Page 11 of Hunter's Trial

I have the reputation that I do for a reason.

Brutal in all shapes of the word. This guy tonight actually outweighed me by at least fifty pounds. But, unlike the others that fight here, I have almost nothing to lose. I don’t have a moral compass to guide me and hunger is a damned good motivator. That’s probably why sitting here on a busted wooden bench in a dirty, sweat stained back room with rusting lockers I’m practically floating. Dinner tonight is going to taste particularly perfect. It always does on a night when I win a fight. Hell, I might even be able to pay the rest of rent from tonight’s win. My eye is starting to swell shut. I just want to get my earnings and head home so I can have a well-deserved shower.

I stuff my belongings and bloodied fighting gear into a bag between my feet. I carefully pull on a plain black t-shirt over my bruised torso, choosing to ignore the way it sticks to the blood clotting over a wound on my side. I pull on my shoes and start to zip everything up when the door swings open and shut. I’m always on guard. Always. Can’t grow up on the streets without having such senses practically engraved into your person.

Sounds like three people at least, moving slowly. I don’t turn or look up at them. I don’t want them to think that whoever they are, that they are capable of intimidating me when they aren’t.

“That was a hell of a show out there, kid.”

I’m glad that my fists are still wrapped. Men coming up on me in the changing room? It sends all of the wrong signals. It seems that I’m not done fighting for the night after all. At least the adrenaline is still lingering in my veins. I roll my head toward them to see what I’m working with. An older man in a fine suit and long black overcoat. Flanking him are two men younger in age, closer to my own, a good deal larger than the man in charge. I like to think that I know almost all of the high rollers that frequent these boxing rings but this man is a total stranger to me.

“Bets have to be placed with the ring master.” I say flatly and lift my bag up there onto the bench beside me and wait for their intentions. I either can wait to see how this plays out and find out what they want from me - or I can attack first. If I stand around and wait for any more information, there’s a chance that they will flank me or they might get the drop on me somehow. I can’t allow that. So I do the only thing that I can do - I attack. The chalk that we use here to cover our hands and feet before matches is in little bags by the lockers. I grab a handful and hurl it toward the largest of the men before barreling into the man closest to me. I keep my head down first as my shoulder collides with them. He lets out a grand gust of air as I take him by surprise. If they are people who bet against me and want their money back or a pound of flesh, they sure as shit aren’t going to get it from me.

The older man moves out of the way of the fight. I swing and hit the two larger ones. One of whom goes down and smacks his head against one of the lockers with a sickening crunch that I can’t allow myself to be bothered by. I have to focus on the fight in front of me. A familiar calm takes over my whole body every time I’m placed in a situation like this. My breathing is ragged from my broken ribs. I’m already tired and it’s not going to be easy but I never knew how to quit things even if I wanted to.

Two more men come in the room to the sounds of scuffle. I can’t take them. I know that I can’t. But it doesn’t mean that I’m not going to try anyway.

I fight them with everything I have until they have me pinned down and at their mercy. I swear I nearly dislocate a shoulder as I try to wrestle free from their hold. The older man steps in front of me and the hold that they have me in. I expect a punch or a slap. That’s usually how these things go. Instead, the old man looks impressed with me. He moves to squat down in front of me, grabbing my chin to turn my face this way and that for his inspection. I’m sorely tempted to spit blood right in his arrogantly smug face.

“Well, if I wasn’t sure whose bastard you were before, I certainly am sure now.” he says ominously.

I don’t bother attempting to give him a response as he releases my face. I don’t have any idea what he means.

“You have no idea who I am, do you boy?”

His accent is familiar, the way that he warps his words as he speaks. It feels like something I’ve heard before but for the life of me cannot remember from where.

“Seems to me like you’re some prick in a place that he’s not supposed to be.” I smirk, knowing full well that it’s going to get me hit. At least that’s usually how it goes.

“I’m your father, boy.” He says, and all of the noise save for a ringing in my ears seems to empty out of my head.

Rage clouds my vision and I swear that everything seems to go red. My father? Is he serious? If there was anybody on this planet that I wanted dead more than anything, it is the bastard who has sired me. To be gone from my life during all of the formative years and then only to show up when I’m finally starting to make a name for myself? Getting some glory after all of this time? He abandoned my mother. He left us to beg for scraps and to struggle for my whole life and he’s here dripping wealth? Fuck him. I hate him. I would kill him right here and right now.

“Now, now. I admire your fire, boy. There’s a time and a place for that. You will join my Bratva and we will hone this wild fire that you’re showing. There’s still time to mold you into something useful. But fighting me? You have to earn that right.” My father continues.

“Fuck you.” I don’t care who he is or how much money he has. My mother needs me. Unlike this prick, I’m not going to abandon her like that. She won’t survive without me. Everybody always leaves her. I won’t do that to her. No matter what the consequences might be.

“I want you on a plane at the end of the month to Moscow. It’s time that you come to terms with your heritage. You have a duty to your bloodline.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Charming, but if you want to have a real future then that’s exactly what you’re going to do. There’s nothing more for you here. But, since I’m feeling generous, I will give you to the end of the week to come to your senses.” The man says with a long lingering look at me before signaling for his men to abruptly release me. They do and I fall heavily onto the ground. With the way that I land, I swear there’s a rib poking into my damned lung.

“Count!” A guard announces as the door to our prison cell slams open. All four of the men in this cell slide to their feet at the same time. I land heavily on my feet at the foot of the bed. The guard moves in with a small circular counter in his hand. He clicks once for each of us.

It’s so damned demeaning to have to play along with this. I know that beyond a shadow of a doubt, all of them could be dead by my hand in a matter of moments only. I have to keep calm. I have to find a way to weather my temper one way or another. I have to jump when they say jump and do whatever else they might say. Even if it fucking kills me.

When I’m out of here, then everything will change.

CHAPTER SEVEN

KATE

The drive to Fort Worth from Houston is just long enough to allow my mind to wander.

Horus is at my house, keeping things safe. It’s about the only reason that I feel comfortable enough to make drives like this. I don’t like being this far away from Liz. Something about not being able to get to her in the moment of her need is deeply unsettling for me. It almost sparks anxiety. But Horus won’t let anything happen to her. I know that he won’t let anything happen to her. I just have to keep repeating that to myself.

I also don’t like the fact that spending so many hours in the car means that my mind has abundant time to wander into places that it’s shouldn’t. I haven’t met Alek in person yet. We’ve been exchanging emails and speaking on the phone but this will be a whole new experience. I’ve stepped into a life that I don’t recognize.