Page 19 of Never Die for a Sinner
I hear her growl as I make my way to the ring in the center of the room. There’s a few bigwigs on the sidelines. Mostly businessmen who come to bet on these fights like we’re animals in a cage, but . . . then again, isn’t that what we really are?
The degenerates of the world who can’t live without violence. Who need the pain to feel alive and take comfort in knowing places like this exist.
A few of them eye me when I walk to the ring, slipping my hoodie off as I go, along with my T-shirt.
A few people holler my name when I step into the ring, but I ignore them. I’m not one to make friends, and I’m not taking any of the women here home tonight.
Wouldn’t want my little housekeeper to miss any sleep.
I toss my shit on the stool right outside the ring and take my place in the center of the cage. The guy who enters on the other side of me is notorious for pulling switches out mid-fight, but I’m not afraid of him, nor am I afraid of dying.
Shit comes with the territory. Don’t get in the ring if you value your life. I couldn’t give a fuck less about mine.
“You both know the rules,” Diego says over the noise of the crowd cheering around us. I nod, as does Spinner, the long-standing champ grinning in front of me.
He’s only the champion because he hasn’t fought me yet. To win at this game, you’ve got to have a lot of pent-up rage, and I’ve been saving mine for the last two decades.
At twenty-seven, I’ve watched my mother burn to death. Watched my brother meet the same fate after he tried to kill the rest of my family. I’ve survived things that I would rather havelet kill me, and yet, here I am, carrying on, though every day feels like a struggle to understand who the fuck I am.
Am I a Cross? A DEA agent? Just some scum of the earth lowlife who hangs out at underground fighting rings and enjoys how it feels to fight?
For a month, I’ve been coming here, and yet every time feels like the very first time. When I found an outlet that didn’t come from a bottle and shut off the voices in the back of my mind, even if only for two minutes at a time.
“You get two minutes. No weapons. Just pure adrenaline,” Diego instructs, grinning back and forth between the two of us.
Diego lives for this shit, just like the rest of us. We come here because we’re what society can’t understand—just pure rage simmering beneath the surface with no real outlet.
“Any questions?”
“Yeah,” Spinner grins, licking his lips like a fucking psychopath. “When this is over, how long do I have to wait before I go home and fuck your bitch for you, too?”
I chuckle under my breath.
That statement’s going to cost him.
“On three.”
The crowd cheers, but I let the blood rushing in my ears drown them out.
“One . . . Two . . .”
Spinner lunges for me, and I duck his first strike, grinning through my teeth when he stumbles to the other side of the cage.
This is what I was born and bred for. This is why I’m not cut out for the formal Christmas party or white picket fences. In a world where it’s either kill or be killed, I will always come out on top.
Spinner growls through his teeth, whirling on me. I let him circle me in the ring, keeping my back away from him because I know the first chance he gets, he’s going to try to get me on the ground. I’ve seen the asshole fight enough to know what dirty tricks he’s got up his sleeves.
The first punch he lands is like the first shot of whiskey in the morning.
I fight back, and though I feel blood coating my teeth, I keep going.
Fighting has become my narcotic, and with each hit, I feel more alive. It’s what keeps me coming back here and keeps me from doing something stupid at home, like making the pretty little housekeeper mine.
Everything rushes to the surface. Watching Sebastian die. Watching the life bleed from my father’s eyes. The lies. The DEA. The alcohol.
I slam my fist into Spinner’s jaw, and I feel a crack. Spinner fights back, and I don’t know how much time is left on the clock, but I could do this all night.
Rushing him, I bend down, wrap my arms around his legs, lift him, and drop him. We land in a heap, and the sound that whooshes out of him is agony. He takes the chance and slams his fist into my side, and though I don’t feel it now, I’m betting I will later.
