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I finish cleaning up in the changing room and head out to find Albert but just as I walk out the door, the guard who gave Blanca the phone walks over to me and hands me a bottle of water.
“Mr. DeLuca, I am to escort you to the runway. The jet has been readied for departure.”
I take the bottle but I don’t drink it. Can’t be too safe, for all I know, this guy could be related to Martin.
“Twitch. Call me Twitch and I need to go pay someone first and then we can go,” I tell him as I search the sea offaces for my mechanic.
“If you are talking about your friend, Mr. Blanca already paid for your car and left instructions for him to deliver it to the airport tomorrow morning.”
Good. That means my winnings will help me when I get to New York.
“Okay but I need to pick up my belongings. I wasn’t expecting to leave tonight so I’ll meet you at the runway in an hour.” I try walking away but the guard stops me with a hand to my shoulder. I stare at his hand until he removes it and holds his hands up in surrender.
“Forgive me, I meant no disrespect.” He swallows thickly before continuing. “I- I only meant to tell you that I was left here with you and I am instructed to drive you wherever you need to go. I am at your disposal.”
I turn and fully face him. “Fine but do not ever make the mistake of touching me again,capisci?”
“Yes. Understood. Now, if you’ll follow me, I have a car out front for you.”
He waits for my nod before turning and leading me out. I feel bad for the guy. It’s not his fault that his boss, while generous, has me anxious. I feel like I’ve lost a bit of control over my free will and I’ve worked hard to keep from being under anyone’s rule. I’ll have to speak to Blanca about that if it continues. I’m only his fighter not his soldier.
The next hour flies by and soon I’m seated in a private jet. The aircraft is immaculate with it’s plush carpet, wide cream colored leather seats and open floor plan. It feels like I’m sitting in a presidential suite and looking over at Diego as he chats with his people, I guess I am.
“Champagne?” a pretty stewardess asks with a timidness that has me flinching inwardly. Although I showered and don’t really have bruises on my face aside from the open cut on my brow, I’m sure I look out of place sitting here in this over the top luxury jet. This is not my scene at all. I’m a fighter who dresses like a greaser not a suit wearing mafioso. I don’t even think a suit would fit me.
My small wardrobe consists of ripped jeans with hanging wallet chains and white tee shirts. The nicest items I have are an array of different colored suspenders and bowties but they’re always paired with my jeans and combat boots so I don’t think they count.
“No thank you but can you tell me how long before we arrive in New York.” I try to soften my voice because this broad looks like she’ll run if I speak too loudly.
“Five and a half hours, sir.”
I nod and she moves on to someone else.
I’m mentally calculating how much time I’ll be able to rest before tomorrow’s fight when Carlos, my guard, sits next to me. He pulls out a packet of ibuprofen and hands me the glass of iced whiskey he’s holding. “You look like you could use the medicine.”
He’s right, I do need the medicine. I have a raging headache and sore muscles and this cut on my brow is swelling. It’s the same cut that opens up during every fight. The tissue is so weak that even if I rub my brow too roughly it’ll open up.
Taking both the drink and packet I ask, “When does the Barbaric fight start and how many categories does Silver have this year?” I pop the pills in my mouth and chase them down with whiskey, holding the cold cup to my brow to help with the swelling. I normally don’t drink but I need to decompress and loosen up my muscles.
“The fight starts at eight p.m. and I believe she has everything from Flyweight to Cruiserweight. All the slots are filled but I think Mr. Blanca already spoke to his daughter about finding another middleweight for you to compete with.”
“You mean Silver, the Barbarity Queen? She’s his daughter?” I’m a little thrown off. No one ever mentioned his daughter, future boss of the Blanca Cartel, is the infamous Silver.
Carlos chuffs a little. “No his daughter is Camila but everyone knows her as Jefa. She’s Silver’s right hand. They run Barbarity together with the blessing of Diego Blanca and Andino ‘Hangman’ Renzetti. Two of the most powerful families letting their girls run a ring that’s dominated by men? Unheard of and because of that, word has spread like wildfire. Barbarity is known all over the world.” He sounds like he’s preaching the gospel or some shit but if I’m being honest, Barbarity is a motherfucking religion. At least it is for me. I’ve been dreaming about fighting there since I heard about it a few months back. I can only imagine the vibe there, the rumble of the audience as they cheer for blood.
Fuck yes. That’s my scene.
“Did you know that Silver is going to be fighting for her throne this year?” he asks conspiratorially, like an old lady spreading gossip in the pews.
I grunt instead of responding to him as I close my eyes and get comfortable in my seat. I’m over this conversation now but my companion obviously can’t take a hint.
“Yeah, she’ll be fighting for the first time in a year. She was called out by the Russian Princess, on the evening Silver and Jefa announced Barbaric Night. Look.” He puts his phone up to my face showing me a paused video. The image shows three women standing in the caged octagon. “The one with white hair is Jefa, this one is Princess Popov and the third woman is Silver.” He points to each woman while naming them and then presses play.
The ladies stand for a tense moment on the bloodstained floor while a smirking Jefa holds a mic to Popov’s thinned lips. I can’t see Silver’s face because Jefa’s blinding white hair is blocking her but both her and Silver look like a couple of lionesses ready to attack at any moment. I wonder what was said before this.
I’m about to tell the moron to play it from the beginning when I hear a heavily Russian accent. “I look forward to dethroning you, Silver.” Popov’s voice is deep and completely opposite of the woman’s feminine face.
I watch in fascination as Silver grasps her hand in a firm grip. The Barbarity Queen holds herself with poise like royalty, a queen who is to be respected and feared. She has an air of lethal confidence and though I still can’t see her face, her stance shows arrogance. The dress she’s wearing shows off her fit body. She’s not over the top ripped but there's no doubt in my mind she packs some serious power in that tight body. Her legs are toned as well with an ass that should be criminal. The kind of ass you want to leave handprints on.
