The Belgian Beast

by Keyes, Janae

  Marc gave me a subtle wink with a charmingly mischievous smile as he took the helmet and secured both to the bike.

  “Come with me,” he instructed with a nod toward the street.

  He motioned for me to walk ahead out of the alley into the vibrancy that was Matongé. The neighborhood known for being mostly Congolese, was a dynamic mix of African cultures I’d spent a lot of time in growing up. When my parents had first moved to Belgium, they made immediate connections with the other Africans in the neighborhood.

  With Marc by my side, we strolled down the block, and past quite a few shops I knew which catered to Africans and those with a love or connection to the largest continent on Earth. This was where we could find products only found back home, stylists for our hair, good African food, and community.

  For me though, I had never truly molded with any of the other Africans I met. I was the child of immigrants, but had taken on an identity molded by the country I was born in. Yet, I didn’t fit in completely with those of my home country.

  “It’s just there,” Marc pointed out an inconspicuous doorway with a plaque on the door that read, Jean De Smet - Mixed Martial Arts Gym. “It’s upstairs.”

  I followed Marc up the stairs. As we reached the halfway point, I began to hear the grunts of people fighting, the smack of gloves against punching bags, and the shouting of a coach challenging all of them. Along with the sounds came the smell of pure sweat. This wasn’t the foul smell one had to deal with on the crowded metro on a hot day, but the scent of hard work.

  At the top of the stairs, I gaped at the sight in front of me. It was like a scene from a sports movie. Each of the large punching bags had someone throwing punches at it. All of them lost in their own worlds as they fought their leather opponents.

  In the back of the room was a boxing ring but it wasn’t a traditional ring. This was an odd shape with a cage around it. Inside the cage were two opponents, both women who were throwing punches and dodging them. A coach stood outside shouting instructions as they fought. I stood mesmerized as I watched them use their bodies in such a unique way. The way their feet hopped and slid around reminded me of dancing. It was an art.

  “Viens avec moi.” Marc took my hand. His was rough to the touch but held mine gently as he began to pull me with him past the rows of punching bags to the last one, which was empty.

  Unlike the other bags, which were black, this one was bright red and a thick script in bright yellow read, The Belgian Beast.

  “The Belgian Beast,” I ran my finger along the text and the smooth leather of the bag. “Qui est-ce?” I turned to Marc intrigued.

  “C’est moi,” he shoved his chest out proudly and nodded to the wall nearest to us.

  I hadn’t noticed it and couldn’t believe I’d missed it. From top to bottom the red painted wall held a plethora of framed articles, and championship belts proudly displayed.

  Stepping to the wall, my eyes scanned over the many framed newspaper clippings.

  THE BELGIAN BEAST WINS AGAIN.

  THERE’S NO WINNING AGAINST THE BELGIAN BEAST.

  THE BELGIAN BEAST TAKES ON THE MURDERER OF MOLDOVA & TAKES THE PRIZE.

  THE MMA’S CHAMPION, THE BELGIAN BEAST, RETAINS TITLE.

  THE BELGIAN BEAST REMAINS UNDEFEATED.

  They went on and on. The black and white photos of Marc stood out in contrast to the red wall. He wasn’t just some fighter, but one of the best. Turning back toward him, I could see the pride in his stance as he watched me.

  “You’re a big deal,” I noted casually as I stepped up to him.

  “He’s the biggest deal, Mademoiselle,” a voice joined us. A short man with a big smile stood next to Marc. He reached his arm and gave Marc a pat on the shoulder. “Recruiting, I see,” he noted in Dutch.

  “A little, you could say,” Marc answered with a chuckle before he turned to me and switched back to French. “Nina, this is Jean, the owner of the gym. He’s also my trainer and manager.”

  “Lovely to meet you, young lady. Are you looking to join the world of MMA?” Jean extended his hand to me. I shook it politely.

  “Marc invited me. I’m just checking it out, I suppose,” I answered him shyly. Meeting new people was always incredibly awkward for me. I wasn’t like my cousins who were all incredibly outgoing and social. I normally needed time to warm up to people. Marc though had been an exception to my usual rules.

  “I’m going to show her a few things. I think you could use them after last night, hm?” Marc winked at me.

  My cheeks flushed and I was grateful my dark skin hid the heat in my face. I was embarrassed at the events of last night and slightly infatuated with the man who saved me.

  “I better get back to getting these girls in shape for their fight. Marc’s a good teacher and obviously a champion who learned from the best.” Jean pointed at himself boastfully.

  Marc laughed and slapped the older man on the back before he jogged off to continue coaching the two girls in the odd shaped ring.

  I glanced from the ring to Marc who was wrapping his hands with tape. I stood in awe of the large man who held championship titles. He wasn’t like anyone else I’d met before. His exterior didn’t match what I was learning about the interior and he easily connected with me, which no one ever did. Marc was different.

  “What shape is the ring? It’s not a square,” I commented.

  “It’s an octagon. It’s one of the things that makes mixed martial arts unique. We fight in the octagon, and we mix various styles of martial arts with other traditional fighting sports like boxing. You can really go anywhere with it and no fight is ever the same. You might be against an opponent with a background deeper in kickboxing or Muay Thai, boxing or Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. It’s a mixed bag and that’s what makes it fun,” Marc explained as he took my hand into his. A distinct shiver ran from the tips of my fingers, up my arm, and down my spine at his touch.

  “Whore. That’s all you’ve always been. A slutty whore.” The voice that pierced loudly through my head shocked me.

  I snatched my hand from Marc and wrapped my arms around myself. I hated when he came out. I tried to keep his nasty words locked inside but they always found the most inconvenient moment to burst through.

  “Hey,” Marc’s voice broke through. “Ça va?”

  My eyes found his and a solace I wasn’t back in that place. I wasn’t in that dingy apartment being spoken to like a common sewer rat. No longer was I suffering at the hands of a fierce abuser I thought I’d never escape. I allowed a breath free.

  “Oui,” I breathed. “Ça va.”

  “It’s okay,” Marc gave a reassuring smile as he took my hand back into his and gently began to wrap my knuckles with tape. “I get them too. The voices of my past that tell me I’m not good enough. They tell me I’m a loser or a piece of shit. I get them but I refuse to listen to them. Don’t listen, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  From that moment, I was bonded with this stranger. He shared one of my secrets and knew how to comfort me as if I’d known him my whole life, as if we were connected not by chance, but by purpose.

  Chapter Three

  Marc

  Nina was unique in her own way. Quiet yet expressive, dainty yet a fighter, and beyond fucking gorgeous.

  I couldn’t keep my eyes off her as we worked together, and any time I got to touch her was a moment to slow time down.

  I instructed her on throwing a proper punch. She wasn’t bad at all and her limber body helped her quickly learn how to dodge punches.

  We stood in the octagon, toe to toe and she moved with such ease I was hypnotized.

  “Aie,” I hissed as a jab landed on my arm. I spotted a sly smile cross her lips. She’d taken advantage of my entranced state and snuck in a hit. “Very good,” I congratulated her on a job well done. “You’re doing good. You can be winning fights in no time.”

  “Does the Belgian Beast have a new opponent?” A voice came from beyond the cage.

  I s
harply turned in the direction of the voice and spotted a man rolling up in a wheelchair. “Will the winning streak end?”

  “Never,” I boasted before turning back toward Nina who watched my interaction with my old friend. “We can take a break. Get some water and we can do a cool down in a few minutes.”

  “Okay,” her small voice answered as we strolled to the entrance of the cage together.

  I placed a hand on her shoulder, she tensed under my touch but quickly relaxed as we paused, her eyes found mine instantly and I gave her a reassuring smile. She anxiously smiled back before she turned away and we continued out of the cage together.

  I watched Nina stroll toward the water fountain as I jogged down the stairs and toward my friend. With dark skin like Nina and dreadlocks pulled back in a ponytail, Fabumi Omenuko was one of my oldest friends. We used to train and fight together until Fabumi suffered an injury in the octagon that left him confined to a wheelchair.

  “What’s up?” I approached him and bent down, giving him a hug.

  “Nothing, brother. Just thought I’d stop by and congratulate you on your latest win. Still undefeated,” he noted proudly.

  “Always undefeated, and don’t forget it, fucker,” I proclaimed with a grin as I leaned against the metal fencing of the cage.

  Fabumi laughed. He had this loud booming laugh that took up the space in a room. There was a while where that laugh had faded. After that fateful night, my friend was paralyzed from the waist down, he couldn’t find joy in anything in life, but after a while that joy came back as he found a new purpose, his beautiful wife.

  Fabumi’s laughter died down and he glanced around the place that used to be a second home to him.

  “Who’s the girl?” He nodded toward Nina who stood with a bottle of water, her eyes examining the red wall of dedication to myself and the success I’d brought to the gym.

  I shrugged off his question and he raised his eyebrows at me and grinned.

  “You like her? She’s new here?”

  “All these questions,” I commented casually in hopes he’d lay off. My eyes caught her once more. Her body moved with an easy grace that captured me easily.

  “Yeah, you like her. Where’s she from?” Fabumi was back to his line of questioning and I hadn’t even answered the first one.

  “I only met her last night.”

  “Last night? At the fight?”

  “No. I was on my way home and some fucker tried to snatch her bag at Central Station. I beat the fuck out of the perp and then escorted her home. She only lives about a block from me. I invited her to come hang out and learn a few self-defense tactics,” I explained to my friend.

  “And you want to do the nasty with her, right?” He raised his eyebrows and a sly smile spread across his face.

  “I only just met the girl. Fuck off. How’s things with you? How’s Emmy?” I worked quickly to change the subject as my face heated intensely.

  Fabumi laughed loudly. “Changing the subject, I’ll play along. Emmy is good. Her belly is huge, and she complains about her back all day, but all is good, just waiting on my baby boy.” My friend grinned from ear to ear proudly. He and his wife were expecting their first baby very soon.

  “Fabumi!” Jean’s jubilant voice cheered across the gym.

  I peered up to see my trainer coming across the gym.

  When I joined the gym at fifteen, Fabumi was also just starting out. He was seventeen and at six-foot-two, he was big and fierce. We trained with one another and made each other stronger. Our bond formed immediately and when he was injured, I nearly left the sport, my heart broken, but I continued for him.

  “Mon fils!” Jean beamed as he slapped Fabumi on the shoulder. “Ça va, mon fils?”

  “Ça va,” Fabumi answered to the man who’d been a father figure to the both of us since we were teenagers.

  “Is the baby here yet?” Jean excitedly asked.

  “No, but soon,” Fabumi told him.

  I shifted my attention away from their conversation and my eyes found Nina sipping her water.

  Her pouted lips over the bottle.

  I licked my own lips watching her.

  “This one is over here about to surrender it all,” Fabumi joked as he slapped my arm. I snapped back to reality and into the conversation with my friend and trainer. “You’ve got it bad for that girl. I think you need to make your next move.”

  “Next move?” I shrugged as I dismissed him.

  “A date, and not to the gym, dumbass.” He was matter of fact.

  “She does seem like a nice girl,” Jean added. I rolled my eyes at the men and lifted a hand to dismiss them before stepping away.

  I strolled toward Nina who still stood at the wall. Her fingers hovered over one of my championship belts. My eyes peered over her body, her curves were so defined and perfect to me. Her body toned beyond the average woman because of her dancing.

  “I won that one nearly a year ago.”

  She jumped at my voice and turned back to me, her hand over her chest.

  “Je suis désolé, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Do you have to defend your championship?”

  “Oui, in a couple months. That’s my next big fight.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” I gave her a smile. “You did good today. You have natural abilities. Some people come in here and we have to really teach them, but it came natural to you.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to the stage,” she shrugged as she peered at me through her deliciously long lashes. Every time she looked at me with her sensual brown eyes it was hard to swallow. She took my breath away easily. “I’m exhausted.”

  The sound of her stomach growling made her jump and she covered her stomach with her hands and glanced away embarrassed.

  “And hungry. Me too. Do you want to grab something?”

  “Umm, sure.”

  “Let’s get this tape off our hands and get going. I know just the place.”

  * * *

  It was one of those rare occasions where the Belgian weather held nicely, and it wasn’t too windy or cold even for September. I sat across from Nina at an outside table at a Turkish kebab snack bar not far from the gym that was a typical haunt of mine after a good workout.

  “You like?” I questioned before popping a frite in my mouth.

  “Mmmhmm,” she hummed her answer and nodded, her mouth full of food. Her lips curled into a grin before she took a bite into her durum wrap. She chewed and swallowed. “I don’t normally eat like this, but I was starving.”

  “Sometimes a little junk food hits the spot.” I winked in her direction.

  She nodded enthusiastically as she took another bite. With each moment I spent with her, she came to life a little more.

  Nina guarded herself. I used to be the same. I locked myself away. I was already getting hurt enough at home, I didn’t need someone else hurting me too. Even after joining the gym, it took me awhile to open up and once I did, my life drastically changed. To have positive influences and people in my life immediately turned it around. She needed support like I got, she obviously didn’t have it. I wanted to give it to her.

  “When do you dance?” I asked, intrigued about her dance career.

  “I teach most days of the week. Today is my day off.”

  I kept a note in my mind she was off on Fridays. “I perform at least twice a week, sometimes more depending on the schedule. I practice four or five days a week depending on the schedule. It’s my life.”

  Her entire face lit up as she spoke about her career. She loved dance with everything inside her. It seemed to be what kept her going.

  “How long have you been dancing?”

  “Since I was five. My mom signed me up as an after-school activity and I couldn’t stop. It was the one thing I had in life that I was completely connected to. I’ve only ever stopped once and I regret it,” she expressed a sadness with having stopped dancing.

  “Why?”
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  “Life.”

  A darkness came over us with her answer. The smile on her face faded quickly and the air around us stilled. I could almost hear the thumping of her heart across the table. Being smart, I wouldn’t push her for more information which was hers to reveal at her own time.

  “I’ll have to come see you perform one day. I’m curious. I’ve never been to the ballet before.” I allowed a small chuckle to lighten the air around us, and I clearly heard her breathe a sigh of relief at me not asking further questions.

  “You must. It’s such a wonderful experience. I wish my family would come more often. They tend to stay away from that part of my life. It’s not really them,” she expressed.

  “Same for me. The fighting is a little much for my family. I wish they could come more, but I understand.” I gave her a reassuring grin to show her I understood.

  “Who was the guy in the wheelchair?” she asked.

  I laughed. “Just Fabumi. He’s a good friend of mine and used to be a fighter. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the sport is dangerous. Injuries happen and sometimes you can’t be healed from them. He ended up with a spinal injury that left him paralyzed.”

  Nina gaped before she covered her mouth.

  “Wow, I’m sorry for your friend,” she said in utter shock.

  I shrugged easily as Fabumi did when he addressed his condition. It had been his life for five years and as the years passed, he was able to not just accept it but shrug it off.

  “He’ll be fine,” I commented as I watched Nina’s eyes widened, but before words could leave my mouth, my shoulders were grabbed sharply, and I felt the blade of a knife at the side of my neck.

  “Don’t move, klootzak,” a gruff and dark voice said directly in my ear. I knew exactly who it was and sighed. Sophie had gotten herself in a bind once again.

  “If anyone is a ball sack, it’s you, Bart,” I hissed, careful to not move my head too much and get a blade to the neck.