“Yeah.”
“Curt,” he replies. “You’re new here, so I get you don’t know how things work round here, so I’ll go easy on ya for now.”
“What do you mean?”Fuck.He’s going to beat me to a pulp. I won’t make it through the night, just like I said I wouldn’t.
He starts towards me and I take a step back. “Get the fuck away from me, man,” I warn, trying my best to sound strong.
He laughs, a deep rumbling sound that sends a shiver snaking down my spine. “If you wanna survive in here, you’ve got a lot to learn, killer.”
And in a split second, he lunges.
My eyes snap open to my pitch dark room and fumble around for the lamp beside me. I flick it on, bathing the small room in a yellow glow as the initial panic of being plunged back into that hell hole wears off.
I’m in my bedroom… I’m fine… It was just a dream, I remind myself.
My skin is hot and sticky with sweat, my heart slowly returning to normal as the last remnants of his voice fade from my brain. I haven’t had a nightmare for a long time, and I’d forgotten how fucking real they feel when they come. Like I’m right back there, trapped in that tiny metal cage with a wild animal.
After that first night, my torment continued for months, gradually breaking me down and making me into a person I barely recognised.
Gone was that innocent teenager with dreams of being a professional football player. In his place, a shell of who he used to be.
It’s all because of PeterfuckingWatson, and I can’t fucking wait to bring the fucker down.
“Beer,” is all I say to Jett, who’s already sliding a chilled bottle across the smooth bar top towards me.
Not even ten seconds go by after my ass hits the cushioned bar stool that a delicate hand sweeps over my back, coming to rest on my bicep.
“Hey, Kill,” a soft feminine voice says to the right of me.
I glance down at the perfectly manicured hand on my arm, not bothering to life my eyes to see who it belongs to.
“No,” is all I say as I turn back to my drink, taking a long swig, killing any ounce of hope she had when she walked over here.
Her hand falters on my arm before slipping off me, her hurried footsteps disappearing as the door to the bar swings open and shut behind her.
“Jesus, man. Who shit all over your breakfast this morning?” Jett asks, his brows pulled tight as he studies me. “Since when do you turn down free pussy?”
I drag my gaze up to his slowly, giving him a look that tells him today isnotthe day to piss me off.
He holds his palms up in surrender. “Okay, fine.Jeez. Relax, man.”
I’ve been in a pissy mood ever since I woke up drenched in sweat at four a.m. this morning. After that, I couldn’t go back to sleep no matter how hard I tried, so I headed out for an early morning ride before the sun came up, enjoying having the roads to myself before returning home to take out any remaining rage on the punching bag suspended from my garage ceiling. Suffice it to say, I put it through its paces, exactly what I plan on doing to my opponent tonight.
Jett clears his throat. “You ready for the fight tonight?”
“Always,” I reply confidently, taking another swig of my beer.
Fighting is my anger outlet. It’s a way to direct the pain I feel inside somewhere else, a place where I can control it. If my body hurts, I don’t hurt as much inside. It numbs it.Overshadowsit. I guess you could say it’s a form of self-harm, which I suppose is true in some way, and no matter how unorthodox it may be, it’s my coping mechanism, my way of surviving and that’s good enough for me.
After my nightmare this morning, tonight’s fight couldn’t have come at a better time.
Jett props his elbows on the bar “So, you think she’ll show?”
I don’t need him to elaborate on whosheis.
Kaia.
On fight nights at the bar, I never fight for money, it’s purely for the love of the sport. It’s for reputation. My prize is glory.
