Where Darkness Lies
Page 9

Someone got the good genes.
“Why are you fighting tonight?” I dare to ask.
He turns, tightening the bandages on his hands. His abs flex as he breathes, and I have to force my eyes to stay on his face. I glimpse a tattoo on his chest, right over his heart. It’s a pair of bound hands and they almost look 3D. It’s quite . . . disturbing. Especially considering that what those hands are bound with is barbed wire.
“There’s someone here who knows information about Hendrix. For a good price—say, my winnings—he’ll give me that information. These clubs, they all deal with illegal shit. It’s not legal what they’re doing here, and a lot of the people here have serious links into the . . . shall we say . . . darker side of the world?”
God.
“I don’t know what you think you’ll find out about Hendrix. He’s a smart man, and he’s careful,” I growl softly.
He narrows his eyes and I can see his jaw flexing with anger. “There is a lot I will find out about him. I can find where he docks, what islands are his, where he spends his time, where he gets his ship stock and his weapons, and, best of all, I can find out his locations.”
Now my jaw tightens. “I won’t let you hurt him.”
“He deserves everything he gets,” he spits.
“Why? Because he left you?”
His entire body jerks. “If it was that simple, do you really think I’d go to so much effort?”
“Why don’t you blame your mother?” I snap. “She’s the one who put you in this position.”
He steps forward and his hands are in tight fists by his sides. “Don’t you ever fucking talk about my mother again.”
“You don’t know half of what you think you do. You still think I’m important to him, but I’m not. You still think you can outsmart him—you can’t.”
He straightens up and spins on his heel, storming toward the door. Running away—typical.
Maybe he’s more like Hendrix than he knows.
The fighting ring is large, square, and fills one full corner of the warehouse. There are hundreds of people hanging around the railings, shoving their bodies through, screaming profanities at the fighters who are waiting to beat each other half to death just for a reward. I guess sometimes desperation is stronger than common sense.
I turn my gaze to Dimitri. He’s doing that bouncing side-to-side thing again, and his jaw is tight. His eyes are on the floor, and he seems to be prepping himself up. How bad will this fight be? Will he get hurt? Or worse? I turn to see the guards standing behind me, their faces empty. They show so little emotion. Do they care about him at all? Is there any concern for his well-being?
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice suddenly comes across a microphone. “Tonight we have two impressive competitors. First, to my left, we have Panther. He’s tall, strong, but most of all, ladies and gents, he’s angry.”
The crowd screams and claps, chanting his name over and over.
My stomach twists.
Panther is fucking scary.
“And we have an old favorite. We have all put our money into this man before and won, so put your hands together for Dimitri.”
The crowd screams louder, and I feel bile rise up in my throat. The other man, Panther, is huge. He’s twice the size of Dimitri, and Dimitri is a massive man. I rub my belly, desperately just wanting to get out of here. I can smell sweat and, scarily, blood. I don’t move my eyes off Dimitri as he steps up into the ring, bumping his fists together.
“You all know the rules,” the microphone man roars. “Whoever goes down for ten seconds is the loser. You may use any means necessary to bring your opponent down. Weapons are not permitted. Take your places.”
Any means necessary? I rub my stomach harder. The vile smell of sweat and blood burns my nose, and I try to close my eyes and inhale to calm myself, but it seems as though it’s really pointless. Nothing is making me feel better right now. I need fresh air, I need to get outside. I lift my hand and rub my forehead, feeling a fine layer of sweat there. It’s a mix of the fighting thing and the mass crowds. I’m not used to crowds.
“’Scuse me, young lady,” an old, husky voice says just as a hand lands on my hip. I flinch. “You’re in my way. Perhaps you’d like to go on my shoulders?”
I turn and see a vile, old, disgusting man with a row of rotting teeth. My stomach threatens to erupt. His hand on my hip tightens and I try to tug away, but there’s no room to move now that people are closing in around me.
“Hands off,” a dark voice booms, and I am thankful to hear Dimitri’s guard.
“Just havin’ some fun,” the old man almost whines.
“Take it elsewhere.”
I’m exceptionally grateful in that moment for the big, overly bulky guys behind me. I take a small step back into them, needing to know they’re a little closer. I turn my eyes back to Dimitri and see his gaze is on me. His expression is stern and intense. He looks up at his guards, nods, and then he turns his attention back to the fight.
“Are you ready?” the man yells.
The crowd screams and roars, waving money around and chanting both men’s names.
“Are you set?”
The screaming gets louder. I press my hands over my ears.
“It’s time to fight!”
The crowd starts stomping their feet yelling, “Fight, fight, fight, fight!”
I watch as Panther leaps toward Dimitri the moment they’re given the go-ahead, catching him off guard. His fist raises and comes crashing down over Dimitri’s jaw. I watch as his head swings to the side and blood splatters out. I press my hand over my mouth, making a strangled sound even though no one can hear it through the deafening noise. God, they’re brutal.