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Thomas moved first, quicker than I anticipated given his size. His left jab glanced off my chin. I recovered, and the fight was on.
The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed in the warehouse as knuckles split and blood ran. Within minutes both of us were bloody and raw, using every bit of skill to get the upper hand. One, two, three punch combinations, knees and body shots delivered debilitating damage. Bone cracked against bone with sickening vibrations. Grunts of pain mixed with the crowd’s roars. It was a vicious, ugly fight as we battled for victory. Cheers and roars of excitement climbed to deafening heights.
I managed to avoid most of his hardest blows while putting all the might I possessed behind every one of mine. Fighting Thomas proved to be the equivalent of fighting a bull. No matter how hard I hit he brushed it off and kept coming. He finally managed to get ahold of me and we grappled, our skin so slick with blood we slipped and slid against each other. I landed a crushing blow to his gut, stealing his breath. Thomas heaved for air but still managed to deliver a crippling punch to my kidney. We both staggered back in pain.
Taking advantage of the moment I’d been waiting for, I rose into a deadly roundhouse kick. The impact of my foot to his head vibrated up my leg. Thomas dropped like a stone, face down on the floor. Boisterous cheers erupted from the Italians and MC. The Italians happy we won; the bikers just happy to see a good fight.
If it weren’t for the adrenaline filling my veins I would’ve dropped to the concrete beside him. Excruciating pain flooded my body. Sharp angry spears jabbed into my side. Blood ran from my throbbing face down my chest. My hands pulsed and swelled, dripping blood. Vomit climbed my throat, burning my esophagus. The taste of pennies assaulted my tongue.
I made my way over to O’Connell who stood over Thomas while his men tried to rouse him.
“The debt is paid,” I ground out through pain. He nodded unhappily at the loss, but excepted it with respectful silence. Then I turned toward Shaun. “Don’t ever come near my wife again.” My warning had Shaun nearly swallowing his Adam’s-apple.
Everyone filtered out of the warehouse. Lorenzo approached, congratulating me with a pat on the back that had me groaning in pain as it sent shock waves to every one of my injuries. “Nicely done. Everything worked out better than I anticipated.”
My spine snapped straight, the nauseating pain forgotten. “What are you talking about?”
Lorenzo waved a dismissing hand. “I needed something to come about so we could make a statement. It had to look like a real altercation, or they would know we were just trying to spur it. They called for the fight, now the humiliation is entirely on them. You did your part. I knew that woman had gotten under your skin and you would lose your temper with a little encouragement.”
Matteo hissed, turning away from us. The obvious disgust for what his father had done coiled his back tight as he ran his hands through his hair. A string of Italian curses flowed from his lips.
Lorenzo’s candid attitude was a blowtorch to the propane tank in my stomach. My fists clenched again, aching to hit something. “What the fuck Lorenzo?!” I took a step forward, ready to pounce.
Lorenzo orchestrated the fight, turning me inside out by taking advantage of the situation. It’s the first time I felt any kind of malice towards him. The man I looked up to as a father figure used me and possibly destroyed my relationship for a show of dominance. My fatherly connection to Lorenzo withered as he stared back at me unfazed.
Matteo stepped between us as I advanced. “Luca, stop. You need to get to a hospital,” he said, but his eyes pleaded, you need to walk away.
“I’m not going to the hospital. I’m going home.” I tore my coat and shirt out of Matteo’s hands and headed for my car without looking back.
Becka.
