1
PISTON
There’snothing like a fist to the face to get the blood pumping. I’d rather be the fist than the face, but it’s true either way.
I grin at Beast, my lips twisted by the mouth guard. Bring it on, asshole.
“Wrap it up, boys, I’m starving.” Zero shouts from behind the ropes. “Take ‘im the fuck out!”
Don, the gym owner, is hanging out next to him. “Who’re you rooting for?”
Zero laughs. “Whoever gets this done faster.”
Gotta love trash talk from the guy who lost in our first round. If I wasn’t wearing boxing gloves I’d flip him off. Beast smirks, dodging my jab before moving in faster than a guy his size should be able to. He lands a couple solid hits before I beat him back.
“Piston, keep your left up!” Don yells.
I adjust my stance, but it’s too late. We’ve been sparring for a while and Beast is on a rampage. I eventually fall back and lift an arm in defeat.
Beast claps a gloved fist on my shoulder and spits out his mouth guard. “Good fight. I told you you’d enjoy it. You’re going to wipe the ring with me in a couple months.”
“Yeah, maybe.” It feels strange to be fighting again, and even stranger to actually enjoy it.
When I was a stupid kid, it was about money and survival. The rings I grew up in might not have been to the death, but I’ve gone up against plenty of sadistic motherfuckers who thought me being young made me an easy target, and so long as it made for a good show, nobody cared. Being harder, faster and meaner was the only way to keep it from destroying me. The rules here are more complicated than just no killing and no weapons, but the rush is the same.
“He’s right,” Don agrees. “Your instincts are good. It’s starting to click.”
“As long as I can beat Zero.”
“You mammoths are in a different fucking weight class!” Zero snaps without much heat behind it as we head to the locker room. “I know what I’m good at.” He mimes lining up a shot and pulling the trigger. “You’ll never even make it to the ring.”
Beast snorts. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, man.”
We walk out with Don as he closes up the gym. He hesitates, hand on the lock.
“Something up?” Zero asks, keeping his voice low.
Don grimaces. “How much longer is this pissing match with Kozlov’s goons going to go on?”
“You looking to choose sides?” I ask.
He shakes his head, mouth a hard line. “I just want to stop jumping every time a car backfires. You know how it is. The Ditch has always been neutral ground and I like it that way. Don’t get me wrong, the Eagles have always been good neighbors, but you aren’t the only power in town. I have to walk a careful line, you know?”
“Pres won’t let it drag on. End of the summer, max,” Beast grunts. “We’ll do our best to keep the collateral damage to a minimum.”
Don looks tired, but he nods. “I hope so.”
His boxing gym operates out of what used to be a small factory in Detch; a strip of mostly industrial properties that stretches along a good length of South Side where the Screaming Eagles rule. It’s a gray, dreary part of town that locals call The Ditch, and functions more as a way from one place to another than as its own destination. It doesn’t get much attention, but is an important buffer zone between us and the gangs that operate to our north. Or at least it should be.
Tensions in the city have been high since the Screaming Eagles got mixed up in politics again. The kind that left a prominent judge dead and the rot in the core of the legal system exposed to the scrutiny of the media. Follow that up with being linked to the kidnapping of the daughter of a tech billionaire, and there’s a segment of the underbelly that’s hoping we’ve gotten too full of ourselves to bother paying attention to the streets.
It’ll be their funeral.
We won’t push the border just to grab more space, but to keep our own safe? In a fucking heartbeat.
What Kozlov doesn’t understand is that Eagle-eye, our president, isn’t in it for the money or the power. Blood, sweat and tears went into carving out our place here, and he’ll hold the line to his dying breath for the same reason we all will. To defend our family, both by birth and by choice.
As far as we’re concerned, Kozlov on his own isn’t shit. He’s just another wannabe mafia type who wouldn’t know the real thing if it bit him in the ass, but he talks a good game and he’s riled up some of the local gangs into thinking it’s a good time to strike.
