Page 161 of Broken Pieces
But I can feel it coming—one crack at a time.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Zane
I’vefoughttwicenow.
Two wins.
Ten grand in cash.
They call it easy money, but there’s nothing easy about standing inside a cage while a crowd howls for blood. The air there tastes of sweat and iron, and the noise digs under your skin until it’s all you can hear.
They cheer when bones crack, when a man’s head hits the concrete, when someone stops moving. They feed on it.
The rich ones stand closest to the cage, suits too clean for a place like that. Cigars hanging from their mouths, whiskey glasses half full. They clap slowly when someone goes down, all smug smiles and cold eyes, pretending they’re better than the rest. They are not.
They’re just the filthiest bastards in the room.
Between rounds, I stare at them.
Their watches glitter; their laughter cuts through the roar. The conversation revolves around odds, how long we’ll last.
They don’t see fighters. They see flesh they can bet on. Collateral they will forget by the next night.
My ribs ache. My knuckles are raw. Blood seeps through the tape and stains the floor. The crowd loves it. They always do.
Last night almost killed me.
The guy was bigger, meaner.
Didn’t stop when the bell rang.
Didn’t care about rules that never existed in the first place.
I took a hit to the jaw that made the world blur. I could feel my heartbeat pounding at the back of my throat. Still, I swung back. Harder. Kept going until he dropped.
When they raised my hand, there was no victory. Only emptiness.
The money’s good. The rush is better.
But the come down after… It’s a different kind of pain. The kind that crawls inside your head and whispers that this is all you’ll ever be.
Now it’s morning. My body’s a mess. My hands are shaking. Ten grand in an envelope and not a single part of me feels alive.
I tell myself it’s worth it. That it’s for her. That I’m doing this to fix what’s broken.
But deep down I know I’m lying.
I’m not fighting for Skylar. I’m fighting to punish myself for every part of me she keeps trying to save.
I couldn’t go home last night.
Not looking like this. Not with my eye swollen shut and the taste of blood still thick at the back of my throat. Every breath burns down my side. Ribs screaming, lungs tight.
Skylar would see through it in seconds. She’d press those soft hands against the bruises and then ask the questions I’m not ready to answer.
And Rainer — he wouldn’t even need to ask. He’d take one glance and see it.
