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I feint left, and he mirrors me. My muscles tense, ready to spring, but it's then that Declan strikes—a sudden flash of movement. His right hook arcs through the air, a dark comet aimed at my temple. It lands with the force of a sledgehammer, jolting me sideways.
"Shit!" I spit out as stars explode behind my eyelids. Pain radiates from my jaw, a throbbing reminder that this isn't just some street brawl.
I shake my head, clearing the fog. "Is that all you've got?" I manage a cocky sneer, tasting copper. Pushing forward, I throw a jab at his midsection, trying to reclaim the rhythm, to not let him set the pace. He grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"Nice try." He dodges easily, and for a moment, we're back to the dance—the push and pull of predators sizing each other up.
But there's a snake of doubt slithering into my thoughts, coiling around my focus. Was the kid wrong? He got me with a right hook. Or is the left even worse? Every time his left twitches, my heart hammers against my chest, and I flinch involuntarily. Am I overthinking it? Is it a ploy, a ghost story told to rattle me?
"Waiting for something special, ain't ya?" Declan chuckles, circling closer. He knows he's gotten into my head, and he's relishing it.
"Maybe I am," I snap back, throwing a combination to keep him guessing. "Or maybe I'm just enjoying the view before I take you down."
"Big words, little man," he jeers, and I can see the gears turning behind those glacial eyes. He's reading my hesitation, dissecting my every move.
"Little man with big fists," I retort, but it's weak, even to my own ears. All it takes is one misstep, one lapse in judgment, and I'm done for.
Sweat drips into my eyes, blurring my already foggy vision. Declan and I start to trade punches at a faster rate now, both of us feeling the fatigue in keeping up our defenses. His fists are heavy, relentless, pummeling against my body. Each impact is a sledgehammer to the soul, threatening to crack me open.
"Is that all you got?" he grunts between exchanges, his breath hot and reeking of whiskey.
"Plenty more where that came from," I shoot back, my words slurred by swollen lips.
But it's getting harder to breathe, to think. The fatigue wraps around my muscles like chains, dragging me closer to the abyss with each thunderous blow. Can I keep this up? My chest heaves, begging for air, as I dodge another of Declan's crushing rights.It's like trying to outswim a riptide; eventually, it wears you down, pulls you under.
"Starting to look tired, boyo," Declan taunts, his voice a low rumble of amusement.
"Your concern is touching," I manage to say, but the sarcasm tastes like blood and defeat.
I've been here before, in this place where the body wants to surrender. No matter what I try I can't seem to get inside. Then an idea flickers to life, desperate and dangerous.
Lower your guard, let him think he's won.
So I do. I let my hands drop just an inch too low, my stance open, inviting.
"Got you now," Declan growls, and I see the victory in his eyes moments before his left hook arcs through the air like a prophecy fulfilled.
My own hubris is the last thing I feel before the pain. The world tilts on its axis as Declan's fist connects with my jaw, an explosion of white-hot agony.
"Shit," I gasp, the ground rushing up to meet me. There's no grace in falling, no dignity in lying sprawled on the floor, staring up at a spinning ceiling. But here I am, the prince that would be king, dethroned by my own gambit.
"Stay down," Declan advises, looming over me like some kind of vengeful god. "It's easier."
Easier, maybe. But since when have I ever taken the easy way out?
Blood pulses in my ears, a rhythmic thrumming that seems to mock my prone form. My cheek presses against the cool ground; it might as well be a lover's touch compared to the fiery pain exploding across my jaw. I squint, the world above me blurring like a watercolor nightmare.
"Come on, get up!" It's Evelyn's voice, slicing through the haze. Her tone is sharp, usually laced with that pretentious edgewhen she's spouting off some medical jargon she thinks no one else gets. But not now. Now, it's raw concern.
"Is he okay?" That small, trembling question must belong to Evan. I can almost see his wide, innocent eyes peering over at me.
I try to laugh it off, but it comes out as a groan.
"Just take a nap, kid," Declan sneers.
His words sound so inviting. Maybe all of this is just too much. Maybe I should never have left South America. Maybe my dad was right and I'm not fit to lead. Maybe everyone would really be better off if I just closed my eyes, right here, right now, and fell into an eternal nap.
"Fight, damn it," Evelyn snaps, her form a blurry mess of my vision. She's always been tough, maybe too much for her own good, hiding vulnerabilities beneath layers of intellect and bravado. And still, she's here, in this grungy underworld, rooting for me.
