Page 207 of Dark Duet: Platinum Edition

Adrenaline found me at last. My heart pounded with it, my fists clenched, my muscles yawned and flexed. I was practically lusting for a fight. I searched the room for someone who might be willing and able to take me on.

“Can I sign you up?” someone asked in Spanish. I turned and glared at the man behind me. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he carried himself with extreme confidence. He was perhaps a little younger than me too, and I thought that added to his demeanor. I took my measure slowly and decided the man was likely a martial artist of some kind—his legs looked capable of snapping bones.

“I’d like to fight,” I said as calmly as I was able. I must not have been very successful in portraying calm because he eyed me somewhat suspiciously.

“English? Okay. I speak little bit. You need…” He struggled for a word but ended up tugging on his clothes.

“I didn’t bring any,” I said. “I don’t need any. Just like this.” I swept my hand across my t-shirt and jeans. I didn’t bother explaining I could speak Spanish. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He smiled and shook his head.

“Fighter? What style?” He walked back toward the front door and into a room on the left. I assumed it was the office. I stepped inside, somewhat annoyed I couldn’t just jump into the action.

“I’m trained.” Rafiq had been a military officer and had given me quite the education. One of my favorite memories was the day I’d finally bested him in hand to hand. He’d taken a big risk teaching me all that he did. Without him I’d have been an illiterate, defenseless whore. It was ironic that the very skills he’d taught me had aided in his demise.

The man at the desk rolled his eyes and muttered about me in Spanish. He thought I was an idiot who’d come to get his ass kicked. He seemed amused by the idea. He grabbed some papers from a printer behind him and placed them in front of me.

“Please to write all your information and sign the bottom. Need identification and money for membership.”

I filled in the necessary information and took out all the cash in my wallet. It was enough to cover my membership for three months. The man at the desk seemed pleased with my payment and stood to shake my hand.

“Carlos.”

Seeing no reason to make a new enemy, I shook his hand and tried out my name.

“James.” I dropped my hand and looked toward the ring. “Can I fight now?”

Carlos shook his head, somewhat exasperated.

“Okay. You fight.” He walked beyond me and I followed him toward the ring. He called out to a nearby fighter. I listened while he informed the man of my intentions. The fighter sized me up and smirked before he informed Carlos he was willing to take me on. Neither of them seemed to think I had any talent.

I paid them little mind as I removed my socks, shoes, and shirt. I didn’t care how the fight was going to go. I only cared about hitting. I accepted the ill-fitting mouth guard handed to me and put it in my mouth. I also took heed and wore the required headgear.

Within minutes, I stood in the ring across from Fernando. I thought we were fairly matched. He was a touch shorter than me, but his muscles were bulkier and more defined. I knew his fighting style involved the use of his legs as he stretched them, bending his feet toward his ass.

I rolled my head and shoulders, shaking my arms out. I bounced on the balls of my feet, warming my muscles as much as I could in the short span of time I’d given myself to prepare. I held no illusions about not getting hit. In fact, I craved the blows that would soon land on me. I knew they would incense me. I knew they would trigger the rage I’d been keeping locked inside. I knew once the rage took over, all thoughts of Livvie would cease. I knew the pain inside would yield to the pain on the outside.

Carlos called us toward the center and went over the rules for my benefit: No gouging, biting, breaking of bones, hits to the groin, head-butting, or fighting after the bell. There were more rules than I was used to, but then again I’d never fought anyone but Rafiq for fun. Even then, I was learning survival. Implicit in the rules, but not necessary for anyone but me, was one more rule: No killing.

Fernando and I nodded at one another and took one or two steps back from the center. Carlos left the ring and took a position not far away. He rang the bell. The man opposite me was not eager. Despite the smirk and overconfidence he displayed, he took the time to circle the ring and gauge my strengths. I did the same.

It erupted quickly. For all that I was expecting a kick from his powerful legs, I was caught off guard when he simply rushed me with the full force of his body. He lifted me and threw my back into the corner. A knee came up and landed on my ribs. My breath left me in a rush.

My hands free, I joined them together and hit him in the junction between neck and shoulder. He took a step back and I landed another blow in the same spot before I had enough room to lift my right leg and push him back. He smiled and made a motion with his upraised hands: Come on.

He’d winded me and I had barely done anything to convince him I was a worthy opponent. It was a situation I intended to remedy quickly. I came at him with a series of kicks that he met easily enough. I came at him with so many kicks he diverted his attention from my hands and I made my move. I punched him in the side of the neck with my left, stepped in, and sent an elbow to his temple with my right. He lost enough of his balance I was able to hook one of his legs and push him to the mat.

Fernando was a skilled fighter and the attack did not daze him for long. He quickly rolled, catching me with his powerful legs and flinging me to the mat. His foot came up and his heel landed on my back with impressive force. The gym seemed to come to life in those moments as others began to gather around the ring. They cheered for Fernando.

On the mat, we grappled, each of us avoiding an arm around the neck or an arm grab that would undoubtedly lead to a painful submission hold. The bell rang before either of us was willing to surrender our position.

“Separate!” called Carlos. I kicked Fernando off of me and scrambled to my feet. We stared at one another and heaved for breath. Carlos was laughing and remarked that I had more fight than he thought.

Fernando told me not to get too excited. He’d been taking it easy on me but was ready to kick my ass just as soon as Carlos rung the bell.

I took off my headgear and threw it outside the ring. Mimicking Fernando’s hand gesture from earlier, I raised my hands and told him to kick my ass if he thought he could. Everyone seemed pleasantly surprised by my ability to speak Spanish. Everyone except Fernando. He removed his own headgear and tossed it. Carlos rang the bell.

Fernando rushed again, but I was ready this time. I waited until he was within arm’s reach and used his momentum against him. I stepped to the side, caught his neck with my arm and jumped on his back. We went down with a loud thud as I rode Fernando to the ground. With my knees firmly planted in his sides, I went to work punching Fernando in the face before he covered himself. My hands throbbed with pain after colliding with bone.

Fernando rolled, knocking me to the side, and delivered a backward kick that landed between my shoulder blades. I cried out, my hands scrambling for purchase on the other man’s sweaty flesh. Wearing jeans had been a mistake. The fabric trapped me. Two more kicks landed on my back and I saw spots.