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Wolf Awakened is what I've overcome and it's time to seek my forbidden pack of lethal fuckers who will lead us to victory.
At Night All I Need Is The Ring
The wild cheers carried all the way down the hall - words of triumph and vulgar insults being tossed around in the crowded room I'd exited from.
Beads of sweat still rolled down my aching body, my skin sizzling hot from the intense action that had excess adrenaline pumping through me like an addictive drug.
My inhales and exhales were still rough as my eyes scanned my surroundings, even though the fight was long over. My bare feet walked upon the cool, rough floor, giving me bits of relief from their share of blistering heat.
I'm fucking alive.
The feeling of being within this dark, cruel world ignited feelings of empowerment. Within the box of the ring, I was in complete control of my circumstances, and the thrill that authority delivered was what made it so fucking dangerous.
So damn addicting.
I lusted over the ability to breathe like this. For my chest to rise and fall, supporting my endeavors as I used my limbs to let out the frustrations of my world.
Of my life.
This was my space. My turf. My resolution was to let out all the boiling rage I’d gathered through the days of standards, expectations, and reminders of my boring circumstances.
On nights like tonight, the ring was where I belonged.
Turning the corner of the hallway filled with flickering light, I continued my way down to the female locker room. It always amused me how far away the room was versus the males’, which was a few steps from the ring.
I was positive there hadn’t been one until my fists kept winning me round after round, competition after competition, until they made the designated room so I'd stop needing to change in the spare closet space.
It was thanks to me that any future female cage fighters would have a selected space for themselves. There hadn't been any that lasted the first rounds, but it didn't matter to me. As long as I had my space to do my before and after fighting rituals, I was a happy fighter.
With all the money I was making and delivering to this underground business, the owner practically bowed down to me. I was his weekly millionaire ticket, so I always got my way if it meant I'd put up a good long fight for him to get all the impulsive bets.
The dirty money was the very reason I didn't rely on anyone. No family inheritance, no Papa allowance. Nothing.
I rely on myself. Just the way I like to survive in this world when it comes to finances.
When you live in the supernatural world, the next thing close to being ranked as powerful was currency. No matter if you were paranormal or a mere human, money talked big and paved roads that were never open for commoners.
If you didn't have the strength to screw someone over, throw a few thousand dollars into the equation and I guarantee you, they would be screwed, abused, and left to hang on death row like a line of laundry during a raging thunderstorm.
Being able to independently finance yourself also meant people couldn't shit over your life. No one could tell me how to live my life, as long as I continued to have a nice flow of income flooding my savings.
Thanks to the last three years of competitive cage fighting, I was far past the millionaire stage, which couldn't feel more liberating when you came from a mafia family full of drug dealers.
In the city of New York, the De Luca Family ran everything underground.
Meaning we owned a whole lot of shit and controlled an empire of people who had no choice but to do whatever we asked of them.
Long story short, Papa Dearest - Roberto De Luca - had come to NYC with a grave mission. He wasn't here to assassinate someone or live the New York dream of getting rich and driving fancy cars.
No, no, no. Those are amateur moves.
He wanted more. So much more that it required an army of connections to pave the beginning of the rise of the De Luca Empire.
On the surface, he was the common businessman. The one who pulled all the right strings, made all the right gambles and shuffles to make every possible deal that came to his table make millions. I'd hate to admit it, but my papa was a genius in the gambling life of the stock market.
It didn't take the city long to learn just how good he was, which awoke some good business deals and easily created triple the enemies.
His growth was swift and, in a way, a secret, until he hit the jackpot, making him worthy enough to be on the front cover of Wall Street Magazine. That got him the exposure - good and ugly - he needed to ignite his true plans.
