"I can't say I do." I feign ignorance.
Quinn snorts before adding, "Sure... Barnett." My expression freezes in place at that name. It's one I have not heard in more than a decade.
"Barnett?" I slowly ask, trying to keep my face from giving away how unnerved I am.
"Stop!" He puts his hand up, his eyes closing as if he's at the end of his rope. "Let's skip the whole denying phase. I know who you are. Or..." He looks me up and down. "Who you were."
I purse my lips. "I don't know what you're trying to do here..."
"You know... when I saw you, I immediately realized it wasn't the first time. But then I had to think real hard to remember where I knew you from." He smirks, probably knowing he already has me. This was what I'd been afraid all along. He then goes a step further and pushes a photo onto the desk and towards me.
I take a look at the photo, and my eyes suddenly go to his in question.
"You could imagine my surprise when I came across this picture. You were my uncle's favorite champion." He nods towards the picture that shows a bloody man full of bruises next to a man in a suit posing for the cameras.
"I left that life behind me," I answer tersely, but he continues.
"Looking at your circumstances right now, it doesn't seem that you have. Also that wife of yours... Does she know about your past? I'm guessing not. Although, based on what I've heard, you're both cut from the same cloth."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say again, trying to see what he knows about Bianca.
"Oh, come one, I think you found the only female who made her first kill at ten. Tell me, do you exchange notes on your victims?" I can see he's doing this on purpose to rile me up, so I don't answer.
"Not judging." He shrugs. "In our world, it's rare to have your hands clean of blood. I'm simply curious at your dynamic." He pauses and studies me. "It's not every day that you see a pairing such as yours. Hell, if my wife were like that, I wouldn't have spent the last few years locked up." Quinn points to some of the tattoos on his arm, probably to show me proof of his years behind bars. Seems like my initial impression was proven right. He did do time.
"Your wife turned on you?" I ask, and his eyes seem to darken at the mention, but he just shrugs it off.
And just like that, I'm back to my initial dilemma. Even if I could stomach turning Bianca in, I'd be just a hypocrite, since my hands are also stained with blood.
"I'm curious though, what happened to the actual Theodore Hastings." He changes the topic.
"He's dead," I answer, and he lifts his eyebrows suspiciously.
"I didn't take you for the treacherous sort, Mr. Hastings," the emphasis on my last name is not lost on me, but I feel compelled to clarify.
"Not by my hand. You probably realize how he ended up dead."
"That's true... now that I think about it..." He looks me up and down, "My uncle used to rave about you. Quiet, hardworking. You never gave him any problems... Until the day you disappeared."
I purse my lips, not liking where this is going.
"You do realize my uncle still owns you, don't you?" Quinn asks in a bored manner, and my hands clench into fists.
"What are you going to do about it?" I ask through gritted teeth. He knows he has me, so his smile is pure evil.
"Eh," He waves his hand. "I'll have none of that. We need you more in a suit than in a ring. My uncle will just have to live with the disappointment. You, on the other hand... let's just say you behave."
"So that's why you came here? To threaten me into submission?"
"Not at all. I just wanted to remind you that things rarely stay truly buried under. You can enjoy what you have now, or... you can lose it all." He gets up to his feet as he says that.
"I guess we'll see each other soon, Mr. Hastings. A pleasure." He tips his head and exits my office.
I'm left alone, and my mind retakes me to that night when I'd found my parents killed in the kitchen. I can't help but ask myself if revenge is worth everything, even selling my soul to the devil. But just the picture of my mother shot in the head and my father lying in a pool of blood is enough to remind me what I'm fighting for and why. I can take whatever they dish at me as long as I get Jimenez's head on a platter.
I never really cared much about my current life except as a means to prepare my revenge.
Not until Bianca, anyway.
Now, there's nothing left to lose.
CHAPTER XXV
16 years ago
In the aftermath of my parents' murder, I learned one thing. No matter how smart, a kid is just a kid. And no one takes a kid seriously.
I'd spent so much time trying to make the police see that there was no robbery, but it was soon apparent they'd never listen to a fourteen-year-old. Not even when I'd told them about the stranger, Greg, and the list my parents had given him.
"This isn't a conspiracy theory, kid." One cop had told me.
I'd had to grit my teeth and move on, knowing that I had to do it myself if I truly wanted to make a difference.
But being a minor, the system had other plans for me. Most of which involved a succession of foster homes in the Boston area. I'd been in two homes before I eventually realized it wasn't for me. The first one had been fine if fine is defined by the minimum required to sustain life. I'd been moved from that one when there had been one too many arrivals, all of them under ten.
The second home, however, housed another three teenage boys. It was clear to me from the first meeting that once bullied, always bullied. They'd taken one look at my scrawny self, scoffed, and made my life a living hell. I'd been there a total of three months before cuts and bruises accumulated to such a degree that normal activities became a chore. I would trudge my way instead of walk because I probably had some broken bones. For those kids, that meant weakness, and it was open season to do worse.
The night I'd escaped, I'd barely been able to move. I'd stolen a bike and pedaled as fast and as much as I could until I'd crashed at some point.
Maybe it'd been my luck, or retrospectively my misfortune, but the spot I'd fallen had non-ironically been near Basilica of Our Lady of Perpetual Help.
I'd lost consciousness at some point, but I'd woken up to find myself on a warm bed, with all my wounds taken care of. They'd taken a good look at me and understood I was a runaway, and as such, they'd offered to let me stay there.
The Basilica also had a Grammar School in which I'd promptly been enrolled. It all seemed too good to be true until I'd realized just how I was supposed to pay for my upkeep.
For a bony kid who'd always been picked on, the chance to learn how to fight while making money on the side seemed like heaven-sent – literally.
I also saw it as my chance to make something of myself, so I could get to Jimenez in the future.
I trained, maybe harder than everyone in my quarters. It wasn't long until I had my first successful fight. After that, it was a series of easy wins, most of them due to an ever-increasing muscle mass and a sudden growth spurt.
By the beginning of my sixteenth year, I was as big and thick as any of the older fighters. This seemed to entertain the elders as they gave me matches with more seasoned fighters each time. When I'd won my hardest victory yet, I'd also taken the notice of a certain Andrew Gallagher. He was visiting for new recruits when he'd decided I'd come with him.
From my small game fights to Gallagher's pit fights, there was a world of difference. I quickly understood that in this new environment, it was kill or be killed.
Literally.
Andrew's pit fights weren't your regular MMA fights. They were vicious, fight for your life type of battles. This was where the real money was made. There were several arenas in use throughout Boston, each of them alternated for different fights. The legality or illegality of it was as glaring as making minors fight for their food.
But I recognized it for what it was—my chance at surviving in this cutthroat world and making connections while doing so. I'd quickly becom
e aware of what the name Jimenez meant in the underground world. And if there is one way to fight a fire, it was with fire.
From my first fight, my first kill, my first foray into pit fights, I strove to become the best.
Andrew's pet, they called me. They weren't wrong. I was biddable but deadly. In their minds, the best combination.
It's been two years now. Two years in which I'd fought almost weekly on Andrew's stage. Two years in which the corpses had accumulated, and my hands had bathed in blood. Two years in which I watched my humanity seep out of my body with each strike of my fists.
I look at the swollen skin on my knuckles and sigh, dragging the bandage over and securing it in place. I stand up and take in my meager accommodation. It’s a small room with a single bed and an adjacent bathroom. For all my earnings during these years, I preferred a Spartan lifestyle. I go to the bathroom and take out some ointment from the mirror cupboard. I scrutinize my battered face for any open wounds, applying generously at the corner of my mouth and under my eye. The last bastard I'd fought had gotten me good in the face a couple of time.
The more successful I became in the arena the less time I had in-between fights. Logically, it didn't make sense if you had your fighter's top shape in mind. But these pits maximized on usefulness. For them, everyone had a shelf life, so it was better to squeeze every bit of profit before it was too late.
My last fight had been a mere four days ago. And yet, tomorrow I’m scheduled for another one.
With a sigh, I leave my room and head to the gym to continue my training.
The minute I enter, an older man looks me up and down.
"You Andrew's boy?"
"Yes, sir." I answer, having learned that respect goes a long way with these people.
"What's your name?"
"Adrian Barnett, sir." He squints his eyes at me and purses his lips.
"And when's your next fight?"
"Tomorrow night."
"Good, good. We have a new recruit. Andrew wants you to train him, show him the ropes."
"A new recruit?" I ask. Weird. Fighters aren’t usually supposed to train new recruits.
"Yeah, well... he'll have more chances if you help him. He's a bit gaunt if you ask me. Don't know what he's doing in a place like this. But hey, boss says to do it, we do it." I nod slowly in understanding.
"Come now, let me show you to the lad." He heads to the back of the gym, where the weights are, and he points at a kid struggling with a pair of dumbbells that can't be more than twenty-five pounds each.
When he sees us approach, he stops and wipes the sweat from his brow. He looks... healthy, unblemished. Not a usual condition when you're out of the Basilica, especially to advance to this level. This immediately tells me he didn't come in the regular route.
"Oh, hey there." He gives a hesitant smile that neither me nor the old man return.
I take a second to study the boy. He's got shaggy long hair, a couple of piercings in his ears and some random tattoos on his skinny arms.
"This here is Barnett. He's gonna show you the ropes." The man looks between the two of us and shakes his head. "Don't get yourself killed, kid." He turns and leaves me with him.
"I'm Adrian Barnett." I say and put my hand out to him. I know people in this place get off on intimidation, but I can't help but feel for the kid when his slender frame is so obvious in the gym.
"Theodore Hastings. But call me Theo." He returns my handshake, and I can feel him trembling. Somehow that makes me give him a small assuring smile.
"Well, Theo, let's get you started, shall we?"
14 years ago
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I punch Theo's shoulder as he opens the door to the room.
"What the fuck man?" He jumps back and scowls at me.
"Do you really have a death wish?" His hand goes to massage the spot I hit, and I see him cringe in pain as he heads towards the bed. "Don't even tell me you tried your last fight. You were just taking hit after hit..."
He collapses on the bed, clearly tired from his fight.
I shake my head and am about to head out when I hear muffled sobs. I half-turn and see Theo with his head in the pillow.
"Shit, dude, are you ok?" I immediately ask.
"It's all my fault..." His hands clench into fists and he smacks the mattress.
I don't even know what to say to comfort him.
When Theo arrived two years ago as a scrawny kid ready to take on seasoned fighters, it had been solely to rebel against his parents. His wealthy, well-connected parents. Apparently, for a posh kid, it's not enough to get a few piercings and ink on your body.
No, the best way to rebel is to throw yourself headfirst into pit fighting, where the chances of getting out alive are against you. Honestly, the only reason Theo's still standing today is because I haven't given up on him. I'd trained and trained him until he was able to hold his own. Well... in the first year it was mostly me nursing him to health and teaching him how to not get killed.
It all changed, though, when his parents were killed in a car accident. Theo blames himself for it because he wasn't there. If you ask me, that's bollocks. I'd gone through the whole blaming myself routine too. In his case, the accident could not have been prevented.
In mine, maybe...
Now it seems that Theo is dead set on getting himself killed in the ring. I don't understand him. He's already been accepted into Harvard but decided to defer his enrollment to fight in this dump. At least I have an ulterior motive for being here. Him? He’s wasting away his potential.
I'd tried to tell him that on a number of occasions, but he always assumed I was telling him he was weak and would take offense.
I'd stopped.
That didn't mean I'd stopped taking care of him. He was my best friend, and he wasn't fit for this world.
It’s a few days later when we’re training in the gym that he tells me of his upcoming fight. I’m holding the training targets and he’s aiming to catch me off guard.
"No way." I say, incredulous that anyone would allow such a pairing. My hand slips and his punch barely misses my cheek.
"Fuck." Theo laughs. "Why are you so surprised? Do you know this Bull dude?"
"Do I know him? Theo, have you been living under a rock this whole time?"
"I'm serious. I've never heard about him before."
"He used to be a champion here a couple years ago. Never got to fight him though, before he got moved to Nevada."
"Then what got you so spooked?"
"Dude, are you kidding me? The guy's a tank. He's easily twice your size. What were they thinking to pair you two?"
"Maybe they see my potential." Theo adds with a wink, but I can see that he's starting to get scared.
"When is it?" I ask, not really wanting to know. In Andrew's pits the rule was that you could never renege on a fight unless you were dead. Which didn't leave much hope for Theo.
"Tonight." Theo adds casually, removing his gloves and taking a sip of water.
"And you're not resting?" Never mind that I'm scared of him fighting Bull, but there is no way he has any chance if he goes into the ring already tired.
"That's it. You're not doing anything for the rest of the day." I lead him to the bench and make him sit. "Conserve your strength."
"You'll be there?" He asks almost hesitantly.
"Of course." I try my best to mask my worry, not wanting him to pick up on it and influence his morale. But truth is... deep down I know that Theo's not going to make it.
It's close to midnight when I take a seat on the bleachers in the arena. Theo's fight is supposed to start soon. From the corner of my eye, I see him give me a little wave before heading to his side. Turning slightly, I also take in Bull. Like his name, the guy is huge, his muscles bulging from what I doubt is genuine effort. Still, to stay in the game for so long, you gotta be good. Hell, better than good. You gotta be the best.
The match quickly begins, and I see Theo try to make up for his s
maller size with his speed. He's dodging left and right Bull's attacks. I'm at the edge of my seat, hoping he can score some blows on him before Bull does. Theo manages an uppercut when Bull least expects it and proceeds to throw another punch to Bull's temple.
Yes! My fists clench in excitement. He can do this.
Come on, Theo!
They circle each other a few more times before suddenly Bull is in front of Theo, and with one punch to the stomach throws him to the ground. Theo coughs up some blood and tries to stand up, but Bull is on him, pummeling away. My eyes are wide as I realize that Theo's not even fighting. He turns his head slightly and catches my eyes, giving me a hint of a smile before his head drops to the ground and his eyes close.
"We have a winner!" The crowd is cheering for Bull, but I can't hear anything. Theo's dead. Why is he dead? Why did he give up? I move mechanically towards the back of the arena, where the dead fighters are taken before being disposed of. On my way, I see Andrew, who stops me with a hand on my shoulder.
"That kid had a death wish." He says, looking towards the ring. I barely have the power to speak when I ask.
"What... do you mean?"
"Why he'd ask to fight Bull... it's beside me. I'd planned to have you fight him next weekend." He shakes his head as if he can't quite understand Theo's decision before moving forward and leaving me rooted to the spot. Theo had wanted it. He'd willingly sought death. Why? But I know the answer. The guilt had been too much for him.
I'm later in my room, still numb from the events in the arena. I'd bribed some of the workers to have Theo buried in the cemetery next to the Basilica, hoping this would at least offer him some peace in death, even though his would forever be an unmarked grave. Usually, the defeated weren't even given the privilege of being buried, some immediately being disposed of in of the crematories in the city, while others were sold for different purposes. Apparently corpses had their uses.
I give a bitter laugh at the notion.
Undressing, I plop myself into bed. I shift for a while trying to find a good position when I realize there's something under the pillow. Frowning, I lift it to find a big envelope.
Morally Corrupt: A Dark Romance (Morally Questionable Book 1) Page 15
