two months. They put me against one big-ass dude with rippling muscles as if he were on steroids. Thinking back, he probably was.
But it was his knife to my gut that fucked me over, not his Wreck-it-Ralph fists. He sneaked a pocketknife into the rink and stabbed me with it the second he got a chance.
The man had been a regular at the club. He wasn’t part of the Crowncrest—only a random, lowlife looking to blow off some steam—but Fight Club welcomes people from all over. In his years of fighting, he had never smuggled a weapon into the ring. Until he fought me. I almost fucking died.
Dad shot him in the head the next day.
I still fought after that, but not as often. With the world I’ve grown up in, I knew it wasn’t the last time I’d be stabbed, but I sure didn’t want it to happen again. The one thing that got me to stop fighting for good was Sylvie’s death.
Even though we had a terrible relationship and didn’t want to marry each other, her death still made me lose interest in things I used to love. I think it’s time I take back some of them.
“Shit, King. I hate this.” My sister is pacing, hands on her head. “You don’t have to do this again to prove yourself.”
“I’m not trying to prove myself, Odie.”
“You have been forever.” She rummages through her purse and pulls out a wrapped hamburger, handing it to me. “One round of beating someone bloody will not prove anything to the Crown or to Daddy.”
My stomach churns as I eye the fast-food burger. Just as Odette was there to watch me during all my fights when we were teenagers, she also brought me food beforehand. It was her wayof showing she cared, even though she hated how I continued to fight for so long.
“He’s not doing it to prove anything to Xavier.” Shawn closes the door, and the shouting from outside the room fades. “Kingsley is trying to get back to where he used to be. He’s tasked with a lot of crap right now, and he needs to be sharp.”
“I’m not sure beating up a few guys is the type of skill he needs to be sharpening,” Odie says, shaking her head. “We do that every day.”
“Kingsley’s been on a year-long vacation. This is step one of re-earning his name.”
“And who made you an expert on turning a man into a feared crime boss?” my sister taunts.
“I know my shit,” he tells her. Shawn’s eyes land on my unopened burger. “Eat up, King. You’re out there in ten.”
Odette punches me lightly on the shoulder. “I’ll go find my seat. You’re going to win, King. I know it.”
The door slams behind her as Shawn grabs a chair, turns it around, and straddles it. He nods at me. “You planning on wearing that huge shirt during the fight?”
I give a sharp nod as I swallow. “I’m not taking it off.”
He stares at me as if I had told him I was jumping into the fight blindfolded. “Are you insane?”
Sometimes. “I don’t want to fight without a shirt.”
