Page 34 of Prince of Malice

Where is he going?

I already know I wont catch up to him on foot, so I turn back around and dash for the car in the driveway. Climbing inside andtaking the spare set of keys from the glove box, I peek through the windshield, seeing him disappear from view as he makes his way farther down the street. The car starts and I chase after him, speeding down the driveway and swinging around the corner straight out of the gate.

In the time it took me to get out there, he must have made it a couple of blocks as any sign of him is already gone. Steadying my pace, I check all around me as I look for anything that could show me where he went. Yet the streets are empty, and no pedestrians or cars occupy the roads or sidewalks. There is simply nothing around.

That is until a quick streak of bright purple hurtles in front of me, blasting through the intersection without a second thought and flies onward. Even as it moves past at such a perilous speed, I can still manage to identify the car. It’s the same car that was in the alleyway last night, the one that Dominic had for the race. Was he behind the wheel?

It doesn’t matter. I have to go after him before he involves himself in some other dangerous activity.

The car ahead tears through the streets of Montcove, showing no care or caution for other drivers. I follow as close as I can, struggling to match their speed in the luxury SUV I drive. In the distance, the sports car takes a rough turn around a street corner, and I watch on in total disbelief. Is this how Dominic and his friends drive?

They make yet another turn, their path starting to seem familiar. I think they’re taking the scenic route, but they’re definitely heading back to the Valmont College Campus.

Hopefully this means he won’t get himself into anything stupid. I pray that all he’s doing is getting a ride home from an overly reckless friend so that he can go back to his dorm and sleep the evening off. Please tell me that’s all this is.

Pulling into the campus’s parking lot, I see their vehicle parked and unoccupied. Not too far ahead, I can make out the shape ofDominic and another shorter man walking alongside him.

But they’re not heading back to the dorms. They’re not heading toward any of the fraternity or sorority houses or anywhere I would expect them to go. They’re heading to the college gym.

I park up a good distance away from them, hopping out the car and trying to keep a low profile as I follow after them on foot.

Checking my watch, I know for a fact that it’s way past the gym’s open hours, so why are they both heading inside?

This whole thing put me on edge. Something about it all just makes me feel uneasy. This isn’t right and won’t end well.

I need to go after him. Why do I always need to go after him?

11

DOMINIC

The gym’s locker room is somehow colder than it normally is, and I chalk the harsher temperature up to the late-night climate mixing with the fall season. No matter what, though, I have to push past it. Tearing the shirt from my body, I toss it to the side and embrace the frosty bite of the air.

“You ready for this?” Angelo asks with an unhinged grin.

“I’m ready,” I reply. Bobbing my head and loosening my joints, I do my best to psych myself up. “Put them on.”

Displaying my hands in front of me,Angelo takes them individually and begins covering them with the cotton hand wraps beside him. He fastens the soft material around my wrists, wrapping them over my knuckles and threading them between my fingers.

Once they’re finally secure, I crash my knuckles into each other, rhythmically punching my fists together to make sure they’re properly fastened.

“I’m ready,” I huff.

“Alright then,” Angelo replies. “Let’s get you out there.”

It is time to fight.

The air is thick with the clashing smells of sweat and pure adrenaline, and the odor clings to my skin as I throw out heavy blow after heavy blow. Swinging toward my opponent, I grunt with each attempted punch. Still, none of them seem to be able to land.

My competitor is much smaller than I am, a much shorter and wiry man who, at first sight, I had considered to be an easy match. What he lacks in size and stature,however, he certainly makes up for with speed.

He ducks and dodges beneath each of my strikes, my best hit on him so far being a glancing elbow off of his left shoulder. But he’s not fighting back yet.

Cheers erupt from the intimate crowd, each of them emitting their own harsh barks of encouragement at whichever of us they put their money on winning. The raucous noise makes the small crowd sound like a coliseum of hundreds. Still, I can’t help but smirk, thinking about the cash flow coming from the angry and disappointed betters who picked the wrong dog in this fight.

Valmont’s gym was usually pristine, freshly polished, and well lit in every corner, but tonight, its floors are rough with the shoes of the crowd scuffing the hardwood and the lights are dim with a single ceiling bulb creating a spotlight on the centre ring where I fight, leaving the crowd almost faceless as they’re drenched in shadows.

I refocus my attention onto my opponent. I draw my fists back to my chest, giving myself a moment to catch my breath and wait for him to strike back.

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