by Leigh, Ember
As she drove, Lane kicked his feet and bopped his fists in the air, shouting “Pow!” and “Bam!” as he fought invisible foes. Another similarity with Lex, but without his influence to even guide him. The boy seemed to be gravitating toward fighting and superheroes. Anything that slammed or punched got preference. Number one on his Christmas list—already—was an inflatable boxing ring. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about it either. She’d made it a point to show him plenty of gentle movies, staying away entirely from mindless cartoons with violence and fighting.
But it didn’t matter. He was already showing an interest in combat and wanted to sign up for martial arts classes. Like it was in his blood.
Since confessing her secret, her entire being felt lighter. It was a weight she’d carried without even realizing how heavy it had become. Like shackles around the ankles, iron biting into flesh. It would have infected her if she’d carried it much longer. Pushed her into a downward spiral, eaten her alive.
But freeing herself of the secret came at a cost. Now Lex was rocked out of orbit, and she’d been the disruption.
She wouldn’t stop trying. Not yet. Not until she understood what the fuck had gotten into Lex. If he needed more time, she’d give it to him. In small increments…in maybe only hours at a time.
But this time around, she wasn’t going to walk out on him. She’d stick around until he came out of his dark place. After Lane bought his trainset, they were heading right back to Daddy’s place. And the next day. And the day after that.
She owed him a do-over.
* * *
Lex had been frowning for so long he thought his mouth would scar over. Make the despair permanent. Never to see another smile or sunshine again.
It was fight day. He’d been dreading this day like an inmate on death row.
Anxiety had reached a new level inside him, prompting a different strain altogether, something stronger and more virulent. Enough to bring him to his knees just thinking about tomorrow. Whether or not there would be one. Whether Travis would beat himself up, having missed the signs of the Kings roping him back in.
And Lila.
Lex gulped back a wave of sadness, pushing out of his car. The fight location was on the seedy side of the neighborhood, where sidewalks cracked so bad it made fissures, earthquakes having pried open the manmade scars. The air here hung stickier for some reason, made him want to wipe off a layer of grime before he’d even walked ten feet.
He’d parked a block away from the meetup, kept his hood tugged low as he hurried toward the building. The location this time was a squat, olive-green warehouse. Totally unassuming from the outside, and the landmark was the huge cartoon of fruits and vegetables painted onto the side under the word Produce. The underground network had long, spiky tendrils sunk into every aspect of life in LA. Practically everywhere he turned, in any neighborhood, he could find evidence of the Kings.
Lex hustled up to the steel side door, knocking three times per instructions sent by Knuckles. The door swung open; a beefy guard nodded him inside.
The warehouse was huge, but even huger was the noise. Chattering, shouting, whooping. One-percenters still dressed in their suits from the day job, collars loosened, shoes shiny enough to be mirrors. Knuckles came up beside him, clamping a hand on his shoulder.
“Here we are.” His raspy tone sent a shiver through Lex’s spine. It all came down to this guy. Convincing Knuckles. Because even if his opponent didn’t kill him, he might still have to contend with this one.
“And readier than ever,” Lex said, gaze sweeping across the room. No sign of his opponent yet. Per protocol, he never caught wind of who he’d be fighting until moments beforehand. They liked it better that way. Helped maintain confidence in the fight integrity, Knuckles said once. Cleaner betting. More solid payouts.
Knuckles steered him around the perimeter of the warehouse. Eyes swung their way, attention prickling over him. No doubt the attendees were putting two and two together. One of the fighters has arrived.
“Now this is a big one, buddy.” Knuckles paused in their promenade to light a cigarette. He flicked a match onto the swept cement floor. “Your payout will be huger than ever. I gare-on-tee that.”
Lex kept up his swagger even though doubt threatened to topple him. Maybe this wasn’t the fight to throw. It certainly was the biggest, which meant his fall from grace could be even larger.
But if not now, when?
There would never be a perfect time. Each fight would be bigger than the last. He just had to take the leap.
“There he is.” Knuckles pointed with his cigarette. “That bulky son of a bitch.”
Across the warehouse, a man more like a Neanderthal stood rooted to his spot while a helper slapped at his cheeks. No doubt getting amped up. Lex burrowed deeper into his sweatshirt. He wanted to never take it off.
“Now. You good to go?” Knuckles leered at him with something like concern in his face. His gaze darted over Lex’s shoulder. “We’re almost ready to fight.”
Lex nodded, glancing behind him at the brute. His legs were leaden as he tugged off the pants, followed by the shirt. The cool humid air of the warehouse bit at his flesh, causing goose pimples to spike.
Knuckles leaned in. “Make sure you bring this one down.”
Bring this one down. That was code for “beat him to death.” Lex swallowed a knot, tossing his clothes aside. “Got it.”
Knuckles stepped away, the vision of his leering smile leaving a negative imprint in Lex’s mind. His gaze swept over tonight’s crowd. Far larger than any match so far, maybe two hundred total. Lex sat on a chair near the informal ring, and got to wrapping his hands. Across the clearing, the brute twisted from side to side, staring at the ceiling. Maybe he’d gotten the same directive as Lex. Maybe he was making his peace with his god, prepping to fight until only one of them was left breathing.
This was fucked up. Lex scowled as he wrapped another layer over his knuckles. Totally fucked up. He growled as he tore off a strip with his teeth, his heart scaling the walls of his chest. This couldn’t be the last night that he breathed air, or drove a car, or got irritated when his neighbor played his ridiculous Korean pop too loud. Every part of him rejected that possibility.
But if he didn’t put it all on the line, there was no way he could get out. Going through the fire was the only way to the ashes.
And he needed to burn this whole thing down.
Lex popped to his feet once his hands were wrapped and ready. The crowd naturally formed a tight, frothing ring around Lex and the brute. A few dollar bills fluttered in the air; Lex scowled at the guy who’d tossed them. Like throwing money at a stripper.
Lex caught a bill midair, ripping it in half, sending a sardonic grin to the mousy-haired executive who’d thrown it. A few Ooohs and laughter. The guy frowned in return, lines making themselves known around his eyes. He looked young but overworked. This was probably the only outlet he had in life.
“You’d think street scum like him might need the money,” the guy said, loud enough for Lex to hear. His fingers twitched, and he swiveled on his heel, snatching the guy by the collar of his pressed white shirt.
“Excuse me?”
The crowd buffeted in response, the first row ballooning backwards to get away from Lex. Jeers erupted; applause from the other side. Fear flashed in the guy’s face, but he kept a snide expression despite his nervousness.
“Hey, hey, back it off.” Knuckles approached, tugging at Lex’s shoulders. “Fight’s this way, Cheshire.”
“He’s just a kitten, isn’t he?”
Lex tightened his grip on the guy’s collar, lifting him off the ground. “You can meet me in this ring too, if you want. See what this kitten’s got in store for you.”
More ooohs and finally Lex released him, strutting to the center of the clearing. His opponent waited there, looking bored. Or maybe that was just how his puffy face always looked. His bulky frame was pinkish and slick looking, like maybe he’d
rolled in Vaseline beforehand. If that was the case, Lex was fucked. The guy could slip out of any hold Lex got him in. But Vaseline was a no-no even for the underground circuit. There weren’t many rules, but that sort of shit interfered with the betting.
Knuckles came to the center, beaming out at the crowd. The warehouse roared with noise, turning into an echo chamber of voracious fans of violence.
“You know the rules,” he boomed out over the noise. “There are no rules. Now fight!”
Lex crouched slightly, his whole body tensing once Knuckles left the informal octagon. Who knew what this brute would come at him with. He easily had forty pounds on Lex, a match that never would have been made in regular circuits. But that was part of the fun. See an MMA champ go down. Watch the smaller guy get beaten to death.
Resistance churned in his core, but that was the very thing he had to keep tamped down. He couldn’t work himself into a survival frenzy. He needed to fight hard but duck out at the last second. A masterful interplay of combat skill, exhausting his opponent, and then making it look like he’d lost.
The brute peered at him between raised fists, shifting from side to side in a slow weave. He launched forward, sending his fist out in a wide, solid arc. Lex dodged it easily.
The crowd hissed. Lex lobbed a punch and it connected with a shoulder made of steel. The brute grinned.
“This’ll be cake,” his opponent said in a slow drawl and then faked a punch only to follow up with an uppercut that caught Lex by surprise. His jaw clattered under the force, and he flew backward, grazing the first row of spectators. Hands pushed at his back, urging him back into the ring. Lex rolled his neck in a slow circle, eyeing the brute as he stalked the perimeter.
And then he launched. He unleashed a pummeling stream of punches, one that forced the brute backwards. He stumbled over his steps, covering his face, managing only a few rebuttal blows. Lex kept him under fire for as long as he could, the sounds of the crowd a distant din as he entered that meditative spot inside him.
The brute twisted away, stumbling first but then regaining his balance. He lumbered at Lex, diving headfirst into him. The crowd shrieked as the two of them went down to the ground, cutting into the front row of viewers. Lex howled, skin shredding against cement, tiny pricks of pain mingling with the weight of this guy on top of him. He couldn’t breathe. Above him, faces peered, bodies leaning, desperate for scandal. Lex wrapped his legs around his opponent, trying to force him to roll over, to move even an ounce of his girth off his airway.
But the brute couldn’t be swayed. Lex grappled as hard and as long as he could, but the guy had the advantage due to sheer bulk. Lex almost managed to wriggle away, but the brute clamped down harder. Alarms rang in his head. This wasn’t how he’d envisioned it. This wasn’t how shit was supposed to go down.
The crowd began to chant, but in the haze of concentration, Lex couldn’t hear the words. Maybe it wasn’t even English. His calves floundered against the brute’s lower back, attempting a rapidly dwindling list of holds and escapes. The brute grunted. Fists flew into his ribs. Lex wriggled like a fish, panicky and quick.
And then he found his window of opportunity. Lex hooked his ankle around the brute’s, finally gaining the leverage, and pulled himself out from underneath his domination. The crowd roared, the energy spiking so high it nearly toppled him. Lex tumbled out video-game style, a tuck and roll that would probably go viral in any other instance.
“Come back heeere.” His opponent was panting as he got to his feet. A good sign. Lex shook off his arms, confirming a sick truth: the moisture on his opponent’s body wasn’t Vaseline but sweat. Rank shit, too.
Blood smeared the floor where they’d grappled. Lex raised his fists, and the pair sparred with quick, energetic jabs that prompted shouts and name calling from the audience. Fatty. Slick. Faggot. Cheshire. Exterminator. A vicious, fickle chorus.
One punch into the gut sent Lex heaving backwards. And then the brute was barreling into him again. Back on the floor. More alarm bells, because this time, the hulk got him in an even worse position. Lex lay on his stomach like a beached whale, limbs pinned.
The anxiety sank bone deep, until the punches started and the crowd churned around them. Anxiety molted into fear. The punches were coming so fast that Lex couldn’t feel his left arm. Something had been battered out of place.
“Fucking get him!”
“Cheshire’s going down!”
Lex used his skin as a sense organ in situations like these: totally pinned, facing a hopeless oblivion of a TKO. Except in this match, the oblivion was realer than just a loss on the record. A thousand different points on his body told him he was trapped. Panic stretched through him. The punches didn’t stop.
“All. The. Way! All. The. Way!”
The chanting had begun. The kiss of death. He’d never been the victim of the chorus, and he knew how hard it was to pull back once hundreds of strangers had invested their faith in you. He didn’t expect the brute to be any different. Nobody could withstand the allure of satisfying the hungry masses.
The bulk shifted on top of him, and suddenly Lex could envision the exit plan. There was enough room to twist. He could ram an elbow into the center of his sternum, steal his breath enough to launch out of his grip. His ears rang.
There was still a chance. He could get the fuck out of this.
Lila’s face clung to the recesses of his mind. However much he needed to escape the brute, he needed to escape the Kings more.
That was the only thing that mattered anymore.
Lex stilled under the massive weight, letting the air go out of his chest. His bones groaned under the fearsome force of the punches, the body mass that seemed to grow heavier the longer he was incapacitated. Blows to the head came next. The crowd roared with feverish hunger. Soon, the ringing in his ears overtook the crowd. He couldn’t discern the chanting from the shouting anymore.
He sent up a prayer, willing it over, willing himself out of here somehow, willing the whole damn thing to become a dream he could wake up from.
The final blow to the head. His forehead cracked against the cement. A sonic boom between his ears. And then everything went black.
Chapter 24
“Hey buddy.”
The rasp wasn’t comforting. “Buddy” sounded like satire. Dread curled through him. Lex tried to open his eyes, but he couldn’t. The world remained black.
Someone pushed at him, rolled him over onto his side. He collapsed onto his back. Joints screamed. His heart felt weak. This wasn’t good.
“You think you can do it like that?” Knuckles’ sour breath was close enough to make him gag. Lex could open one eye enough to see through a slit. The scowl on Knuckles’ face was the shit of nightmares.
“He said you played dead,” he rasped. “That’s not how we do it around here.”
All around them, the warehouse echoed with confusing noise. Who knew how long he’d been out. Shouting still, but it seemed far away. The crowd dispersing. Maybe a siren.
“You lost us money, Cheshire.” Knuckles glanced away, over his shoulder. To someone else, he shouted, “I’m fucking coming! Hold on!”
“You know better than to do us like that,” Knuckles said to Lex again, leaning closer. “The cops are on their way. They’ll take care of you. Carry you out of here proper like.”
Lex’s throat tightened as he tried to speak. A faint gasp was all he could muster.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought. Good riddance.”
The sound of metal swiping against flesh, and then pain. Pain shrieked through his abdomen. Knuckles grunted as he buried the blade in Lex’s side. Lex coughed, trying to roll away, but his body had gone useless. Limp. Knuckles ground the knife deeper, twisting the thing until Lex’s vision went white.
Overcoming every conflicting signal inside his body, Lex launched an arm toward Knuckles’ neck. The last-ditch effort. Knuckles smiled against the weak grasp, yanking his knife out.
“
We don’t work with losers.” He wiped his blade off on Lex’s shorts and stood, leering down at him. And then he turned, strutting away like walking into the goddamn sunset.
Adrenaline coursed through him, rousing him. He blinked both swollen eyes, his chest heaving as he struggled to sit up. The scene had changed entirely. Everyone was leaving the warehouse. A mass exodus. Maybe the cops really were on their way. Blood smeared the ground nearby, evidence of their fight.
And to his right his own blood pooled, making a grotesque pond.
His breathing rate skyrocketed. Holy shit, holy shit. He tried to push up off the ground. Pain screeched through him, rooting him to his spot. It was like his legs didn’t work. He tried again, grunting with the effort.
His gaze skated around wildly. What the fuck was he supposed to do? This adrenaline would wear off soon, and then he’d be confronting a very bleak situation. He pressed a hand to the wound—instantly covered in blood. Sticky, hot blood. Gushing. He grimaced, looking around for his clothes. Shit, they had to be around here somewhere. Anything to stop the flow.
Spectators fled the scene, pouring out of the far side door like water seeking a leak. His fingers were cold. That was odd. He brought a hand up in front of his face, the not bloody one. His fingers shook. He snapped his hand back down to his side. He needed to get the fuck out of here. Groaning, he attempted to haul himself forward. Once inch, maybe two gained.
Someone touched his shoulder. Lex jerked forward.
“Dude. You need help.” A soft voice made him twist. Behind him, a guy his age stood, his face somewhere between friendly and horrified.
“Yeah. No shit.” Lex tried to muster a laugh, but blood spurted out of his side. He grunted, shaking his head.
“Here.” The guy ran off and returned a moment later with a shirt. Lex’s shirt. He tore it down the middle with his teeth and then wrapped it around Lex’s waist, forming the tourniquet Lex had envisioned. His breath shuddered out of him as the shirt was cinched tight.
