I kiss my index and middle finger, then place them over her name. “See you soon, Mom,” I say, then walk down the steps, turning to look up at the stone angel on top of her grave before I leave. Something about it always makes me feel better, calmer.
I only ever meant to come here once, maybe twice. Curiosity as to why your own father hates you, and your grandparents are ashamed of you, leads you down dark paths. I’ve never gotten the answers, but I do find peace here…sometimes. Almost like she’s here with me, listening to me and telling me everything is going to be all right.
I’m not sure if she’s right about that, but I have to grab all the love and peace I can in this world, even if it’s from a dead woman I never met.
The crowd is wild tonight. Chants and cheers of my name bounce around the dilapidated basement, making my ears ring and the walls quake. I fucking love it. The stench of sweat, blood, and stale beer. The testosterone that fills the air, thick enough to make my dick hard and the women horny.
“Gunner, Gunner, Gunner, Gunner…!”
I let the excitement of the crowd rest on my shoulders, allowing each roar of my name to sink into my skin as I’m lifted onto Sy, my trainer’s, shoulders. I raise my fists in the air and the chanting gets louder.
I won the fight.
Of course I did. There was never any doubt.
I let the calmness flow over me. The rage dissipates. The only time I ever feel relief from the anger that bubbles inside me is when I am fighting, beating another man to a bloody mess, or when I fuck a woman into submission. Right now, I can enjoy the calm that washes over me while my anger is subdued, the blood of André Michaels, my now unconscious opponent, feeding my fucking hungry, tortured soul.
“Can I get a final cheer for the winner of tonight’s heavyweight title and seven-thousand in cold hard cash? Let’s hear it for Sam ‘The Machine’ Gunnnnner!” Daniel, the organizer, hands over the cash in a large brown envelope. I smile and let the roar of the crowd soothe me again. “Sam, do you have anything you want to say before I have to shut this shit down? The police are apparently on their way to ruin our fucking night.” He laughs.
Sy drags the metal barrel over into the center of the circle where I’m standing. He scowls at me, and I pull out his cut of the money and slap it against his chest. He takes it before shaking his head and storming away. I can’t blame him. It’s a lot of fucking money, and I earned it. We all have. But I have a point to prove, and this is the only way I know how to do it.
I’ve been winning these fights for months, and now it’s time to step it up. I need to get someone’s attention, and short of killing my opponent, this is the only way left to do it.
The room silences as I drop my cash into the barrel, all seven-thousand, before reaching and taking the mic from Daniel. He looks just as confused as everyone else. I smirk, enjoying the control I have over everyone.
People have their cell phones out and are filming me. Cameras flash all around me. I throw my arms up and let another roar from my fans roll over me.
“Thanks to Sy, my friend and trainer, and of course thanks to André for being such a goddamn pussy.” I nod to where André is being carried out, the red blood almost blinding against his brown skin. “And thanks to everyone for showing up to watch me win time and time again.” I look down into the barrel, at my money, and force a bitter smile to my face as I flick the lighter in my hand. “But mostly, thanks to me. When it comes to this shit, I’m better than the best—I’m the motherfucking elite!” I make eye contact with as many cameras as possible, driving my point home.
I drop the lighter into the barrel, and it goes up in flames with a loud whoosh as the gasoline Sy put in the bottom ignited. The crowd gasps, and I push the mic back into Daniel’s hands.
“What the fuck?” he yells, his eyes wide as his gaze flits from me to the burning barrel of money. “If I would have known you were gonna burn it, I wouldn’t have given it to you!”
I don’t have time to answer him, not that I would have, as the guys who run security come charging in. “Police are almost here! Get the fuck out now!”
The crowd starts to run in every direction, dispersing in seconds, me and the money forgotten. At least for now. There’s no way this won’t be talked about, texted about. My little scene will be all over social media before the hour is up.
Daniel gives me one last shocked look over his shoulder as he makes it to the door. “You comin’?”
Shaking my head, I salute him before lighting a cigarette from the flames coming from the barrel, then I sit down next to my fucking masterpiece with a grin on my face.
I don’t run for anyone or anything, especially not when I’m intending on getting caught.
To get out from under Maxwell, and my entire family’s grip, I need money. Money not provided through the Gunner name. I want to stand on my own two feet and stare down at Maxwell as he cowers below, watching as I burn everything he’s ever worked for to the ground. He didn’t think I was worthy of him, his name, my sister’s school, and what came hidden within that school.
Lucky for me, I know more than he thinks I do, and all this, the fights, getting noticed, was my plan. I was going to rock the foundations he built his future on.
The Elite Seven is a secret society at St. Augustine, and I plan to become one of them. To prove my worth, be part of something bigger than the Gunner name. Only the best of the best are invited into The Elite. The rich, the dominant, the people in society who make a fucking difference. Whisperings of the power this group wields. The money they have at their disposal. Small clippings of information—of people brought into power, of lawsuits disappearing, of what The Elite can do for a person. It all appealed to me.
It’s the real fucking deal. And I want in. This is where I belong.
I can screw my father over with the help of The Elite. Take him down and destroy him if I’m part of them—and he’d be powerless to stop me. He would see he doubted me all my life, but he was wrong.
So, I’ve worked and researched and fought to make myself known, heard, important—all in hopes they’ll take notice of me.
And tonight is the final piece of the puzzle going into place.
The Elite is for the strong, not the weak. The important, not the unnoticed. And I’ve made sure I’m both of these things.
