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Ever since I killed that guy in the ring three months before, things changed, and not for the better. Graham had to put me up against guys who were much bigger and much stronger because no sane man wanted to fight me. My Irish boss plucked out heavyweight fighters from the WWL and the UFL. For the right kind of money, they showed up and fought me. No one wanted to place their bets against me. It was great for my ego and catastrophic for the business. And in our business, The Savages’ business, we needed people to put a lot of money on the guy who lost.
Which was why this evening, I was up against someone who was eighty pounds heavier than I was and a master in jiu-jitsu. I started my formal MMA training when I was fifteen, a couple of years after Graham took me under his wing. This meant that I was a pro and knew exactly what I was doing.
But he was huge, Brazilian, and people called him “The Killer”. I may have been cocky, but I wasn’t stupid. I still gave respect to those who fought me, and I was interested to see how the night was going to unfold. Carter wrapped the black cloth around my knuckles tightly, throwing a glance behind his shoulder. His eyes were on me and on the shelves of alcohol, not on the crowd.
“See anyone you fancy?” he asked in his funny Irish accent. He had a thick one because he was from Northern Ireland. “Norn Iren so it is,” he always slapped my back while he said. I had no idea what it meant and didn’t give two shits either. But I liked Carter. We were the same age—twenty-eight—and we both owed our lives to Graham Savage for different reasons. I never asked too many questions, but Graham made it sound like Carter’s story was even sadder than mine.
“Not yet, but don’t worry. I’ll get out of here with a piece of ass,” I groaned, looking at the time on my smartphone. Ten more minutes. I was ready. So fucking ready. The adrenaline in my body was too much, and I felt like I could fucking fly if I wanted to.
“Fresh meat on the other side of the street. They opened a new night club.” Carter shrugged. Fucking Brooklyn. A new club opened every week. I swear they were like mushrooms after the rain nowadays. Couldn’t they leave my neighborhood alone and stick to Manhattan? Other than the pussy, I hated the clubs and bars of Brooklyn.
“Yeah, I’ll check it out later,” I snapped, killing the conversation. I didn’t care. I knew I was leaving here with a woman by my side. Whether I’d win or lose, women dug tattooed fighters. And that’s exactly what I was. Call me sick, but I especially loved letting out some sexual steam after a fight. Not only was it a great way to get rid of the remaining adrenaline in my bloodstream, but I also liked it when the woman would accidentally open a fresh stitch or my open lip and I’d drip blood all over her, marking her as mine, with my DNA, with my pain, with my fucking blood all over her body.
Yeah, I was definitely getting laid that night.
“All wrapped up. Wait here. I’ll go get your gloves.” Carter patted my shoulder and disappeared into the kitchen. I swung my legs in the air, still sitting on the high bar, feeling like a kid. I was tall, and yet the bar was high enough for me to do that. It was one of the things I liked about Graham’s pub, O’Leary’s.
My eyes traveled through the crowd and landed on my boss and his wife.
Graham and Dahlia.
Her arm was flung over his shoulder and she grinned at something he’d said. She was pretty, sure, if you liked that kind of beauty. Generic blonde with big boobs—bigger now after she had their second kid, a girl named Kathleen—and long legs, probably too long if you think about it. They looked happy. They got married a few years ago, so they should be. He smiled politely at someone. I couldn’t see who because the crowd was too thick and the person was too short. Then someone cleared the way, and my first prey jumped into my vision.
I remembered her.
Her name was Jade. I looked her up on Facebook, Twitter, the Yellow Pages, and every other place in the world after seeing her once at their dinner party all those years ago. Then I saw her again at their wedding, but she was a bridesmaid and was always surrounded by a shitload of pink-wearing prissy little cunts. I wanted her for myself, but knew better than to ask Graham for her number. She was off-limits. I knew that, too, and yet I didn’t care.
Because look at her.
Look. At. Her.
She must’ve been mixed, her skin was deliciously tan, but then she had light green eyes. Her lips were the perfect shape, pillowy and soft and begging for my cock to stroke them gently before it plowed right in.
Jade was going to be my dessert for that night, I’d decided right then and there.
I released a breath and stretched my shoulders, cracking my neck and licking my lips before Carter came back. He gloved me up and shoved the teeth cap into my mouth before I was able to form a sentence. It was a shame because I wanted to tell him I had my name slapped on that fine ass and to make sure no one got anywhere near her. I still remembered how he tried to flirt with her at the dinner table all those years ago—four, I think? —when we were at Graham’s. I knew he’d back off if I told him right there that she was mine, but I refused to look like a world-class idiot and talk with my mouth cap in.
“You good, Champ?” He slapped both my shoulders and looked me in the eye. I nodded.
“Kick this wanker’s arse, mate. You’ve got this.”
And I did. I walked into the makeshift cage Graham had arranged in the backyard of O’Leary’s. The place was surrounded by deserted construction buildings, which allowed for a quiet and secluded fighting ring. People held the net of the cage with their fingers and already yelled and cursed at the guy who waited for me there. I walked past the throng, and people cheered for me. They were clapping, yelling, and asking for me to high-five them. Catching a glimpse of him for the first time, I flashed him a big smile and finger-gunned his head on a wink. It did the trick. He was bigger than me. Probably eighty pounds heavier and at least six seven. He was a real giant, but he already looked saggy and upset at my mute threat. Oh, and he looked about as graceful as a fucking oil barrel. Seriously, Savage needed to step up his game if he wanted people to bet against me. It was starting to get embarrassing. I climbed into the ring, and the gate behind me clicked closed. I wasn’t sure by whom.
It was just he and I now.
I was about to get hit, and it was going to hurt.
But I knew for a fact that it was going to be a lot worse for him.
There wasn’t a judge. This wasn’t an official league. The rules were the same, though—no kicking the junk, no shoving fingers into bodily holes and eyes, no weapon, no greasing, and no acting like a douchebag. Unfortunately, some of my opponents conveniently forgot it every now and again. But that was okay because I was still able to take them down easily.
The crowd around us cheered and slammed their fists against the cage. Some sprayed beer over us. The cold, fizzy drinks got into our eyes on occasion, but that didn’t bother me too much. Blood was more annoying because it burned like a motherfucker and itched every time it dried on your face. And—as you’ve probably gathered—unlike in professional leagues, we didn’t take breaks between every round. We just fought until the other person was knocked out, submitted or, on one occasion, dead.
We touched gloves, our eyes meeting, yet our bodies so far. The noise around me died, and I dove deeper into my mission—destroying the man in front of me.
I made it a point to never personify my opponent. I didn’t want to know anything about him. To me, he was a nameless, faceless no one. My next meal ticket, just like the first fight I took
all those years ago.
