Page 1 of The Lies We Steal

Alistair

I always knew I was born with a ravenous appetite for violence.

Destined to be the black sheep of my family.

They should learn to warn others about the children that are left to cultivate with the absence of light. When you take away their luster, the darkness doesn’t just become a part of them, they become the darkness.

Power rippled through my arm as I felt this kid’s nose shatter. My knuckles dug into the flesh of his face chasing the only thing that could sustain my hunger.

Pain.

The tall, lanky moron who’d thought it would be a good idea to challenge me fell hard to the ground with a thud.

In official mixed martial arts you’re supposed to stop when your opponent falls that hard.

Fortunately for me, this is The Graveyard. The abandoned racetrack on the outskirts of town, where kids gather from surrounding areas in search of trouble. Illegal street racing, fights, drugs, and half naked girls. It’s the Garden of Eden for rich kids. The grass in the middle of the cracked asphalt circle was where the fights took place, all the while engines roared and echoed seeing whose daddy bought machine would pass the finish line first.

The Graveyard is the place you come to get buried. Especially if you’re up against me.

I charge forward mounting him while pressing my knee so far into his gut I could feel his organs shift below me. My agile fists, heaving punch after punch to his already inflamed face. My breaths rush out methodically, each point of contact I let out another breath. There are hands grabbing at my shoulders, clawing at me to stop.

I don’t care, it only makes my knee press harder. My fists bludgeon him mercilessly.

Why should I let up because he was stupid enough to step into this ring with me?

Seems like a personal problem.

My heart is thrashing inside my chest, the energy coursing through my veins like drums in my ears. It blends with the screams of the people around us, the revved engines, and the smell of oil.

Fuck, what I would give to feel like this every second of the day.

I deliver a right hook, watching as my ring imprints my initials onto the tender skin of his cheek, splitting it right open above the letters A.C.

A gush of searing blood splatters across my chest from his face. A ferocious roar rips through me, the crimson liquid acting as gasoline to the flames inside my body. It wasn’t the blood I wanted though. I wanted his agony. I wanted to see him hurt. I wanted to know that he’d need to be carried to his car tonight, driven home and he’d probably crawl to his fucking bed. Where he’d stay for the next week because the bruises I imprinted were too much to handle.

It made chills speed down my spine.

That’s my not so secret, secret.

I’m always, always angry.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Caldwell, let him up! That’s enough, man!” The voice rings between my ears, but I throw one last punch, before shrugging the eager hands off my skin.

The circle of people around us chant for the brutality that had just taken place.The inability to turn away from tragedy or disaster. All of them are the same as me on the inside, addicted to the cruelty. They’re just too afraid to admit it.

I hate cowards. And every goddamn person in this fucking town is one.

Monsters behind masks terrified of their neighbors seeing the skeletons they keep shoving into their closets. What they don’t know is you can’t keep anything a secret in Ponderosa Springs. Not for long.

I know that better than anyone.

Shades of red flash behind my eyes as I stand up, hot spit coming from my mouth and landing right next to his groaning body. He’s lucky he’s able to make noises, even more fortunate he isn’t dead.

Besides the blood on my chest, there isn’t a mark on my skin. Which almost makes me angrier. Nothing challenges me anymore. I clench my jaw, as I turn around, the mass of people parting like the Red Sea, leaving me an open pathway to exit.

“Money for the bets.” One of the older guys running this chaotic shit, presses crumpled up bills into my chest. I look down at it, then back at him.

“Keep it.” I grunt.

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