Page 57 of The Fractured

Standing beside Roxy and Gabriele were his sisters. Beatrice was watching me like I was a specimen to be examined under a microscope while Lucia was leaning against the banister, twirling a lock of long auburn hair around her finger as she chewed her bottom lip, taking in every inch of me as if she was considering which parts of me she wanted the most.

Reluctantly, I peeled off my hoodie and discarded it on the top of the steps I stood on. The motion caused the audience to grow louder, completely cutting off the sounds of the club above. I refused to look back up at the VIP section.

I wasn’t wearing any wires this time. It would’ve been a death wish if I had. Instead, there were several undercover detectives somewhere in the crowd, blending in and wearing wires of their own.

I steadied my breath and mind before opening the door and stepping inside. The second that door was closed behind me, the noise was reduced. Without the noise, it made fighting seem bearable until I factored in the large overhead lights beaming down through the glass. Standing under them on their own would’ve been warm enough, but with the added layer of enclosed glass, the air grew thicker. Humid.

The air was still and suffocating. If I won this fight, there wouldn’t be a victory until I was out of this fucking cube.

There was no announcer to call the fights. It was a continuous spectacle inside the glass. At the back of the basement, tucked in an alcove, was where the fighters received their instructions on when to go in next. It was also where we would get paid at the end of the night. How much we made depended on how much blood was spilled and how long we lasted — the payments endedup being fuck all anyway based on the rates I saw written on the sign at the payment booth.

$10 per blood spray. $20 for broken bones. $50 if the opponent is knocked out. $100 in the case ofunable to resuscitate.

These rates only applied to visiting fighters. The triplets paid their own with hefty wages and other club benefits: free drinks, drugs, and women…

My fight was right after Seb’s. A splatter of blood remained on the floor in the corner of the cube from when he was punched in the nose, bringing on a nosebleed.

He had barely scraped through his fight because of the heat.

My one advantage was that my opponent was an ex-fighter of Antonio’s. I had seen him fight long enough to know his style.

He nodded at me in recognition. His eyes were naturally kinda sad-looking, and he stood with a hunch in his spine despite his muscle tone. He was also older than me by eight-ish years. And on his right hand, where a ring finger should be, was a stump — just as Lucia said, they paid the price for loyalty.

I tipped my head, casting aside the fact that he would be dead within a couple of days once Antonio caught up with him.

And then I lunged.

My right fist connected with his jaw, and his head spun left before I brought up my other fist and knocked his head back in the other direction. The crowd’s roar was muffled by the glass. A subtle burn radiated through my knuckles and hand. I briefly readjusted my balled fists and ducked as he swung. He left himself open, so I punched him in the ribcage, knocking him off balance as he gasped and staggered backwards.

Meanwhile, I was already sweating like the fight was over.

The cube was a death trap.

I wiped at my brow and got into position.

Old fighting habits were settling in again, clearing my mind until all that was left was the steady thrum of my heartbeat in my ears. Each punch came from a pattern, urged on by frustration from my past and now. I viewed my opponent as nothing but a walking sack of muscle and meat that was a threat to me. If I didn’t knock him out, I would be the one getting pulled unconscious from this place.

I managed to maneuver around him and wrapped my arm around his neck from behind. He gasped and clawed at my arm, but I pulled back, tightening my grip around his throat.

There were no rules here. Nobody cared about what happened so long as there was one winner.

He threw a punch upwards, hitting my cheekbone. In the past, I would’ve taken it, but the heat under the spotlights, beaming through the glass ceiling, caused me to falter. My arm slipped, giving him enough time to pull forward.

I was flipped onto my back and given barely a second to regroup before he aimed a kick at my head. I rolled aside just in time, only to be punched under the chin.

My teeth clamped down on my tongue, and soon my mouth filled with blood. He gave me enough time to get to my feet, taking a small break for himself while I checked that I still had all my teeth.

I spat the mix of saliva and blood onto the floor and wiped my chin as I faced him again.

The heat was unbearable, sucking out any energy I had left. My shorts and hair were soaked too. If we didn’t end the fight soon, we would pass out from heat exhaustion.

I pushed my knuckles against my chin, turning my head enough for my neck to emit a satisfying click, and then rounded on the man standing between me and getting home to Lily.

I prodded the bruise blooming on my left hip as Seb and I made our way to the back of the basement to collect our winnings, joining the line of other fighters also bearing wounds from their fights tonight. I was still spitting blood from the bite on my tongue while Seb had a tissue stuffed up one nostril.

“I think he punched me in the face with my own fist,” Seb said as he massaged the bridge of his nose.

I huffed a laugh as I pulled the bottom of my shirt up to wipe more blood from my mouth. “The boss wants you to get a new phone. He’s been trying to get a hold of you and his patience is wearin’ thin.”