Page 28 of In the Light of Sin

“Blood matches. Whoever draws first blood wins.” That still didn’t sound better than death matches. “Don’t worry. No one has ever landed a punch on Sarge. Doubt they ever will, fucker was built for the ring.”

I eyed the ring worryingly, not liking that. I knew Sarge had a violent streak, but I never imagined him being a part of anything like this.

I should’ve just stayed at Sarge’s like a good girl. I could’ve snooped in his room. I could’ve cleaned the already spotless place…

But no. I had to make sure he was okay after our argument and jeopardized my life in the process.

Music blasted suddenly as the lights dimmed, the men and women around us cheering as I slammed my eyes shut, my hands immediately going to my ears. With frantic fingers, I ripped my aids out, feeling the old plastic tear at the sores in my ear canals. Everything was muted as I took a shaky breath, trying to regain my bearings.

I felt the music thumping on my skin. It was fast-paced as a man came out of the tunnel on the other side of the ring. When he smiled, you could see his white teeth from a mile away as he held up his wrapped knuckles, mouth open, and clearly yelling, trying to get the audience hyped up. He made it to the ring, pulling himself up on the ropes before running around the perimeter. He was shirtless, in very good shape, with traditional boxing shorts. He had more lithe muscles, but his agility would go a long way compared to a broader man.

The place went dark once again. The music went from a high tempo to one that vibrated less.

A tap on my shoulder made me flinch as Tyrant’s ice-blue eyes looked down at me. Thankfully I could read his lips under the bright lights. “You okay?”

No. No, I wasn’t. My ears felt like they were bleeding. There were too many people here.

I wanted Sarge.

The lights started to flicker rapidly like a strobe. The tempo of the vibrations changed from upbeat to something like a low bass. The lights came on again, and I put my hands over my ears to try to stop the loud, muffled noises from the crowd’s cheers. My eyes widened as I watched him come down the ramp.

Sarge.

He wore his usual cut-off hoodie, and instead of jeans, he wore black shorts that ended above his knees. My eyes trailed down to the skin of Sarge’s calves that I’d never seen before.

His left shin was severely scarred, while his right was perfectly fine.

Sarge got in the opposite corner, his opponent trash-talking him aggressively, judging by his wild body language. But he was calm and collected like I knew Sarge to be. Someone in a black and white stripped stepped in the middle of the ring. Since it was above ground level and we were in the front row, I could read his lips.

“Welcome to the Blood match between Sarge and Kel!” My ears throbbed as the cheers around us grew louder, but I bit the inside of my cheek to deter some of it. “The first one who bleeds loses. The final bets are already in. Gentleman, I want a good match. Give the crowd what they want!”

I have to remind myself to breathe, in and out, in and out. The louder the cheers got, the more pain I was feeling. With the shape my ears were in, I really need to take a few days off from my aids and let them try to heal after tonight. The referee signaled Sarge and Kel to come to the center of the ring. Kel put his fist out to knock against Sarge, but he didn’t return the gesture. Looks like, with Kel’s smirk, it was expected. He lowered his hand, and the referee stepped away.

Sarge stayed still while Kel danced on his feet. His fist reared back, and it looked like Sarge wasn’t going to dodge—

“Watch out!” I called, making Sarge’s head snap in my direction. His brief pause was enough of an opening for his opponent to get a good hit on him, making me cover my mouth, eyes wide with surprise as the vibrations stopped beating my skin.

That man hit Sarge.

Tyrant told me no one’s ever landed a punch on Sarge.

Slowly, Sarge turned his body towards the cocky man who was dancing on his feet, fists still raised, prepared for another hit. He swung, and Sarge sidestepped him, grabbing his wrist with one hand and his bicep with the other. His opponent’s face flashed with fear as Sarge’s bruising grip thrust his arm down while bringing his knee up, hitting it right on the man’s elbow and snapping his arm in half at the hinge.

Nausea pooled in my gut as my hand went to my mouth.

I could feel everyone’s eyes. I knew there was a mix of confusion and adrenaline from Sarge crippling a man. But I couldn’t focus on them. I could only focus on Sarge. The way he jumped over the ropes, making a beeline towards me. I couldn’t hear a word he was saying, looking up at him blankly before he brushed my hair away from my ears, checking to see if I was wearing my hearing aids.

Sarge’s opponent was twitching in pain on the ground, blood pooling beneath him from where Sarge literally snapped his arm in half. I stood there horrified, barely acknowledging when Sarge grabbed my wrist hard enough to leave a bruise on my pale skin later. He began to lead us away, the thumping of the crowd left behind.

He took us to a back room that looked like a dressing room. Clothes, bandages, and the smell of sweat lingered. Tyrant and Knight flew into the room just as Sarge slammed the door, turning to face all of us.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” He roared at me, his head shifting to Knight and Tyrant. “Why did you bring her with you!”

“We didn’t.” Tyrant put his hands up in defense. “Stan caught her. She was already on the premises, and you know the rules; you’re not allowed out of here until the matches are done. So we watched and made sure she was safe. You’re welcome.”

He turned to face me. “Grim was supposed to get you.”

Did he not realize I wasn’t a mind reader? “How was I supposed to know that when you just ran off like you always do!” I vaguely heard a murmur from the two next to us just watching our fight. “Not everyone knows what your temper tantrums mean, Sarge!”

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