TAKING HIS SEED

by Zoey Parker

  “You're doing good in there, pal,” Hawkeye said quietly. “He's tough and he's fast, and he took you by surprise, but you can bring him down. I've seen him fight lots of times before, and he comes on strong...but his nose is his off button. You mash that button two or three times, and all his Terminator bullshit's going to come to a screeching halt. Okay? Got it?”

  “Yeah, aim for his nose,” Kurt replied. “Got it.”

  If I can even get a punch in, he thought.

  The bell dinged again.

  Rodrigo was all over Kurt before he even realized he'd stood up. Three more body shots, breaking a couple of ribs that were already bruised. Kurt dodged a brutal haymaker that came within an inch of shattering his eye socket, but the sudden jerk backward made him lose his balance for a moment, and he realized—too late—that it was what Rodrigo was counting on. A follow-up punch to the side of Kurt's head brought him to one knee.

  Kurt bounced back to his feet, but his fists were lowered, and he made his movements seem woozy. This time, Rodrigo took the bait, moving in for the kill.

  Take the first punch, Kurt told himself. Where it lands doesn't matter. All that matters is that it'll take one of his hands away from his face, and then it's hello nose, goodbye Rodrigo.

  Based on the confidence in Rodrigo's approach, Kurt figured he was used to finishing fights quickly. Right now, he seemed caught up in the familiarity—terrorize them in the first round, polish them off in the second. No need to be as careful. He could indulge himself in a roundhouse punch that anyone could see coming, if they weren't already dazed and ready to fall.

  Kurt ducked the punch easily, ramming his fist directly into Rodrigo's nose with all the strength he could muster.

  Rodrigo shrugged it off like it was a mosquito bite, delivering a savage blow to Kurt's ear.

  Kurt saw stars and felt like he might fall, but his hands moved on sheer muscle memory, blocking Rodrigo's next two hits. He felt a battering ram crash into his ribs again and the bell dinged, ending the second round.

  Rodrigo returned to his corner. His nose looked a bit swollen, and Roberto gave him some nasal spray. Other than that, Rodrigo looked as calm and confident as he had at the start of the fight.

  For his part, Kurt felt like he'd been beaten with an aluminum bat and stuffed into a trash compactor.

  “I thought you said his nose was his off button,” Kurt groaned, taking another gulp from the water bottle.

  “It is, it is,” Hawkeye assured him. “He's trying to hide it, but you'll see. The next couple rounds, he'll be like a whole different person, and you can bring out The Knight. Trust me.”

  Yeah, sure, Kurt thought blearily. Trust the Nazi. Great. I'm a fucking dead man.

  He glanced into the crowd, and saw Sarah standing next to one of the bleachers, looking at him. She was deathly pale, and her eyes looked like they were the size of dinner plates. Kurt figured he must look like a real mess, based on her expression.

  In that moment, Kurt wished he'd stayed home on the anniversary of his family's death. He wished he hadn't followed Sarah into that bathroom. He wished he'd ignored that stupid asshole in the bar instead of attacking him. If he could just take back one of those three bad decisions, he'd still be riding with the Dogs with the free wind in his hair, and Sarah would still be drinking and telling bad jokes with her uncle.

  Maybe he'd have hooked up with Sarah eventually, and maybe he wouldn't have. But at least neither of them would be trapped in this insane nightmare today.

  The bell dinged again. Round Three.

  Kurt heaved himself off the stool in the corner and propelled his body forward, expecting another flurry of devastating punches. But Rodrigo was moving more slowly than he had in the previous rounds. His gloves were hanging lower than they had been, and his steps were unsteady. Kurt saw that the muscles in Rodrigo's face seemed slack, and his eyes were glazed and unfocused.

  Well, I'll be a son of a bitch, Kurt thought. The shot to the nose worked after all. I've never seen a single punch scramble someone's brain so much, but hey, gift horses and all that.

  Now this is for my ribs, you cocksucker.

  Kurt danced up to Rodrigo, firing a trio of punches into his sides. He felt one of Rodrigo's ribs give way under his fist, and expected him to retaliate.

  Rodrigo's eyes rolled over to him blankly, like the eyes of a cow about to be slaughtered. It almost seemed like he didn't recognize Kurt, or where they were.

  Kurt's left hand connected with Rodrigo's jaw. The huge man grunted loudly, took a step backward, and fell down on his ass in the middle of the ring.

  The Dogs and Aryans shrieked like banshees, and London started to count to ten.

  Kurt frowned. Something about this felt wrong. There was no way in hell that a fighter like Rodrigo would suddenly turn into a worthless palooka after just one punch, no matter how sensitive his nose was. He was acting like he was brain damaged.

  When London reached six, Rodrigo hauled himself off the canvas and staggered to his feet. He tried to lift his gloves to protect his face, but his arms were trembling, as though his fists were lead weights. He shuffled forward like a ninety-year-old.

  Kurt moved in, tapping him with a few light punches to test him. Rodrigo reared back and swung, his fist missing Kurt's face by at least a foot and a half. He made an anguished sound like a wounded elephant, stumbling forward, almost falling again.

  The bell dinged, and the fighters returned to their corners.

  “See? What did I tell you?” Hawkeye cawed triumphantly. “You've got him! Just a few more taps in the next round, and he's going down!”

  Kurt shook his head. “Something's wrong with him.” At the other end of the ring, he saw Roberto chewing out Rodrigo, who didn't seem to hear a word.

  “Damn right there's something wrong with him,” Hawkeye agreed. “He's a wetback who thought he could step into the ring with a white man and win.”

  Hawkeye's words turned Kurt's stomach, and so did the thought of beating up a man who could barely stand. “No. Something's really wrong. We should stop the fight.”

  “You're about to stop the fight. Hard. Now go out there and show him the face of the Master Race.”

  Kurt felt helpless. His gut was telling him that this would end badly, but he knew he wasn't in any position to go against Hawkeye, and throw in the towel. If he was going to survive in here, he had to see this through.

  The bell dinged and Kurt stood up dutifully, ready to end this.

  This time, Rodrigo didn't even bother to lift his arms. They hung at his sides, swinging like pendulums. His knees were shaking, and his head was moving from side to side, as though he was trying to clear the cobwebs.

  Kurt stepped up to him and threw a punch at his stomach.

  Rodrigo's entire body began to convulse. The veins in his face and neck stood out, and he was wheezing and choking. He lurched forward and his mouth guard fell out, followed by a torrent of thick, ropy vomit and saliva.

  Kurt jumped back just as Rodrigo fell forward onto his face and stopped moving.

  There was an uneasy murmur from the crowd as London crouched next to Rodrigo, flipping him over onto his back and examining him. After a few moments, London looked up, his eyes wide.

  “He's dead.”

  The Aryans erupted into cheers and applause while the Sinners took to their feet, shrieking and cursing and accusing. Kurt felt a stab of fear, wondering whether the two factions would simply crash together like tidal waves, tearing each other apart. Could this be enough to start a riot? Jesus, what the hell happened here?

  What had he done?

  Chapter 14

  Sarah

  Roberto's scream of anger and grief echoed off the walls of the gym. Seconds later, it was joined by a chorus of prisoners' voices yelling and swearing all at once—a sound like the ocean, like waves crashing against the shore.

  Waves of panic rippled through Sarah as the first few prisoners started attacking each other over the fight'
s outcome. She'd barely had time to process how suddenly Rodrigo had keeled over and died, and now she found herself in the middle of a hurricane of violence. No matter which way she turned, it seemed like she was inches away from a wall of enraged convicts ready to destroy anything in their path.

  “They're going to riot,” her mind yammered as she pulled her baton from her belt. “They're going to take over this gym and take the guards hostage, and there'll be nothing to stop all those inmates from raping me, oh God, oh please, not this, not this, get me out of here...”

  As if on cue, she felt a hand on her ass and whirled around, raising her baton. She was just in time to see the face of a Sinner named Wally leering at her lasciviously before Kurt grabbed him from behind, choking him out.

  “Thank you,” Sarah said breathlessly.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” Kurt urged her through gritted teeth. “Now.”

  Sarah turned to run, but her path was blocked by a pair of inmates grappling with each other. One was Kurt's cellmate Wilder, and the other was a gaunt Sinner whose name Sarah didn't know. The Sinner slammed Wilder's head against the floor with a sickening crunch, and Wilder's body went limp.

  An alarm started to honk loudly, and the doors of the gym opened. Armored members of the Emergency Response Team flooded in, using their plexiglass shields to push the prisoners apart into groups. Most of the inmates immediately put their hands on their heads when they saw the guards in riot gear coming toward them. A handful of them didn't, and seconds later, they were facedown on the floor with heavy boots pressed against their necks and backs as batons pummeled their kidneys.

  “Lockdown!” Gable hollered. “Go back to your cells at once. This is your one and only warning. Anyone not in their cells in five minutes will be spending the next month in the infirmary or the hole.”

  The ERT guards hustled the groups of prisoners to their respective cell blocks. Sarah saw that Kurt was holding his sides in pain, and his face was starting to bruise and swell. After the punishment he'd taken during the fight, subduing Wally had probably taken the last of his strength.

  Sarah walked over to Gable. “Bellows is in bad shape. I'll take him to the infirmary.”

  Gable's lip curled into a snarl of contempt. “I'll take him to the infirmary, along with Wilder. You take these prisoners back to block G and lock them in good and tight.”

  The convicts started to file out of the gym. Just like that, the maelstrom had blown over as quickly as it had started. As Sarah led her prisoners out, she glanced over her shoulder and saw ERT members hovering over Rodrigo's body.

  What had happened? Sarah hadn't watched a lot of boxing matches, and she was extremely relieved that Kurt hadn't been crippled or killed—but even she could see that something strange had taken place, based on how rapidly Rodrigo had crashed and burned after the first two rounds.

  She led the prisoners to their cells, locking them in. When she got to Carl's cell, she realized he was still wearing a dress, and she felt a pang of concern for him as she locked him in with the three Sinners. Given the gang members' pent-up aggression after the aborted riot, she could only imagine how they'd take it out on Carl once they were alone. Still, there was nothing she could do about it.

  When she got to Hawkeye's cell, he said, “Leave mine unlocked. And when Kurt comes back from the infirmary, make sure his is unlocked, too.”

  “Gable said to make sure everyone was locked in,” Sarah replied uncertainly. “He didn't say anything about making exceptions.”

  Hawkeye rolled his eyes. “Gable takes orders from me, and you take orders from Gable. Ergo, you take orders from me, and I say leave the cells unlocked. Now are you going to do what you're fucking told, or do I have to remind you that I've got people on the outside who know where you live?”

  Sarah sighed and left the cell unlocked. Hawkeye pulled his white curtain over the door.

  After that, there wasn't much for Sarah to do except pace around the cell block, worrying about Kurt. He could have internal injuries, or one of his broken ribs could have punctured an organ. And still, he hadn't hesitated to come to her aid when she was in danger.

  She desperately wanted to go to the infirmary and check on him, but she knew she couldn't risk it. Even though there were other guards to watch over G block, she'd seen the look of suspicion on Gable's face when she offered to take Kurt to the prison doctor. He already knew she was affiliated with the Dogs. But if he suspected that she was particularly involved with Kurt, that could make for bigger problems for both of them.

  Her footsteps echoed against the concrete walls and floors. Every minute seemed to last an hour. She could still taste the adrenaline at the back of her throat from the panic in the gym.

  Finally, a short, squat female guard named Keller led Kurt back to his own cell. She had thinning brown hair, bad teeth, and a nose that resembled a pig's snout. She was one of the COs who worked for the White Brothers, and in the locker room, Sarah had noticed several neo-Nazi tattoos on Keller's arms and body.

  Kurt was still shirtless, with medical tape around his ribs. Most of his face was purple from the punches he'd taken. Keller pulled his cell door shut, but left it unlocked before walking away.

  Sarah looked around to make sure no one was watching. Then she crept over to Kurt's cell, sliding the door open and leaning in.

  “How are you holding up?”

  Kurt was lying on his cot with his arms at his sides. One of his eyes was swollen shut. The other was simply closed.

  “I've had worse,” he said. It sounded like he was trying to move his face as little as possible when he talked. “You shouldn't be in here. Someone's going to wonder why you are.”

  “I couldn't help it. I had to make sure you were okay.”

  Kurt's eye opened, and he glared at her. “You need to stop trying to look out for me, and start looking out for yourself instead.”

  Sarah knew Kurt was trying to protect her, but his words still stung. She hated how he kept pushing her away and saying it was for her own good, as though she was still some kid who needed to be told what was best for her.

  “Thank you for saving me,” she said quietly.

  “You already thanked me,” he answered flatly. “But I won't always be there to save you, especially if Gable and the other guards decide you're a problem. Now get the fuck out of my cell before you get us both in trouble.” He closed his eye again.

  Sarah opened her mouth to say more, but she didn't want to upset him. There was plenty to say, but for now, it was enough to know that he hadn't been injured too badly.

  She left the cell, closed the door behind her, and resumed her pacing through the cell block.

  Chapter 15

  Sarah

  Kurt heard the cell door slide open again, and at first, he assumed Sarah had returned. He wasn't sure how that would make him feel.

  Angry that she'd disregarded his warnings?

  Or relieved?

  He hated having to talk to her that way, but if he really cared about her safety, he knew he didn't have a choice. He liked that she cared about him and he wished he could reciprocate, but the closer she tried to get to him in here, the more dangerous things would be for her.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw Hawkeye standing at the foot of his cot, smiling down at him.

  “How are you holding up?”

  They were the same words Sarah had used, and as a reflex, Kurt found himself giving the same answer. “I've had worse.”

  He wanted to tell Hawkeye he shouldn't be in here either, if only to get rid of him so Kurt could get some rest. But he stopped himself. Clearly, Hawkeye would do as he pleased.

  “Man, every hump in this prison has some kind of nickname,” Hawkeye said. “But after today, I can damn sure see how you earned yours. That was one hell of a fight you just fought.”

  “No it wasn't,” Kurt replied. Every word made his face hurt, and he felt like if he were forced to say much more, he might lose his temper. “He beat the f
uck out of me for two rounds. Then he stopped. Then he died. I barely laid a glove on him.”

  Hawkeye laughed. “Wow. With descriptive skills like yours, I guess it's a good thing you're not a sports announcer. Anyway, I realize you're probably not in a very talkative mood right now, so I won't take up much of your time. But I made a pile of money betting on you today, son. And I figured you deserved a cut of it, for representing us so well.”

  Hawkeye pulled a thick roll of bills from his pocket, tossing them onto the bed between Kurt's legs. Kurt looked at it, remembering the sight of Rodrigo's spasms as he threw up his mouth guard.

  “Keep it. All I want is to know what happened in that ring.”

  Hawkeye shrugged. “Just what I said. You fought harder, you won, he died. It's fucked up, but it happens.”