Page 1 of Siren's Gift

CHAPTER 1

Bree

As I stood over the man’s body, beads of sweat trickled down my chin. My chest heaved from the exertion of the fight, and I stared at my bloodied knuckles in horror.

Sweet Tethys…

My mouth ran dry.

I had just killed a man.

The crowd’s stunned silence shattered into a deafening roar, the sound bouncing off the cement floor and walls. The sheer force of it drowned out everything else. But instead of joining in their excitement, a tidal wave of guilt and dread crashed over me.

As usual, the people attending tonight’s fight thrived on the brutality, craved the blood and gore to the point of addiction. Fatalities were commonplace, but never by my hand.

Not until tonight.

Unconcerned with the blood and sweat splattered across the floor, the rowdy mob rushed forward to congratulate me. Unlike at Subliminal, no roped-off ring or fae magic was keeping the spectators back.

No, everyone here was a non-Gifted human besides me. They just didn’t know I was the exception, or that an exception even existed.

Someone knelt to check the man’s pulse. "He’s still alive."

Oh, thank the tides.

The crushing weight of the near-tragedy lifted, but the adrenaline crash hit me hard. My knees shook, threatening to give way beneath me, and I brushed wet strands of my dark brown hair off my face with a trembling hand. The realization of what I’d almost done was finally sinking in.

I’d gotten careless with that last swing. Yes, I might have broken the man’s jaw, but at least I hadn’t killed him. A small victory, but one I would cling to as tightly as a barnacle to a whale.

The basements where most of these brawls took place were dingy and grim, vivid reminders of the life I’d run from—well, thesecondlife. Flickering bulbs provided just enough light for me to wish they would stay off. Dark stains covered the floor and walls, revealing the true nature of this place.

The Gifted—as in those of us with any sort of magic—weren’t the only ones who liked illegal fights. Except with non-Gifted humans, cheating was just as rampant as police raids.

Somehow, these sites kept popping back into existence, rotating between several locations whenever one drew too much attention. Human police didn’t seem to care too much. They had bigger crimes to solve.

Brutus pushed through the crowd until he reached me. As the bouncer for most fights I signed up for, his six-foot-five frame and hulking muscles made people around him take an involuntary step back. Myself included the first time we’d met.

He rocked a shaved head that was covered in swirling blue and black tattoos, one of which was a snake slithering down his right arm. A black tank top stretched tight across his broadchest, and giant steel-toe boots promised pain to anyone who stood in his way.

His dark, narrowed eyes stared out over the crowd, and his lips were almost always pressed together in a frown. I called it RBF—Resting Brutus Face.

Using his arm to shove people out of his way, Brutus led me to a corner where I could catch my breath before the next match. His sturdy presence was a comforting anchor amidst the storm. Few knew that underneath his rough exterior, he was a big ol’ softie. At least towards me.

I grabbed my water bottle off the ground and chugged.

Yep, this was my life now.

For the past month since fleeing my home, job, and life at Subliminal—a boxing gym for Gifted folks like me—I’d scrambled to find sustainable work. I’d taken on a few random janitorial jobs and somehow wound up fighting once again just to make ends meet. Only this time, I fought against the non-Gifted.

The money was better than most minimum wage jobs, and I didn’t have the skills to do much else. I saved every extra penny for a place of my own someday, for me and my sister, Marissa.

Besides, fighting these humans was a piece of cake compared to fights at Subliminal. Except, the fact that I’d been reduced to brawling in dingy basements was so depressing. I tried not to dwell on it for too long.

Once Marissa finished her massage therapy school, she could start working and building her client list. Until then, our survival was up to me.

"You ready for round two?" Brutus asked. His dark eyes surveyed the crowd, always on constant alert. Ex-military, if I had to guess. We didn’t talk about our personal lives much, but old habits die hard.

Someone had moved my last opponent out of sight and wiped up the floor. I crinkled my nose. The blood didn’t bother me, but the sloppy clean-up job sure did. I had taken pride in my janitorial duties at Subliminal.

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