Page 14 of From Best To Bested

Something about this blow, though… The crowd gasped, adding to the ticking seconds of silence while Roman recovered. Blood painted his face, blurring the vision on his right side. Had Ezra been wearing brass knuckles? No, that was merely hope on Roman’s part. He’d wanted Ezra to cheat, to pull something deceptive, anything to answer for why he struck so hard and now seemed to stand unfazed by the barrage of hits he’d taken.

Ezra stood tall and ready and not at all shaken. Roman, on the other hand, couldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t remove the dread that ate away at his insides, he couldn’t silence the taunting crowd, he couldn’t even calm his erratic heartbeat that added to the panic. Ignoring his headwound at the very least, Roman swept in to continue, but Ezra was already finished with this fight. No longer interested in teasing out the last shreds of Roman’s hope, Ezra spun around and kicked Roman across the head, sparking a terrible pain on the left side of his face.

When he hit the concrete ground, Roman didn’t know if he’d crashed headfirst or if the two strikes had really taken that much out of him. He struggled to get up, struggled to ignore the laughing crowd, struggled to fight back the looming shadows.

Chapter Five

Roman awoke in the infirmary and lay silently wishing he could vanish from the face of the earth. The first defeat was devastating, filled with waves of embarrassment for his arrogance getting the best of him, but his second defeat was downright demoralizing. Shame crawled under his skin. Each breath he wheezed held a bitterness that ached his insides.

He’d lost a second challenge. He’d lost after declaring so much confidence. He’d lost after three hits. Maybe. That was all he could remember. The first one clocked hard and left him groggy. The second one, though… That hit knocked him off his feet. Was there a third strike? A blow that left him unconscious? Roman wanted to believe that. He wanted to hope there was some reason for his utter failure. He truly hoped he’d blacked out and would learn they’d gone more rounds, that Roman had put up a true fight, but that seemed more pathetic than wishful. Fixating on the fight itself almost drowned out the laughter in the arena. Mostly, he wanted to dwell on something, on anything other than the wager he’d made.

Much to his dismay, the nurse quickly discharged Roman and sent him on his way. He ignored the jokes at his expense and even the few men who walked up, instigating and ready to fight over any random perceived offense. Roman knew it was bluster, arrogance, and something that usually didn’t come hisway. Most people didn’t bother him because they knew as the champion, he’d fucking obliterate them.

Without that title, people assumed he couldn’t fight or hold his own anymore. Two failures and all his successes were washed away entirely. But Roman knew he could take anyone who actually challenged him. Right? He wondered that more and more as he walked through the cellblock. He’d known for certain he could win the fight, yet he’d been wrong about that, too.

It didn’t take long for him to reach Ezra’s cell, the champion’s suite, Roman’s former living quarters that he’d worked so hard to better. Until Roman came along, there was no need for a champion’s suite. The longest reigning champion before Roman was Jake the Snake, and he’d barely held onto the title for two months before Roman knocked him off the pedestal. Maybe that was why Jake and the others could still hold their heads high. Their fall hadn’t been nearly as far. Roman held the title for over a year. Countless bouts, continuous victories, challengers ripped to shreds when faced with him, and yet none of that meant a thing anymore.

Roman kept his head low as he knocked on the open cell door and stepped inside. He didn’t want to see the nice wooden desk with functional drawers—something even most staff in the facility lacked. He didn’t want to see his shameful reflection in the wall mirror. He didn’t want to look at the plush cushioned chair in the corner opposite the bunkbeds. Most of all, Roman didn’t want to be here.

“Damn.” Ezra clapped his hands. “I had twenty on you not even showing. Guess we both lost a wager today.”

Heat filled Roman’s chest.

“You ready?” Ezra crossed the cell and closed the door, using his body to sort of push Roman deeper into the room.

“No.” Roman ground his teeth.

“I guess I can try to set the mood,” Ezra said with a little laugh. “What’s the ambiance for ‘deflower me, Daddy’?”

Roman shot Ezra such a sharp glare that if it’d been an actual swing, Ezra would have been knelt over and winded.

“I’m kidding,” Ezra teased. “I mean, not entirely. I’m gonna fuck you, and I won’t be gentle. I’m not gonna break you, but you’ll be walking with a limp to the cafeteria tomorrow.”

Roman couldn’t speak. He couldn’t risk saying something rude, flat out refusing Ezra, because it wasn’t just him on the line. He’d done this to help Levi. If he backed out here and now, after failing, Levi would continue to suffer.

“You came to me with the deal, dude,” Ezra said, stirring Roman from his thoughts. “I’m just here tocumand collect.”

Roman gritted his teeth, which only masked part of his feral huff.

“If we’re gonna be friends, you’re gonna have to learn to take a joke.” Ezra grinned, his entire expression light and carefree, except for his green eyes. There was malice in them, hidden behind the smile lines. “And learn to take dick. Lots of learning for you.”

“We’re not friends,” Roman finally said. Declared. Announced. Willed himself to state without cursing Ezra in the process. “We won’t be friends. I’ll room here. You’ll get me at night, whatever, but I’m my own person, and when we’re not fucking, you don’t speak to me.”

Ezra sucked his teeth while taking a sharp inhale. “Yeah, that’s not how this works. You offered yourself to me. I agreed because I want you. All of you. I get all of you. Friendship. Submission. Loyalty. Everything. Everything you do moving forward will revolve around me. Everything I do moving forward will ensure your protection and happiness. You will be mine in every sense of the word or not at all.”

“No,” Roman said flatly.

Ezra called it friendship, but it was just another word for being his full-time bitch, and Roman couldn’t muster that. He couldn’t stand here willing himself to be fucked. It was disgusting and degrading and demoralizing. Pride filled his chest with every breath, and he snarled at Ezra.

“The deal’s off,” Roman said. “Fuck you and fuck your friendship.”

“Well, pretty sure you just said we wouldn’t be doing that, but okay,” Ezra said with a playful shrug as he walked away. There was a swagger in his hips, something an old western cowboy might do. “You want to renege on the deal you made, that’s your choice.”

Choice. Christ, how Roman hated that word. He’d heard it so many times in his life it rang hollow. It was his choice to go to a local state school so he could stay close to his family and support them or his choice to take the out-of-state scholarship opportunity. It was his choice to celebrate with his friends after finals or stay in and be a boring loser. It was his choice to take another shot or be the group bitch who couldn’t handle his drinks. It was his choice to listen to some drunk trash-talk him or walk away. When he swung, when he struck the man down, he watched all his choices slowly disappear.

He failed to stop, making the wrong choice, and his violent actions knocked a friend into oncoming traffic. His deadbeat parents vanished when the charges came in, too busy taking care of the rest of the family, and since Roman couldn’t afford to bail them out since he didn’t even have enough money for his own bail, they didn’t need him anymore. No one called. No one visited. No one sent cards.

He had the choice to accept the terrible plea deal presented or go to trial, where even his lawyer made it clear they’d eviscerate him.

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