Page 11 of Endo

Back in the kitchen, the kettle whistles. I pour the steaming water over the tea bag in my favorite mug, the one Cruz got me as a joke—it’s shaped like a turtle, awkward and adorable. The tea steeps as I move to the small tank in the corner of the living room, kneeling to feed the fish. The tiny blue beta swims lazily to the surface, nibbling at the flakes I sprinkle in. “Hey, Blue,” I murmur. “At least you’re still kicking, huh?”

The helmet catches my eye from the corner of the table. I set my mug down and approach it slowly, as if it might shatter under my gaze. “Van Doren” is scrawled across the side in bold, neon green letters, the paint still vivid despite the scuffs and scratches marring its surface. The deep dents along the top and sides are a brutal reminder of what it endured—and what Cruz didn’t. This was the helmet he was wearing that day, the one he called his lucky charm.

I reach out, my fingers trembling as they trace over the grooves left by the crash. The once-smooth surface is now a patchwork of jagged edges and splintered paint, the damage a haunting echo of that moment. My chest tightens with every second I hold it, the weight of it pulling me under.

The memories flood in—his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he grinned, the late-night rides we used to take with the wind whipping around us and the whole world melting away. He swore this helmet made him faster, sharper like nothing could touch him. But something did. Something cruel and unstoppable, and now all I have left is this battered piece of him.

Tears sting my eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down my cheeks before I can stop them. I swipe at them angrily, hating how they make me feel so fucking weak. But it’s not weakness. I know that.

It’s love. It’s loss.

It’s missing him so much it feels like someone reached inside me and tore out a part of my soul.

Revel’s words from earlier echo in my mind the way he said,“They didn’t show, but they will.”A part of me is glad the Speed Demons weren’t at the strip tonight. Seeing them again would’ve been too much. Too raw. But another part of me aches for them. Reign, Talon, Sayshen, Draygon, Wolfe, Thorne—they were my family once, too, before everything fell apart. Before being around them felt like holding a match to my grief and waiting for the explosion.

I clutch the helmet tightly as I sink onto the couch. The tea sits untouched on the table, forgotten. The helmet gleams under the faint light, a painful reminder of everything I’ve lost and everything I’m still holding onto. My thumb brushes over the letters on the side, my voice breaking the silence as I whisper into the void.

“I miss you so much, babe.” The words hang in the air, heavy and unanswered.

5

REIGN

Let me be sad - I Prevail

The Iron Pitis a fucking blood bath—loud, sweaty, and full of people who either want to see blood or spill some of their own. It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I need. The roar of the crowd drowns out the mess in my head, the guilt, the anger, the ache that never goes away. My knuckles are already wrapped, the skin beneath bruised and raw from too many nights like this, but I barely feel it anymore. The whiskey buzz in my veins is doing its job, keeping the edges soft, and keeping me steady.

I step into the ring, and the crowd surges closer, their voices a chaotic blur. Across from me, the guy I’m about to fight grins like he’s already won. Big bastard—broad shoulders, thick neck, fists like anvils. He looks like he belongs here. But so do I.

The ref calls for the fight to start, and the guy charges like a bull, all brute force and no finesse. I let him come, slipping to the side at the last second. He stumbles, and I hit him hard in the ribs—once, twice—just to show him I’m not here to play games. He grunts, swinging wildly, but he’s too slow. Too predictable.

Every hit I land feels like a small release, a fraction of the pressure inside me easing for just a second. The anger, the frustration—it all bleeds out through my fists. It’s the only thing that works. Drinking dulls the pain, sure, but fighting lets me pour it out, lets me hurt someone else instead of myself for a change.

The guy lands a punch to my jaw, snapping my head to the side. Pain flares, sharp and hot, but it barely registers. I wipe the blood from the corner of my mouth and grin. “That all you got?” I taunt, my voice rough and slurred from the booze.

He roars, lunging at me again, but this time I’m ready. My fists fly—jab, hook, uppercut—and each one finds its mark. His cheek splits under my knuckles, blood spraying in an arc that paints the air. The crowd goes wild, their cheers a deafening wave, but I barely hear them. All I can focus on is the fight, the way each punch takes me further from the shitstorm in my head.

When he finally goes down, it’s like watching a tree fall. He crumples to the ground, motionless, and the ref calls it. The fight’s over.

I won, again. Not that it means a damn thing to me.

I stagger out of the ring, my chest heaving, my fists trembling from the adrenaline. The organizer meets me at the edge, clapping a hand on my shoulder. He’s a wiry guy with sharp eyes and a perpetual smirk, the kind of asshole who profits off other people’s pain.

“Jesus, Reign,” he says, shaking his head like he’s impressed. “You’re a fucking beast, you know that? Legs all busted up, and you’re still dropping guys twice your size.”

“Yeah, well,” I mutter, brushing past him to grab my towel, “maybe they should try harder.”

He laughs, low and mean. “You keep this up, you’ll be the main attraction around here. Hell, people love a fighter with a limp. Makes ‘em root for you.”

I glare at him, the whiskey and the fight leaving my patience razor-thin. “I’m not your goddamn sideshow,” I snap, shoving past him to the back room where the winnings are handed out.

The envelope of cash feels heavy in my hand, but I don’t bother counting it. I shove it into my jacket pocket with the other ones from previous fights that still remain untouched, and head for the exit, my steps unsteady but determined. The crowd’s still buzzing, their energy crackling in the air, but I’m done with them.

Done with all of it.

And then I see her.

Blonde hair catches the dim light, her profile just visible through the sea of bodies. My heart stutters, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.Lena.

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