“No,” Ryder responds quickly, taking my wrist and walking me briskly away. The man pauses for a moment as if he is deep in thought before saying aloud.
“Venom?”
“RUN.” Ryder orders, his hand already cupped around my wrist, taking me through the sea of people on the main street. My legs struggle to keep up with his, and my lungs crave more than just smoke to fill them, but the man is chasing us, and now there are more of them. Something tells me these are the Smokies Psy was talking about.
Ryder’s grip on my wrist tightens as he leads us towards the end of another dark alley.
“If it isn’ttheVenom.” Three men emerge from around the corner before my mind can tell my feet that they are there, and my chest slams hard into one of them. Ryder grabs my hand andruns back the way we came, but the men from before block the path.
Shit. We are cornered.
“You stole something from me.” The broadest man steps forward, his hand cradling a crowbar, the dim lights shine off of his bald head and the leather jacket, much too tight for his heavy frame, mimics the glow.
“Come on, Fang… that was years ago…no hard feelings.” Ryder shrugs his shoulders with boyish charm and lets out a small chuckle.
“You know the rules. You owe me, you pay the price in blood.” Fang’s teeth tether together as he talks, his lips snarling like an angry dog. The men around him treading the distance in between us, each grasping various weapons tightly.
“Ryder?” I mutter anxiously, and he shoots me a sorry look.
“Fuck you. Fang.” Ryder taunts, pushing me hard into the wall of the alley out of the way. A sinister laugh escapes Fang’s lips as he signals his men to collect the price.
Each one of them strides towards Ryder with sadistic smirks on their faces, like they are excited by the thrill of the hunt. A large man weaponises a hammer, the head of it transforming into a sharp dagger—he must have Xoro’s Gift—before lunging it at him like he is a chopping block, but Ryder ducks fast and instinctively grabs the man’s forearm, stiffening his mobility. Before I can even blink, Ryder has landed two heavy punches on the man’s jaw and knocked the wind clean out of him.
The dagger, lonely on the floor, is now fair game.
Ryder snatches it with his shadows and clasps it tightly in his hand, landing two spiteful blows into the man’s skull. It makes a sickening ‘crack’ sound, and blood runs like a red river through the cobblestones.
Another man steps forward as tribute, taking off his leather jacket and revealing his large, muscly frame—this one lookingmeaner than the last—his chest rises and lowers dramatically with heavy, angered breaths as he taps a metal baseball bat into the palm of his hands.
The man comes in fast, swinging for Ryder’s head with a vengeance. Ryder reacts, taking a swift step backwards, then charging into the man’s torso, running him into the wall. The man’s head makes harsh contact with the brick, leaving him dazed.
Ryder doesn’t waste anytime; his knuckles tighten as his hits gain strength and momentum, pounding the man’s head repeatedly into the wall. A tall man comes up behind him and throws him onto the floor, but he doesn’t stay down for long. He is ready for more, and he looks like he is enjoying it. The tall man armed with knuckle dusters circles Ryder, waiting for the chance to strike.
He takes it.
He lands a quick hit to Ryder’s face, but it barely makes contact. Ryder shakes it off, spitting a small pool of blood from his mouth. His shadows ebb out of him now, wrapping around the man’s torso and squeezing tightly. The man writhes and struggles to escape the shadows’ relentless grip, but his breaths soon become slower, and he lands onto the floor with a thud when Ryder lets go.
“Okay, okay.” Fang steps in. “Look, I’m willing to give you a chance to earn back the money. A chance to wipe the slate clean.” He holds his hands out as if he is trying to tame a beast.
“Or I could just finish what I started,” Ryder says, his fists clenched tightly, desperately wanting to make contact with Fang’s face.
“You don’t wanna do that, boy. My people will never stop coming.” Fang smirks as more bodies start to fill up the alley. All wearing the same leather jacket and look of loyalty and vengeance.
Ryder still looks ready to fight, but he knows this is an unfair battle.
“I’m listening.” Ryder snarls in agitation.
“You can still fight like you used to. How bout one more go in the ring for old times’ sake?” He smiles too widely, which unsettles my stomach.
“I don’t fight for money anymore.” Ryder scowls, wiping the blood and grime off his knuckles.
“Just one. You do this, and I’ll tell my boys to stand down.” Fang says, lighting a cigar and taking a large inhale. Ryder looks apprehensive and pauses for a moment before looking at me with regret.
“Just one,” Ryder confirms, and the bile creeps back up my throat. I’ve seen how they fight here; it’s not just a game, it’s a match to the death.
***
Rage bites at the air, taking chunks of my sanity with it. My torso is squeezed tightly between the bodies of two sweaty men laughing obnoxiously and cheering with their arms raised in the air. They smirk and jeer with imperfect smiles, missing teeth and bulbous gums. The thought of the ale that slugs down their throats, forced to make contact with their cavities, repulses me.
