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20
By the time the fight rolls around the following Sunday, all six of us are simmering with the need for blood. Kate and I have spent most of Saturday and all morning Sunday training with my boys. We’ve barely rested and my muscles ache with overuse, but it only serves to remind us why we’re doing this.
Revenge.
We might not be bare-knuckle fighting in the Tower with no limitations, but the need to cause real harm is no less powerful just because we’re wearing padded gloves. Eastern is speaking in a low voice with Kate, giving her last-minute pointers whilst I glare at Bram, eyeballing him across the room. He gives me a slow smile that spreads like a disease across his face as he raises his hand and slides a finger across his throat.
I laugh. As if that’s going to scare me.
He’s surrounded by his goons like Monk was that night in the Tower. But just like then, they won’t be able to help him when he’s in the ring face-to-face with me. The worst kind of bullies are the ones who hide behind their crew. On their own, they’re never quite as powerful or fearless as they thought.
And that’s the difference between me and him.
I don’t need my boys to fight my battles. I’m more than capable of settling scores without them. Yes, they give me strength and support, but I don’tneedit to fight like Bram does. Without them he’s nothing. You see, his power isn’t real. It’s built on shaky fountains formed from a crew whose loyalty is borrowed. The second Monk reclaims his throne, those kids will turn their backs on him, too afraid of a bigger, badder wolf who can inflict far more damage than Bram ever could.
“You good, Asia?” Ford asks me, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yeah,” I respond, grateful for him. “But I’ll be better once I beat the shit out of Bram.”
The other night, Ford reminded me of myownstrength. He forced me to look deep inside myself, to take ownership of who I am, who I’ve always been. The King might’ve tried to screw with my head by brandishing my own identity crisis as a weapon all on its own. He might have made me feel like someone I didn’t recognise. But in the end, Ford was right, this skin I’m in ismine, not the King’s, no matter how much he threatens me with his ownership.
I’m Asia Chen, and I’m a fighter. Always have been, always will be.
That knowledge alone is what I’ll hold onto when I face Bram in the ring, when I face anyone, for that matter. Because just like the sea is an inevitable wave that chips away at the shore, turning stone into sand, I know I will face Monk and the King again. They’ll keep coming back for me. They’ll keep finding ways to pull me apart, weaken me, but next time I’ll remain solid no matter how much they try to dissolve my strength with threats to the ones I love. At least, I hope so.
“Keep a level head at all times. Hone that anger into a powerful punch,” Ford advises.
I can feel the warmth of his hands as he rests them on my hips, moving close behind me. His body heat seeps through his chest and into my back and I feel some of the anxiety that always comes before a fight, dissipate.
“Oh, I intend to. Bram will rue the day he fucked with us.”
I can hear Ford’s faint laughter before he leans in and whispers in my ear. “Pretty hair colour. Goes well with the outfit.”
“I thought so too.”
Last night I’d dyed my hair a hot pink in homage to my friend, a shade darker than my fuchsia leggings and vest top. It wasn’t intentional, but when I pulled out my various packets of hair dye I brought with me, pink was the colour I chose. It seems fitting that a piece of what represents Pink is here today, because my fight with Bram is as much for her as it is for me, and I’m not letting anyone forget it.
When Cal calls an end to the current fight between Dagger and a kid who I’ve seen about but don’t really know, my body begins to hum with adrenaline. A natural high that courses through my veins, readying me for the fight.
“Kate’s up next, Asia. You need to focus your mind right now. Be the calmbeforethe storm, okay?” Ford says.
“Okay.” It takes mammoth effort to remain calm when inside me the storm rages.
“See that boy there, his name’s Josh. He’s sixteen, one of the youngest kids here,” Ford begins, trying to distract me.
“What did he do?” I ask.
“Multiple arrests for carrying illegal weapons. It’s doubtful he used them in any criminal activity, more likely he was paid as a mule between one gang leader to another.”
“Right,” I say. To look at him, you’d be forgiven for mistaking him as a good little choirboy with all that golden hair and pretty dark eyes, and not a weapons mule. Not that it matters in here. The only weapons we have are our fists, and the sharp slice of harsh words. This kid Josh is no more than a choirboy without them. We watch as Dagger leaves the ring with a cocky swagger, high-fiving Bram the second he’s slipped through the ropes. The gloating is beyond irritating.
“What’s the beef between Dagger and Josh?”
“Not entirely sure. Maybe an old score to settle, maybe a new one. Either way, it doesn’t really concern us. I only give a shit about my crew, you, Kate and the lads,” he admits.
“And No Name, what about them?”
Ford doesn’t answer for a while. Eventually he sighs, and I can hear the disappointment in it. “No Name crew was a means to an end. Aside from Sonny, loyalty is a gift none of them saw fit to give. That’s the only valuable lesson I’ve learnt coming to Oceanside.”
