Page 28 of Goldflame

Five minutes later, I’m in the ring. My hands are wrapped, but that’s my only concession to safety. My opponent lumbers in after me, rolling his massive shoulders.

Someone rings the bell and we begin to circle each other. Normally, I’d be looking for an opening, analyzing his stance, figuring out his weaknesses. I’m good at that—reading fighters, finding the soft spots where a well-placed hit will bring them down.

But tonight, I’m not looking to win. I need something else entirely.

I charge him recklessly, deliberately leaving myself open. The right hook catches me square in the jaw, pain exploding through my skull like a gunshot. My vision blurs, but I stay on my feet, twisting to deliver a kick to his ribs.

It’s like kicking a brick wall. He barely moves, just grunts and laughs. “That all you got, boss?”

His fist drives into my stomach next, and the air evacuates my lungs in a violent rush. I stagger back, gasping, copper flooding my mouth. Fuck, that feels good. Real. So much better than the internal pain that’s been eating me alive.

We trade a few more blows—I land one to his jaw that makes him spit, but he responds with a combination that has me reeling. His knee connects with my ribs, and I swear I hear something crack. The sound makes me smile through bloody teeth.

Then I’m on the ground, his weight crushing me as he pins my arms with his knees, then his fists start coming down like hammers, one after another. There’s no referee, but I know I could tap out. He’d stop. He’s a professional, after all, just doing the job I paid him for.

I don’t tap. I let him pummel me, each blow driving the fog from my mind. Physical pain is so much simpler than the twisted knot of emotions choking me. So much cleaner than wondering if I’m falling apart, wondering if what Aurelia told me could possibly be real.

What if I just... don’t stop him? Let this behemoth beat me to death right here on the mat where I’ve claimed so many victories? No more responsibilities. No more Inferno Consortium. No more trying to fill shoes that were never meant for me.

No more torment about what’s true and what’s a lie.

No more carrying the weight my father left behind, broken and corrupted.

No more bearing another day without my big brother.

I swallow blood then cough it back up, my eyes so swollen now I can barely see. My entire body has become numb, each new punch to my jaw, chest, stomach just a muted ringing in my ears.

Fuck.I need my brother more than I ever realized. My big brother. My role model. Adrian was cold sometimes, distant often, but he always knew what to do. He was the responsible one and he always fuckingknew. He had a plan, always had a plan, even when we were kids facing Lucian’s fists together.

The man above me throws another punch, splitting my eyebrow. Blood runs into my eye, and I don’t even try to wipe it away. I don’t raise my hands to defend myself. I just lie there, letting my body absorb the hits, hoping that I’ll soon choke and drown on my own blood and all of this will be… over.

“Stop! Fuck—somebody stop this!”

Emeric’s voice cuts through the fog of pain. Suddenly the weight on my chest lifts as he hauls my opponent off me, shoving him back with help from two other guys.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” Emericshouts, more at me than the beast of a man who was just turning my face to pulp. His British accent thickens with alarm, his open vowels trying to tighten in his tone. “Get him up! Now!”

Hands grab me, lifting me from the mat. My limbs are heavy, uncooperative. Blood drips from my mouth, my nose, trickles into my eye from the split eyebrow. Down my body. Fuck, it’s everywhere and someone is going to have a hell of a night cleaning this ring.

Everything hurts and nothing hurts enough.

They half-carry, half-drag me to the back room where we usually stitch up fighters after particularly brutal matches. My head drops helplessly to the side, vision blurring as they deposit me on the medical table. The fluorescent lights above me are too bright, stabbing into my retinas like needles.

“Everyone out!” Emeric orders, and the room clears except for one of the medical staff we keep on retainer. The guy approaches with gauze and antiseptic, but I shove him away with what little strength I have left.

“Get the fuck out,” I growl through split lips. “Leave us.”

The medic looks to Emeric, who nods once before sighing—my best friend knows what a stubborn ass I can be. When the door shuts behind the medic, leaving just me and Emeric, the silence expands, ready to burst.

“Have you lost your bloody mind?” Emeric paces in front of me, running his hands through his curly hair. “Did someone fucking drug you? What the hell was that?” He gestures wildly toward the door, toward thering beyond it. “You weren’t fighting back! He could have killed you!”

I try to laugh, but it comes out as a wet, choking sound. “That was the point.”

Emeric stops pacing. The look on his face—shock, fear, concern—it’s too much. Too real. Too much like something Adrian might have shown if he were here to see me falling apart. He rarely showed emotion, but he has a few times when it comes to me.

Adrian isn’t here. Adrian is never going to be here again.

Something cracks inside me, a rift the size of the Grand Canyon, of time and space itself. Something fundamental and load-bearing that I’ve relied on my entire life. The dam I’ve built to hold back everything—every emotion, every fear, every moment of weakness—simply collapses into a pitiful heap.

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