by K. L. Savage
Jo hops over on her crutches, injured leg bent as she stares at the tiny pill in Reaper’s big hands. “What is it?”
“It’s the drug he used. The one he planted in your beer. The one he used to take advantage of you. I’m all about an eye for an eye and then plus one. Listen, Jo,” Reaper says, tucking the pill in the inside pocket of his cut. “It’s up to you. If you don’t want to do this, that’s fine, but he might run if he sees us coming for him.”
“How do you know it’s him?” she asks him.
“Well, when we surveyed, there was a guy buying pills from another manager. Badge approached him, met him, and got his name. We did some research, and he’s a senior at the college you attended, living in the building above yours. He’s been managing these fights for a while now. It’s an easy gig. Pays for school and whatever else he wants. Skirt noticed him, and apparently Brody has made a big name for himself. He only has his fighter lose against the best fighters; big money to throw a fight. He’s a dirty guy,” Reaper mumbles around the end of a cigarette. He blows out the smoke between his lips. “You don’t have to do this,” he says. “We can go in there and not take him by surprise, but surprise is what is so great about torture.”
She chews on her bottom lip and looks away, staring at the small puddle formed in a pothole.
“What about Maximo? Does he know? Did he ever show?”
“We told him about what’s been going down at his casino, and he didn’t like it. He says he didn’t know, but when it comes to fights, he doesn’t do background checks. It’s all about the grit of the fight and cash. He’s already here.”
“He isn’t with his brother?” I question, a bit surprised.
Reaper scoffs, “No. Maximo says, and I quote, “That asshole doesn’t remember who I am anyway. He can wait a for more hours. Natalia is with him as well.”
The sun has set, and a few rag-tag people pass us that are for sure going to the fight. We need to hurry if this is going to happen. I walk forward and grab Jo’s shoulders. She looks so scared, so petrified. Her face is pale, and she’s shivering. Her green eyes are drowning in tears, lagoons as Skirt would say, and when she lifts her head, she thrust her shoulders back. “I want to do it,” she says with determination. “I want to give him what he deserves.”
Reaper seems proud as he tosses his half-smoked cigarette on the ground. “Good girl. Alright—” Reaper turns around, and Badge hands her a ticket and some cash. “I want you to find a manager who isn’t Brody. Maximo is going to work on making the ring empty. The only fight that’s going to be there tonight is going to be between us and him. No one fucks with my family, and no man rapes a woman. Everyone ready? Doc?” Reaper pins me with his dark eyes, and I nod, double checking to make sure I have my scalpel in my back pocket.
Check.
“Braveheart, walk with her. Everyone else, we’re going in the back way. And, Braveheart, take off your cut. He doesn’t need to know she’s there with a Ruthless King.”
Braveheart shucks off his cut and tosses it at Tank, who catches it with ease.
“Alright, men, lady—” Reaper tilts his fake hat “—let’s gut this son-of-a-bitch.”
Her eyes meet mine as we walk away from each other. She’s heading toward the main entrance, and I’m going toward the back. I don’t understand why I can’t be the one at her side. Reaper probably knows something I don’t, but it isn’t safe for her to be in this situation. She’s pregnant, for fuck’s sake.
“Reaper, I want to go with her, please,” I ask him, borderline begging.
“No, we don’t know if he knows about you or not. I’m not risking you.”
“Why? Afraid you won’t be able to find another doctor?” I spit angrily like a child, not wanting to get into why I said that, and wanting to put myself in harm’s way for Jo.
“Doc—” Reaper tries to stop me from walking, but I’m already heading down the alley in front of everyone. I come to a half-open garage door and bend down to duck my head underneath, then jump down to the fight floor. My boots kick up dust. The crowd is being corralled into the bleachers. Maximo is straight ahead, a dark brunette woman on his side, and he looks fucking pissed.
I glance around the dark basement that smells of sweat and blood, iron and anger. My eyes lock on Jo, and Braveheart has his arm wrapped around her. Like an innocent doe-eyed sweet thing, she looks as lost as ever, and the managers take notice.
They always know when fresh blood comes into the ring to place a bet.
Her face falls, and Braveheart must feel her tense because he looks left and immediately pushes her behind him. He’s not the biggest guy, but he’s willing to square up with anyone, and I respect the hell out of him for it.
Brody must be walking toward her, but Maximo taking the microphone that hangs from the ceiling grabs everyone’s attention.
“Tonight’s fight is going to be a little different. Jo, will you please enter the ring.”
“What the fuck!” I sneer, taking a step forward to stop her when Reaper’s hand lands on my shoulder. “This was not part of the plan!” I yank my arm away and watch as Braveheart helps her to the stage. “She’s scared. She’s fucking pregnant, Reaper. I would think out of all people, you’d give a fuck about that. The stress isn’t good.”
“Listen to me…” Reaper grips me by my shirt and slams me against the wall. “This is why I can’t share with you. You’re too involved.”
“Brody Andrews, please step into the ring. Give me my money while you’re at it,” Maximo orders Brody with a big grin on his face.
I can wait to peel Brody’s lips off with my scalpel. I hate how he’s looking at her.
“Keep him locked down,” Reaper orders Tongue who grips my arms so hard, I swear my bones threaten to break. Reaper scolds me with a twisted expression on his face before walking away and stomping toward Braveheart.
“Don’t make me cut your tongue out, Doc. I like you.”
Bastard. He would too.
“We have a special fight planned for you tonight,” Maximo announces, and Jo takes a step back until she hits the side of the cage. Brody is inching into her space.
He must say something that pisses her off, because in the next instance she whacks him between the legs with her crutch, then slams the other across his face.
Kick his ass, Jo-love! That’s what I really want to say, but I have my orders, and I need to keep my mouth shut until it’s my turn.
The crowd roars with glee, stomping the metal bleachers with anticipation. This type of crowd wants blood, they want torment, they want pain. They give over a hefty dollar amount, and it’s only right that they get a show.
Reaper comes on stage next, followed by Braveheart, and the cocky smile is wiped from Brody’s face.
Maximo takes the microphone again. “Everyone here, you know Brody. One of the managers who takes your money. He’s been naughty, skimming cash from the top and stealing from me. Not only that, but he took advantage of poor Jo. Drugged her. Raped her. And left her to be forgotten,” Maximo tsks, and Jo squeezes her eyes shut with embarrassment as her dirty laundry is aired out for entertainment.
“Fuck you. I’m not going to let you embarrass her,” I try to pull free from Tongue, and he holds his knife to my neck.
“Move an inch, and see what happens,” Tongue warns.
The crowd boos Brody and throws bottles at the cages.
“Kill him!”
“Feast on his flesh!”
“Skin him!”
“Have her do it!”
The crowd yells over one another, and when Brody tries to make a run for it, Tool is in the doorway, blocking him.
“You see, Brody. She was under the protection of the Ruthless Kings, and they’re here, not only for payback, but for the hit you called on them.” Maximo drops the microphone, leaving it to swing in the air.
Reaper grabs Brody behind the back of his neck with one hand then grabs the microphone in the other, the silver speaker glittering in
the yellow light of the illegal arena. “Swallow it,” his deep voice beckons across the ring, the pebbles on the surface of the ground trembling from the powerful baritone.
Brody whimpers and tries to beg, but Reaper doesn’t let him go. He wraps the cord of the microphone around Brody’s neck and tightens it. “I said swallow it, you filthy bitch,” Reaper states, shoving the pill to the back of Brody’s throat. “Good boy.” Reaper smiles proudly, slapping Brody’s face. “Now we wait.”
“What did you do to me?” he asks into the microphone, and his voice breaks as the drug begins to affect him.
Reaper points at me, narrowing his dark gaze as he crooks his finger.
Like I need to be told twice. I run toward the entrance of the ring and forget everyone else, moving straight to Jo. “You okay, baby?” I cup her face and lay a kiss on her lips.
A sound of sickening laughter follows behind me.
“I’m fine. I just want this over,” she says, unable to meet my eyes. She doesn’t need to be worried about what I’ll think of her. I don’t think bad of her at all. It’s the piece of shit Brody I have a problem with.
I nod, turning around and putting her behind me, staring at the man who changed the course of Jo’s life.
“How’s it feel to get my sloppy seconds?” He laughs, but it’s cut short as Reaper tightens the cord around his neck. He stops laughing, but not speaking. “Told the bitch I loved her, and she believed it. She begged for my cock. Cried for it. I couldn’t fuck her fast enough.”
“I did not! I wanted nothing to do with you!” Jo cries and tries to step around me to get to him, but I hold her back.
I’m going to take care of this. I’m going to take care of what’s mine.
I take a step forward and throw my fist in the air, slamming it against the asshole’s jaw. He falls to the ground, and the crowd cheers as he spits up blood. When he tries to get up, he sways, stumbling to the right until he smashes against the cage and the microphone untangles from around his neck.
“What … wha … did you do … me,” he slurs incomplete sentences.
“We did what you did to her, Brody.” I kick him onto his back and lay my boot against his throat. “We’re going to fuck you up, and there won’t be anything you can do about it.” I pick him up by his chest and give him hope. “If you tell us who hired you, we’ll let you live,” I say. “That’s the only stipulation.”
“Just … a bunch … of college kids,” he tries to stay awake, but the drug is hitting him hard. “All… in my … phone.” He gives them up easily, and I dig into his pocket for his cell. Nothing in the right, but jackpot in the left. I toss it to Tool. “Give it to Badge.”
“Now, let’s do some reenactment.” I rip his shirt from his body. “Is this how he did it, Jo?” I turn to ask her and see that’s she’s leaning against Braveheart, anger swirling in her orbs, turning those beautiful greens into monsters.
“Yes,” she said. “Only he should have a beer first.”
“Right,” I snap my fingers, remembering he drugged her beer. “Anyone have a beer they would like to share?” I shout toward the crowd and bottles and cans are thrown at the cage. Tool picks a few cans up that didn’t bust and walks back over.
“How about a shotgun party?” Tool says, stabbing the can with his screwdriver. “Isn’t that what all the college kids do?” He places the can against Brody’s lips, and the guy is forced to drink it down. Tool throws the empty can across the ring and punctures a hole in another and forces Brody to drink that one too. Beer runs down the edges of his mouth, turning the dirt of the ring into mud.
“I think I’ll take your trigger fingers just like we did your buddy that you hired. Poor bastard, he was supposed to help us, you know—that was the plan—and then he had to go and scare himself to death. He had a heart attack, and we had to improvise. Surprise!” Reaper chuckles, slicing the first finger off Brody.
He cries out, already begging for his life. “No… more, please.”
“Aw, did you stop when Jo asked you to? Did you stop your men from firing into a home where women and children lived? No?” Reaper slices the other trigger finger off and tosses it on the ground. The crowd screams and stomps on the bleachers again. The feet pounding on the shaky metal reminds me of a rapid heartbeat.
“No one fucks with a Ruthless King, Brody,” I state, dragging my scalpel down his chest. I watch as his skin splits, and blood starts to drip. He’s screaming at the top of his lungs, and I laugh when he asks for help. I circle the scalpel around his nipple and place my lips next to his ear. “You’re in a room full of people, and no one is going to help you.” I stab him unexpectedly in the belly, then tug it out, watching the blood roll free.
I was conditioned for this. This moment. This man. This woman.
I’m my father’s son, and if there is one thing I’m good at, it’s slicing flesh.
I flip him onto his stomach like my father did to me. “You dare touch her and take what’s mine. You fucking dare!” I say, carving my own scars into his back. I drag it all the way down until his ass bleeds. “You dare hurt my family. And for what? You knew she was with us.”
He can’t say anything. He’s barely conscious. The drug, the pain, he can’t handle it. I cut a path down the middle of his back until his spine shows. “Do you know, all I have to do is damage this area,” I tease my scalpel around the spinal cord, threatening to cut it, “and you’ll be paralyzed.” I filet him open like a fucking fish, and memories flash in my mind of when my dad did the same to me. “But then you wouldn’t be able to feel what I’m going to do to you.”
“Cut him! Cut him! Cut him! Cut him!” The crowd stomps and chants, loving what they’re seeing.
“Jo?” I hold the bloody scalpel out, and I wonder if I’ve pushed her too far. Blood drips down my hand, to my elbow, and then a bead falls to the floor.
She hobbles over and lays the crutches down as she lowers herself onto the floor carefully. I rethink what I offered her and wonder if I want her to bear this burden. I pull the scalpel away, but she grabs onto it, and the sharp blade digs into her palm. She’s used to the pain of a sharp knife digging into her skin.
My badass, tortured, strong, resilient woman has determination, anger, and the need to cut something other than herself.
We’re different, but in the ways that matter we’re very much the same.
Our cuts run so deep they run into one another, creating extra veins for our blood to flow into. When we don’t have life left in our bodies to give to the world, we give strength to the other. We’re interwoven through the divots in our skin.
The thirst for retribution is bright, gleaming off the scalpel. She places it against the back of his shoulder and glides it down the hint of free space I left for her. The crowd cheers, and Reaper’s laugh booms, but it’s all background noise.
It’s all static as a tear leaves her eyes and travels down to the curve of her smile.
There’s. My. Woman.
All fucked up and pretty, just for me.
“I trusted you,” she whispers, his body wiggling to get away, but the drug coursing through his veins doesn’t allow him to. “You were … you were my best friend.” She digs the sharp instrument down his other side. Deeper and much more painful with how he’s screaming. Her fist is wrapped around the silver handle as if she’s trying to shove it as far in his body as it will go. “You were … my friend!” she shouts, her voice breaking.
“How does it feel, Brody? To say no, to beg, to plead, to scream. To know that no matter what you do, nothing will stop me? How does that make you feel?” She shoves two fingers into one of the wounds, and he vomits up the beer, spewing it all over Tool’s boots.
“Fuck you. I just had these polished.” Tool jerks away and kicks his right foot out to sling the puke off, then he kicks Brody in the face, crunching his jaw.
Jo chuckles as the wet sounds of her fingers rub through the blood and flesh squelches. “I knew you’d feel this fu
cking good,” she says to him.
I have a feeling that’s what he said to her.
He gasps when she removes her hand from the wound above his ribs, and then she drops her attention to his ass, cocking her head to the left, then right, debating what she wants to do. I wonder if she’s thinking he looks like me now… I hope not.
She twirls the scalpel in the air, staring at it, then she glances at his ass. She spreads his cheeks and then thrusts the sharp end inside.
Brody doesn’t even scream. He passes out from the pain, just like the coward he is.
The more she twists the scalpel in his wound, the more she cuts, and the more blood that flows out of his flesh.
“Oh no! You don’t get off that easily, asshole,” I mutter and snatch the can of beer Tool is drinking and pour it over Brody’s head to wake him up. The liquid flows into his ear and cleans out the wound graciously on his cheek, before dripping down his lips.
He coughs and cries as he wakes, digging his fingers in the dirt of the floor, trying to pull himself away from the abuse.
Jo pulls the scalpel out, only to pierce his flesh again. “Doesn’t feel good, does it? To not be in control of your own body. I fucking hate you.” She releases her hold on the scalpel, the same scalpel that dug into my back all those years ago, and now I’m finally doing some good with it.
“I’m done with him,” she states. She tries to get up, and Braveheart tucks his hands under her arms, pulling her to her feet. He settles the crutches under her arms, and she gives Brody the dirtiest, most vile look I’ve ever seen.
I’m glad on I’m not on the receiving end of it.
I flip Brody over, and blood pools under his ass. He’s sobbing and saying something under his breath.
“What’s that?” I say, bringing my ear down close to his mouth.
“I’m … I’m … sorry,” he stutters.
“Sorry doesn’t take away what you did. Sorry doesn’t fix a pregnancy.”
His eyes widen, but before he can even think about asking about the baby—Brody would want to live and prove himself—there’s no chance for that.
