"Watch it, Sterling, you got me good earlier."
"Serves you right for going up against me," I mutter. "You know you’ll never win against me."
"Hah!" He snorts, "You wish. I’ll get you yet, mofo."
"And the winner is...." Edward prowls over, glancesbetween us, then grabs my wrist and waves it in the air, "Sinner f'ing Sterling."
I make the sign of devil horns with my pinky and index finger, and the crowd goes wild again.
Exactly the reaction they'd had when we'd fought for the first time, seven years ago.
We'd started our weekly fights in the makeshift arena on the grounds of St. Lucian’s, before we moved it to this parking lot. Turns out, the students of the elite private academy the Seven of us had attended lived for the chance to get down and dirty.
The school is the playground of the rich and the trust fund babies, with the occasional exception. Like moi.
Yep, you got that right. I’d been the lone scholarship kid in a sea of blue-blooded shitstains.
My friends were the same as all of the others—all trust fund kids. And they might have gone the way of our peers, growing up to take over daddies' businesses, except something happened to derail those plans.
Seven years ago, the Seven of us had been kidnapped at the same time, held hostage, then set free a month later when the cops had found us.
The incident had changed us.
For better? For worse? The jury is out on that.
We’d changed, though. Period.
That we’d made it through school was a bloody miracle. Most of the Seven owe it to their parents and guardians, who’d insisted they turn up every day. Me? I’d lived alone after my parents’ untimely deaths. The stress of trying to cope with a son who had nearly lost his mind after being kidnapped had done that.
But hold on, you say… How could a thirteen-year-old manage to dodge the law and keep up the pretense with the school authorities?
Turns out, it wasn’t all that difficult. My parents weren't rich but they owned their place outright, so I stayed on after them. And then the rest of the Seven had access to the kind of money needed to pay for basic expenses and bribe the authorities; enough to get social services off my back.
As for the school officials? A little bit of charm turned on at the right time, along with playing on their sympathies... It’s amazing how a little bit of strategy can go a long way in these circumstances; and yes, the money. It always comes down to the money. It's how I learned, early in life, what’s most important. The kind of cash the rest of the Seven had access to helped me when I most needed it.
Something I'll never forget... After all, their money bought me my freedom, right?
Back then, I wasn't answerable to anyone. Hell, I could stay out and pick up fights all night if I wanted, and no one would bother me, or stay up for me to come home… Or worry if I lived or died. So that’s what I’d done. I’d taken to the streets, built up quite a reputation too… Then, decided to take part in these cage fights as a way of making money.
The rest of the Seven had followed… Not that they needed the money. They did it for the thrill of it, the bastards. But hell, if they don’t make the best fighting partners.
Our shared experience has ensured that we are filled with the same level of fury, angst, and frustration that goes into trying to find your way after your reality has been smashed to pieces by a bunch of bastards who had never been identified. Something I intend to rectify.
Edward drops my hand, and together with Saint, we walk over to the trailer that stands on the corner of the lot.
It doubles up as a dressing room/first-aid space where we patch ourselves up after the fights.
The scent of sweat and body odor smacks me in the face as I enter. "Remind me again why we decided not to buy a new trailer?"
"Because Edward, here, didn’t see the point of wasting a perfectly good trailer that already existed on site?" Saint snorts.
Edward chuckles from behind us.
"Waste not, want not...and all that." He ambles to a hammock in the corner.
There's a boxing bag on the other side; next to it is a chair sans arms. On the far corner is a bar-stool, next to which is a sink with a cracked mirror above it. A lone door next to it leads into the bathroom.
The rest of the space is crammed with couches, which are currently occupied by the lounging figures of our friends.
