Page 14 of Red Captive

“What do you think you’re doing?” he says as he puts me down. Before I can answer, he goes on. “Rex doesn’t deserve what’s coming his way, and it’s all because of you.” He gives me a light shove on my back as the hold is opened.

I put a hand in front of my face as light floods the interior. “What will they do to him?” I ask. “It isn’t his fault.”

“Don’t pretend to care. I hope they make you watch. You deserve to watch.”

A tiny sob leaves my lips. What’s wrong with these people…? Shifters, I remind myself. They’re part animal. It’s easy to forget that. But, in moments like this, it’s impossible not to have it at the forefront of my mind.

4

Steel

Sweat trickles down my brow. Is it just me, or is it as hot as hell in here today? I circle my neck, rolling my shoulders and jogging on the spot, trying to loosen up.

I’m always tense before a fight.

Always!

“You know the rules,” the adjudicator bellows. He’s standing between us. “No shifting. No killing. Everything else is fully acceptable. The fight will go on until only one of you is still standing.” He eyes each of us as he talks.

I look over at my opponent, who growls at me, showing me his teeth. He’s bigger and uglier than I am. I’m fitter and more muscled than ever, but he outweighs me by a ton. He’s also slow and stupid as fuck. I’m sure I can take him. I know it and it isn’t arrogance talking.

“Steel! Steel! Steel!” the crowd chants my name. They have seen me take down similar males before, and they will again.

I’d better take him since I bet every last cent I own on winning this bout. The odds are in my favor, and therefore, thewinnings won’t be as much as I would like them to be. Maybe it’s time I threw a fight or two. Not this one. I literally can’t afford to lose this particular match. The rent is due. I can’t be late for a second month running. My landlord warned me. There’s very little food left in my refrigerator. I’m a sorry case who lives from hand to mouth. I can’t believe my life has come to this.

I pull my head out of my ass. This is no time for wallowing in self-pity. I have to win.

“Once the buzzer sounds, you can begin,” the male says as he leaves the cage, the door clanging shut behind him.

The crowd goes wild. “Steel! Steel! Steel!”

The buzzer sounds, and the huge brute comes at me with a snarl, his big paws swiping even before he reaches me. I duck and roll out of the way, hearing the thud as his foot makes impact with the dirt in the spot I just moved away from. I push up off the ground and leap at him, my fists already flying. I punch him in the stomach and the side of his ribs, putting my full weight behind the blows and feeling the satisfying crunch of bone beneath my knuckles. That’ll put him on the back foot for the rest of the fight.

Perfect.

He stumbles back, gasping for breath. I see my chance to deliver a swift uppercut to his jaw, but I don’t take it. It’s as expected; he’s slow and cumbersome. I need to stay out of the way of his meaty punches, and I’ll be just fine. I can’t finish him too quickly, or I won’t get my full pay for this fight. My manager Roscoe likes the audience to get a show. He doesn’t like me taking down opponents in the first round. I’ve lost cash before. I can’t afford to lose out again. Instead of delivering the hard blow I want to, I dance around him, letting my fists glance off him so that he can catch his breath.

I dodge his clumsy swings with ease and land a few well-placed punches, keeping him off-balance. I don’t hit him toohard; it’s enough to put on a show, and the crowd goes crazy, lapping it up.

“Steel! Steel!” they continue to chant my name.

The smell of sweat and blood hangs heavy in the air. My opponent staggers, breathing hard. The air is thick with humidity; it clings to my skin.

Thankfully, the big brute finds his feet, giving a quick shake of his head to clear it. His dark eyes focus on me. He growls low, scales popping up on his chest.

“No shifting,” the adjudicator yells from the side of the cage. “Or it’s an immediate forfeit,” he warns.

We dance around one another for a few seconds. The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the round. I step back, panting and wiping the sweat from my brow. The crowd is cheering, and Roscoe hollers from the sidelines. I accept a drink of water through the cage bars, taking a deep breath as I turn back to scan my opponent, assessing how much fight is left in him. He has a bloody eyebrow and a purple bruise forming on his ribs, but he still looks in decent shape.

Good!

I’ll put on a good show for the crowd and then finish him before the end of the next round. I stand, stepping back into the center of the ring, ready to end it. The buzzer goes, and my opponent charges at me, but I’m quick on my feet and dodge his blows with ease. I land a few solid punches, one in the kidney and one to his side, just enough to remind him that I’m not going anywhere.

He tries to hit me back, but I dodge his attempts easily. He has a clear tell. He rolls his weight over the sole of his foot on the opposite side of attack. It lasts a split second but is enough to inform me of what he plans next. I know where the blows are coming from. It’s handy information to have.

I’ve worked tirelessly to eradicate all tells from my routine. To keep myself fast and fit and agile.

I allow one of his blows to land in a way that does minimal damage and then feint a step back as if I am off balance. It lures him in. The male is grinning, already picturing a victory. Then, I dash forward and land a decisive blow to his temple, sending him crashing to the ground like a felled tree. It isn’t so hard that he’ll stay down, but hard enough to give the crowd a taste of what is to come. I hold my arms up high, tilting my chin to show confidence. As expected, the crowd goes nuts. I glance over at my manager, and he gives a nod of approval. If the audience is happy, then he is happy. It means that they will want to come back and, more importantly, that they will want to spend their money.

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