But for how long? That always comes next.
Maybe I’ll try talking to her about it again tonight. If not, I’ll probably just spend the night curled up in the dark.
Again.
Pretty soon, I can’t think of anything else but the roar of the crowd. They chant and cheer with groans of pleasure mixed in there. I can’t pay attention to that. It’s hard enough to enter a ring knowing you’re either going to kill or be killed without witnessing the horrors placed on the young girls inside. I made the mistake of watching once.
Sometime within the fourth month, I was put up against another boy from the south. We were somewhere around the same age and build, but he towered over me in height. It made him clumsy, his lankiness. It allowed my gaze to wander, though, and it landed on one of Marone’s associates. I vaguely recognized him—some business mogul or another. He wouldn’thave mattered to me had it not been for the little girl in his lap. She wasn’t like the rest of us, somewhere in her teens. She was younger, practically a baby. The things he was doing to her… I couldn’t get to him, so, unfortunately, the other fighter paid for his crimes instead. Regardless, someone shed blood. I just pretended it was his.
Since then, though, I do my best to keep my eyes ahead, staring only at my opponent. For the most part, it’s easy, but my mind is on Max and Clara… and home. I’m so fucking sick of being here, of being a puppet and pawn and a fucking toy.
Everything is still slightly muted, but I can feel the crowd's energy pouring into me while Vince undoes my shackles. Before this, I used that as fuel. It would drive me to give them the show of a lifetime. Now, I just want to crawl away from it. I mean, I’m going to die anyway, right? It’s tempting, but then again, Clara needs me here.
“Here,” Vince mutters before throwing me into the ring, sliding something cold and heavy into my hand. “Make it good.”
I know what it is without looking at it. So, I slide this blade beside my first, tucking it securely against me before entering the cage.
Suddenly, all my rage bubbles to the surface when Diego comes into view. He’s covered in blood and absolutely exhausted. I know how this is going to end. So does he. The acceptance is written all over his face. Still, his eyes flash, silently communicating,“A show?”
I give a slight nod—a show.
Stepping into the ring, I feel the sticky residue of cleaner beneath my feet, though blood remains. It always stays. The air feels thick, almost suffocating, as Diego stands motionless, his body coiled like a spring. His fists are clenched so tightly that his knuckles whiten, the veins on his forearms bulging with tension. He knows how this will end, but still. Who wants to die?
Every breath he takes is shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if his very lungs are finally succumbing to the abuse they’ve taken during his time here. Teeth clenched, the muscles along his jawline stretch taut with the effort of holding back the fear that surges within him.
As I find my place inside the ring, I glare at myself in the chain links, searching for my eyes in the tiny metal. There, in the distorted image, I find a glimpse of them. I remember there was a time before this, when they were calm and at ease. Now, dark pools of barely contained rage burn with an intensity that could scorch the very air around me. Grinding my teeth so hard that it feels like they might shatter, I angle my head to the left, glaring at the king on his high throne. Finding his ever-present smirk, the heat of anger rises from my core, filling every inch of me until I can barely think, only feel. Knowing he’s burrowed his way under my skin, Marone raises a toast to me, his glass catching the light to illuminate the chain wrapped around his hand. An overwhelming, blinding need to unleash the violence on him instead of Diego simmers under my skin when he tugs on the chain. I glance down, hoping to see Clara unharmed, but the light is too bright from here.
I step to get a closer view, to make sure they haven’t done too much damage to her, but Diego misunderstands my movements. Thinking the fight has begun, he begins circling me, leaving me no other choice but to follow. Outside this cage, the world seems to slow down. The sounds that were already dim muffled to a low hum. Everything sharpens when our feet hit the mat. Life is reduced to nothing but this moment. Knowing it’s live or die, my vision narrows in, focusing on every move Diego makes. It doesn’t matter that he’s weakened and is struggling even to remain upright. You never know what someone is capable of when the world thinks you’re beat.
I know what Diego can do, and because of it, everything else disappears. I focus only on the now—only on the fight right in front of me. Still circling each other, my fists tremble with the anticipation of what’s coming, and for a brief moment, I glance toward the crowd, a dark, guttural growl rumbling from deep within my throat.
I wish it were one of you.
Looking back at Marone.I wish it were you.
Every muscle in my body is screaming for release, for action—for blood.
With a growl, Diego comes at me with a weak right hook. I should have let it land, but instinct took over. I dodge his fist with ease, carelessly slapping it away from my face. I don’t know if it’s the minimal force it took to make him sway or if it’s because I slapped him like a little bitch, but heat rises into Diego’s face, leaving his brown skin blazing. It’s clear that it isn’t about giving Marone a show when Diego comes at me harder, swinging with all his might in every direction. A few of his punches land, irritating old wounds, but it’s evident that whatever strength he was holding onto is bleeding fast.
There’s nothing more dangerous than being trapped in hell with the devil, knowing you’re vulnerable.“I’m sorry,”I mouth, hoping Diego can decipher my words before I pull the blade from my waistband and stick it beneath his ribcage. The roar from the crowd should be deafening, but all I can hear is Diego’s pained inhale when he looks down at the handle jutting out of him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper out loud, ripping it free. Immediately, Diego’s hands move to cover the wound, falling to his knees. This part always makes the worms beneath my skin crawl, so I twirl the blades between my fingers, working myself until my arms grow numb. Stepping in and out, I dance around Diego,searching with a straight face for the quickest way to end his suffering.
“Stop fucking playing with him, boy!” Marone’s voice is clear as fucking day, warning me.
So, I drive my fist into Diego’s mouth, hoping he can feel my apology slamming into him over and over and over. I hope he knows how fucking sorry I am when his teeth go flying. I hope he knows this will eat away at me for the rest of my fucking life, and he will live like all the others as a scar on my skin and bones while I slash him into pieces. And when Diego is dead, another body at my feet, I hope he’s looking at me from wherever he ends up and knows I never wanted to do any of this.
Anguish and fury tearing through my flesh, I storm the edge of the cage. I’m ready to spit every curse I can conjure at Marone when I see her kneeling on the ground. I want to be pissed that it’s not Clara there, waiting for me as always, but there’s something about the blue in her eyes that leaves me empty.
She stares at me in horror, with a look of disgust smeared across her perfect pink lips, but there’s more there, too. Something curious beneath the surface. The bruises and cuts marring her creamy, ivory skin take nothing away from the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
I can’t stop staring, but the bugs beneath my skin grow stronger by the second. Bending under the weight of all my conflicting thoughts, I cut my stare, barking, “I’m done,” sparing her one last glance before storming off. Her eyes follow me out of that arena, dancing like ghosts on my flesh while I’m led to the private rooms.
“Who was that?” I ask Vince, my body numb, mind whirling.
“Who?”
“That girl Marone has. The new one.”
