Page 5 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

Time to bleed.

The underground fight ring is exactly as I remember—dimly lit, the air thick with sweat, blood, and desperation. A place where men like me come to bleed so we don’t drown in our own heads. Before Willow, before the cartel consumed every piece of me, this was my escape. I fought here every other night, letting my fists speak for me. Some fights I won. Some I lost. But no matter the outcome, the pain was an anchor, keeping my demons at bay—if only for a little while.

The crowd is already restless, drunk on violence, their cheers echoing off the concrete walls as another fight reachesits brutal end. I shrug off my jacket, rolling my shoulders as I step deeper into the pit.

The moment I cross the threshold, the energy shifts.

Men who thrive on bloodshed and broken bones turn their heads, their conversations faltering as they recognize me. Eyes track my movements—some filled with respect, others with wary caution, and a few with something closer to fear. Not because of the Castillo name. Not because of the empire I command. No, here, none of that matters. The only thing that does is what I’ve done in this ring. The damage I’ve inflicted. The men I’ve left twitching on the ground, barely breathing, barely alive.

No one challenges me. No one speaks. The crowd parts on instinct, like they know better. Because they do.

I stride forward, unbothered by the sweat-stained stench of adrenaline and desperation. Men twice my size shift out of my path. Fighters—killers in their own right—avert their gazes. Some nod in acknowledgment, others murmur my name under their breath like a warning.

“Castillo’s back,” someone whispers.

“Heard he put a guy in a coma last time.”

“No ref here to save him if he snaps again.”

They aren’t wrong.

Before Willow, I was a machine. I didn’t fight to win. I fought to destroy. To erase every ounce of emotion, every creeping thought of weakness, with the brutal symphony of knuckles against bone. I fought because it was the only thing that made sense in the chaos of my life.

And now?

Now I’m back.

Now I need to remind myself what it feels like to be that man again.

The crowd presses closer, the noise swelling as bets are placed, drinks are downed, and the energy in the room turns feverish. I spot a few familiar faces—men I’ve broken, men who’ve tried and failed to break me. One of them, a fighter with a jagged scar along his temple, locks eyes with me. He swallows hard and turns away.

Good.

I roll my neck, shaking off the last remnants of hesitation. My fingers flex, eager for the first hit, the first snap of pain that will drown out everything else.

A rough chuckle cuts through the thick air.

“Shit, look who decided to crawl back into the pit.”

I turn my head, already recognizing the voice before I see the man behind it. Ramón Ortega—grizzled, scarred, and built like he’s been bench-pressing street bikes since birth. He’s been running these fights since before I was old enough to throw a proper punch, and unlike the rest of these fuckers, he doesn’t flinch when I meet his gaze.

“Figured you were too busy playing cartel prince these days,” Ramón drawls, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “What, the throne getting too soft for you?”

I snort, shaking his offered hand. His grip is firm, calloused, and familiar. “Needed to remind myself what a real fight feels like.”

Ramón barks out a laugh, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder. “That’s funny—I was just telling the boys here howyou damn near killed a guy last time. Thought maybe you finally grew a conscience.”

I smirk. “You know me better than that.”

He grins, showing a gold tooth. “That I do.” His eyes flick over me, sharp and assessing. “But I also know this ain’t just about the fight. This about a girl?”

My jaw ticks, and Ramón must see the answer in my face because he whistles low. “Ah, so that’s it. I should’ve known. It’s always about a girl.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter, rolling my shoulders.

Ramón laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “Hey, no judgment. Just don’t go murdering anyone in my ring tonight, yeah? You’ve already got the bookies scared shitless.”

I shake my head, exhaling sharply. “You got someone for me or not?”

---