Текст книги "Destroyed"

Автор книги: Pepper Winters

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

2

Roan

I never asked for the hand life dealt me. I never wanted to be a ghost or a buried soul from society. But I learned from a very early age that choice was an illusion and freedom was a farce.

I no longer cared about that bullshit.

My past was my past, it sculpted me. My actions and wrong doings were my penance. My future and aspirations my vengeance.

* * *

I surveyed my empire, taking in the multiple fights, and the men and women seated in their plush spectator seats. If I allowed myself to feel, I would indulge in a little pride. I created this. From nothing.

For a dead man walking, I achieved more than I’d hoped, but I still wasn’t fucking happy. Never had been. Never would be. Not with the shit living in my skull.

My eyes flew to survey the boxing area. Nestled between the MMA cage and Muay Thai ring, it gleamed red and black with padding and ropes. Giant spotlights hung from the ceiling, sending washes of light on all platforms while leaving the decadent seating around the perimeter in the dark.

Emotions were foreign to me, but if I had to guess at what burned in my chest, I would say survival.

Survival to become more than what I was. To create a life where I could hide in plain sight.

My back creaked as I leaned my elbows on the glass banister. Considering I hadn’t yet hit thirty, my body believed I was a pensioner.

That’s what you get with a life full of violence.

Most major bones had been broken at least once; I’d shed more pints of blood than flowed through my veins; I’d been trained in a skillset that only a few elite ever learned.

I had a past that made all of this possible. A past that would never leave me alone.

My eyes settled on the boxing match below; a glint of silver flashed just before a punch landed on the jaw of a well-built man with long hair tied in a knot.

The man went down.

Fast.

His body bounced on the springy floor, and the referee blew his shrill whistle, signalling the end of the fight.

My body switched from relaxed to revving in a second flat. Goddammed cheaters in my fucking club.

“That cocksucker just signed his death warrant.” My muscles bunched in pleasure, arching with energy at the thought of violence. It’d been a full week since someone cheated, and it was high time I taught someone a lesson.

Egotistical bastard to think he could come in and cheat. No way. Not in my house. My thoughts raced, shading everything with bloodlust.

You’re going to pay tonight, and I’m going to love making you scream.

“Death warrant? Nah, you’re mistaken, mate. He had the crap beat out of him. He’s just a little pussy. Can’t take a real man’s punch.” Oscar, my second in command, kept his eyes on the fight and reached to pat my shoulder.

The second his hand landed on my blazer, he stiffened then wrenched his touch away. “Shit.”

Yes, shit. I gritted my teeth, riding through the muscles spasms, barely keeping control. Locking eyes with him, I said, “You’ve worked with me for a full year and yet you still haven’t learned. Maybe I should throw you in the ring tonight.” Anger rippled through my veins, hot and swift—taunting me with images of pain and power. For a moment, I hoped he would touch me again, then I’d have an excuse. I could break one of my many laws and enjoy a bit of recreation. I could give in.

He dropped his arm quickly, fingers opening and closing. “Sorry. It’s hard not to when it’s second bloody nature. Everybody touches, mate—either in violence or love.” He frowned. “If you’re going to re-join the human race anytime soon, you have to get used to people patting you on the back or shaking your hand.”

My hands curled, wanting so much to punch someone. I needed a victim—someone I could pour all this shit inside, so I no longer had to live with it. I might have escaped my past, but I hadn’t escaped the memories. Oscar thought it was second nature to touch—not for me. My second nature had been reprogrammed so efficiently it overruled every conscious thought.

I may be human on the outside, but inside…inside I had no control.

“You’re heading into the shut up or get fucked territory again, Oz. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Do it again, and I’ll make sure you damn well remember to keep your hands to yourself.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, muttering, “You’re such a drama queen. God knows why I put up with your theatrics.”

A full year and I still hadn’t gotten used to his lack of fear around me. It wasn’t natural—not where I was from. It was why I kept him around to help maintain the illusion that I was like everybody else.

I forced the black thoughts away. “And you’re a cocky bastard who thinks he’s above harm.”

When I re-entered society, I did so on my own terms. I wasn’t there to make friends. I wasn’t there to take a wife or breed. My life path was one I’d trampled for far too long to deviate.

Not that I wanted any of those things. The only thing I craved was the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of the hunt. And that’s why I could never be free.

Oscar shrugged. “I’ve told you time and time again. Go for a surf, mate. All that shit inside your pretty little head will disappear.”

Too fucking bad I didn’t know how to swim.

Spinning around, I refocused on the floor of Obsidian. Spread at my feet, housed in a cavernous room of the residence I’d built based on a childhood location, sat a ten million dollar investment.

I’d learned pretty early on that men were basic creatures.

Take away their suits and wives and jobs and responsibilities, and you’re left with a beast. A beast who wanted to spar and maim—to embrace their inner savage.

I offered rebellion and a chance to find themselves.

I gave them a place to fight.

The day I opened to exclusive members, I’d been prepared for a few interested parties. But I hadn’t been prepared for the overnight success or the worship of so many.

To be a part of my world, I requested three things:

Obedience.

Discipline.

Utmost secrecy.

Not to mention the obscene membership fees every month.

Oscar moved beside me, scanning the floors. “Don’t do anything idiotic. Everest won’t take accusations kindly. You know what happened last month with Praying Mantis.”

Last month Praying Mantis, also known as David Gorin, had cheated and ended up with a jaw vacant of teeth and a concussion. I’d only hit him once.

Oscar drummed his fingers on the glass balustrade. “If you go cursing and pointing blame, you’ll only bring—”

“Bring what? The wrath of the Wasps MC? Fuck ‘em. They can’t do anything worse than what others have already done.” I tensed. I hadn’t meant to say that. I’d meant to say I’d kick his ass and toss him from my club forever, but Oscar glanced at me sideways.

“If you told me what they’d done, then maybe I could agree. But seeing as you like to keep your aura of fucking mystery, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, and the veiled hints are really starting to grate on my bloody nerves.”

I cracked a rare smile. I liked that Oscar, with his blond hair and baby face, could stand up to me. Not many did.

In fact, I could list two men in my life who’d ever made me cower. The rest I didn’t give two shits about, and in turn, they feared a cold-blooded instrument who lived in the grey area with no right or wrong.

Oscar grinned, flexing his arms. “Knew I’d get you to smile eventually.”

Cricking my neck, trying to lubricate long abused joints, I muttered, “It’s time for me to have a little chat with the so-called unbeatable Mount Everest.” I’d hit my limit with his bullshit. I’d been looking for an excuse to throw him in the ring, and he just gave me one.

The only time anyone was allowed to touch me was during a fight. A punch to the gut didn’t hurt nearly as much as a tender touch to the cheek. I could handle that. A wallop was medicine; a caress was a curse.

“You never chat. You just hurt.” Oscar shrugged his blazer off and threw it onto the black couch behind us. The mezzanine level held a small bar, black sofa, and coffee table. Most nights were spent here overseeing and commanding. My office was kept strictly for me—locked and impenetrable—away from patron’s curious eyes.

“It’s what I do best. What I was made for.” Smoothing a hand through my longish hair, I startled when I found length and not a buzz cut. All my life I’d been forced to have it short—like a cadet. The strands had been red once upon a time, but as I grew older they turned to copper then to a bronzy black until nothing existed of the little boy I remembered.

“First etiquette lesson of the week. He owes me more fucking respect.” My fingers cracked as I clenched my fist.

Oscar nodded. “True enough.” Giving me a smile, we headed off down the black carpeted staircase. Every step had a silhouette of a fox embossed in silver thread. “You have a habit of demanding respect by the aid of physical abuse.”

Oscar was right. People owed me respect because I’d damned well earned it. Every scrap, every shred, I’d pulled with my bare hands from men who thought they could wipe the floor with me. I’d shown them I might live in a body scarred to shit, but I’d earned every single scar. Each one spoke of what I’d done, of what lurked in my past.

The sound of music disappeared as the howl of artic wind and icy prickles of snow stole me from present to past.

“Kill him, Operative Fox.”

I’d never disobeyed an order till now, but I shook my head. Already shitting myself at the retribution such a refusal would bring, but unable to pick up the blade and stab the kid in front of me.

Just a kid.

Just a kid.

I was just a kid myself. Barely into my teens and yet I was a seasoned killer.

“You know what we’ll do to you if you refuse.”

I knew, but it didn’t change anything. I slammed to my knees in the snow, hating the shrieking winds and negative temperatures. Tonight would be a bitch.

“Throw him in the pit until he learns his lesson.”

The memory exploded into splinters, stabbing my brain with an illusion of the present and past mixing for a brief moment.

Shaking my head, I turned to Oscar. “Call Dawson and his security team. I want Everest and his minions hauled out after this.”

We paused at the base of the stairs. “Will do.” Oscar raised his hand for me to high five. “Here’s to dishing out respect.”

Idiot.

I didn’t move, just switched from personable to my old self; the self that’d been trained and sculpted by hatred and discipline.

The click from normal to killer happened instantaneously.

Oscar hastily withdrew. “Crikey. You need to get over that shit, Fox. It ain’t natural.”

When did I ever say I was fucking natural?

Ignoring him, I strode from the shadows and into the organized chaos. The rings were operating at full capacity tonight. Waiting lists hung beside the scoreboard with many a denied request for a session.

The Muay Thai ring had been reserved for the evening by the Stingrays. A group of men who looked tough, but had the art of a real group of fighters. They weren’t there just to draw blood but also to improve their craft.

I wanted to go head-to-head with their top guy, a man named Corkscrew, but I hadn’t found a reason to get him in the ring—yet. But I would. It was only a matter of time before he pissed me off.

As I passed, my eyes narrowed on the very man I wanted to fight. He stood with his arm around a stunning Asian woman while touching another delectable creature dressed in gold and silver. Women meant nothing to me. I neither wanted them nor needed them. But the instant my eyes landed on thick mahogany waves draping over porcelain shoulders, I wanted with a ferocity that I’d never felt before.

It was as if all the coldness in my blood suddenly erupted into fucking steam, hissing through my veins. My back locked as I fought the urge to stare. In a flash, I memorized her face, catalogued her weaknesses, archived her mannerisms. Medium height and lithe muscles, she had just enough curves to entice, but not enough to call her voluptuous. She held herself stiff while her face split into a smile, hiding her true thoughts.

The longer I looked the more I noticed: weakness, anger, strength, resilience, but beneath it all, the same raging confusion that lurked inside me. The same helplessness for a life we couldn’t do anything about.

I didn’t need my training to taste the sheer hatred she hid so well. I recognised it as a twin to my own. My eternal anger would never die—directed at a past I could do nothing to change.

Fuck. I hated the burst of connection while salivating at the thought of more.

There wasn’t anything unusual about her apart from her obvious beauty, and yet, there seemed to be a cloud over her. Her body introverted, eyes glossed with unknown sadness.

I want to know why.

I stopped short. No, you fucking don’t.

I didn’t care. Not in the slightest. She was a woman, and I didn’t succumb to their charms. I found relief in other addictions.

Pain mainly.

I’d wasted enough time acting like a moron. Making a deliberate effort to ignore the woman who’d sparked something deep inside, I glanced around the room. Everywhere people moved silently and respectfully. The hired women who earned more working for me in a week than a year on the streets moved sexily, serving patrons in classy outfits. Drinks were free, but hardly ever accepted by fighters, only the audience.

If someone wanted a private fight or a room to fuck in, the whole bottom floor of my residence had spaces for hire. Nothing was cheap, and everything was exclusive.

I’d never been around wealth until recently, and I had to agree, the warmth and shelter money provided was a damn sight better than shivering in the snow while waiting for something to kill me.

Two ends of the spectrum.

Two lifetimes that could never mix.

The scar on my cheek twinged like an old enemy, reminding me that no matter who I created from the ashes of my past, I would always be the kid who killed.

“Ah, fuck, he’s back again.” Oscar nodded at the well-known trouble-maker in the MMA ring. The guy sneered, raising his taped-up fist in a mock salute. “He’s one step away from an ass-raping at the local jail. I heard he runs a meth lab down in Coogee.”

Kissing his fist, he bared his teeth and laughed.

Slamming to a halt, I pinned him with my stare. With one steady finger, I dragged it from the top of my right cheekbone all the way down my face to my chin. I barely felt it—the scar tissue desensitized to anything but brutal force. Once I’d traced the contour of the scar, I dragged the same finger across my throat in the universal sign of ‘you’re dead’ and pointed at him.

“He may be a douche, but he’s a client.” Oscar groaned. “Fox. Stop that. You can’t scare off all the clientele. What sort of business model are you following?”

Muttering under my breath, I answered, “A damn good one if I don’t have to deal with little shits like that.”

Oscar sighed. “Whatever, mate. He’ll fuck himself up without your help. Who do you want to go after? Him or Everest? You can’t do both.”

I didn’t need to think. A jacked up meth-head wouldn’t last five seconds against me. At least Everest had some small chance of hurting me. Not bothering to answer, I bee-lined for the boxing ring.

Fighters parted for us like I was the messiah, and they were a rolling tide. Looks of awe and fear lit their eyes even as their ripped, sweaty bodies tensed in preparation.

It seemed my reputation preceded me. Again.

I summoned every rage existing in my blood and slammed to a halt in front of the mountain of a man. My heart beat faster as I embraced the part of me I pretended didn’t exist.

“We need to fucking talk.” I crossed my arms. I wasn’t small, but this man made me look up. His arms were bigger than mine, his torso thicker. Everything about him screamed sloppy and fake, whereas me? I seethed with reality. Mess with me and pay the consequences.

Everest, also known as Tony from the Wasps Motorcycle Crew, wiped his mouth with the back of his hairy hand. “Well, if it isn’t Scarface and his bitch, Barbie.” Sniffing in distain, he added, “Come to congratulate me? Come to get some pointers perhaps?”

A couple of men behind Everest snickered. He always came with an entourage—never comfortable on his own. A complete joke considering he cultivated a rumour that he killed men on a daily basis. I knew killers and this fucking idiot wasn’t one of them.

My spine stiffened as my body soaked in adrenaline. Oh, I would enjoy this. A whole fucking lot.

I looked to the right where the man who’d fought and cheated counted his winnings. Another one of Everest’s little minions. Fisting a pile of hundred dollar bills, his grin was full of greed.

Nodding at the evidence, I said, “Pity your plaything didn’t win on merit and not on fakery. Didn’t realize times were so tough you had to cheat to pay your bills.” Stepping closer, I snarled, “You and your idiots on bikes think you’re the law, threatening my club for payoffs, cheating under my fucking roof. Guess what? I’ve had enough. I’m calling your debts, Tony. And I’m done having your filth tainting my rings.”

Obsidian was a registered business. It didn’t matter that documents lodged with Inland Revenue said it was an upscale recreational gym. The government didn’t need to know about the illegality or the fine line of bribery we walked to keep local enforcers away. However, I refused to pay a cent to MC’s and mob members who wanted to acquire it.

I wasn’t a pussy, and I’d done far worse than any of those fakers had ever done. I’d like to see them try.

Everest rippled with anger. His eyes darkened until his pupils looked gigantic. “You’re a fucking dead man, Fox.” Shoving a hand in the direction of the man holding the cash, he snapped, “That there? We earned that fair and fucking square. Go back to your throne and enjoy your last night of sleeping without having to watch your back.”

I threw my head back and laughed. It wasn’t merriment or intimidation—it was cold and calculated. Everest glared, then tensed as I locked eyes with him. “It’s not me who has to watch their back. You. Me. In the cage. Now.”

Everest slapped his legs with meaty hands. “Ha! You think I’d demean myself by entertaining a little wannabe in the ring? No chance in hell, Scarface. I’m not fighting you. Leave. We’ve got another set to win.”

“To cheat you mean.”

He spluttered, sending his large neck wobbling with indignation. The fucker had a receding hair line, looking like a juiced up freak past his prime.

I took a step toward him. “I saw the knuckler duster, you asshole. This isn’t a negotiation. Get in the cage.”

“Better listen, Tony. Fox doesn’t make idle threats,” Oscar said. His arms stayed tightly crossed, flanking me like a bodyguard.

Everest puffed out his large chest, standing to his full height. His body threatened with impressive size, but I’d long ago lost the ability to fear.

“You want to repeat that, Fox?” Anger blazed in his eyes, looking like he wanted to hammer me into the ground like a rusty nail.  “I. Don’t. Fucking. Cheat.”

Loud bass and sombre beats of music pulsed through the club, intoxicating my blood for violence.

Goddammit, I needed a fight.

A punk kid, who stupidly didn’t see my scorching anger, sidled up close. “Wow, I didn’t know you were here tonight.” He bowed his head looking star-struck. “It’s an honour to meet the legendary Obsi—”

Everest snorted. “Oh, give me a fucking break.”

I glanced at the kid. Half-naked, he had traces of blood coming from his mouth. Someone had decked him hard.

“Leave kid. Go get another role model.” My voice didn’t rise, but it didn’t need to. It reverberated with reprimand. I hated being fawned over. Fawning led to affection which led to attachment which led to death.

He frowned, brushing back long blond hair from his forehead. “Umm, sorry. I’m just a huge fan. Your reputation is what brought me here.”

I bared my teeth forcing him back a step. This was why I stayed on the mezzanine level in the dark. No one understood. Fighters wanted to be me; losers wanted to run from me. But no one wanted to know my past. If they knew, they’d hand me over to every law enforcer around the world for my crimes.

Everest smirked at the kid. “Take a good look, boy. ‘Cause after tonight he’s a dead man walking.” Everest leaned toward me. “Get that motherfucker? Me and my crew are gonna take this joint and leave you in the dirt.”

And there it was. Freedom. He’d fucking done it.

Tonight had just got interesting. I’d planned on taming myself. One fight that ended with no broken bones. But Everest’s stupid power-trip had earned him a first-class trip to the ER.

The kid ceased to exist. A shot of energy filled me more thrilling and intoxicating than any illegal substance. “I was going to promise you’d walk out of here on your own two legs, but that offer just expired. You obviously haven’t listened to the rumours.” I tutted under my breath, shaking my head. “Big mistake. Big, big mistake.” My voice didn’t rise past a threatening purr.

Looking Everest up and down, I dragged my fingers through my shaggy hair. The warm wax sent a whiff of chocolate into the air. “You’re going to be handed your own ass, and then you’ll go back to the morons in your MC and tell them if they so much as come near my club, they’ll end up being fertiliser in my fucking garden.”

Everest roared and lunged. I sidestepped before his hands connected with any part of my body and pummelled his kidney with a fist. One hard, fierce wallop. I relished in the slight twinge of pain in my knuckles. Give pain to receive pain. Receive pain to give pain. A lesson I would never be free of.

Gasping, he held his side. “You’ll pay for that! No one fucking touches me!” Everest snarled, revealing gold-capped teeth. “You better walk away, Fox, or I’ll deliver the ass-whooping of your fucking life.”

I let him rant and rage, basking in his anger, feeding on it, drinking it in.

“I’m done arguing.” My temper vanished; replaced with the coldness I lived with, the vacancy that I’d never been able to lose. “Get in the cage.”

The rows upon rows of high wattage spotlights boiled us from above. A trickle of sweat rolled down my lower back beneath my black shirt. The only embellishment was the silver fox on the breast pocket.

I pushed forward until we were almost nose to nose. Inhaling his cheap cologne, I wanted nothing more than to bite off his nose and go rogue on his ass.

My reflection gleamed in his black eyes: a vague outline of a man with no soul left and a raw scar disfiguring his cheek.

The scar terrified most people, but my eyes unsettled them more—so grey, they were almost colourless.

“I’m growing bored of your disobedience, Tony. Make me ask again and I can’t promise you’ll remain alive. You had your boy use a duster. I have proof. You can squeal and deny all you want. Evidence doesn’t lie.”

Leaning down, Everest entered my personal space. “Your little threats don’t work on me, Scarface. Everybody cheats.”

“Not in my club, they don’t.” I cracked my knuckles. “This is my club. And you obey my rules. If you disobey those rules, consequences must be paid.” Lowering my head, I glowered from under my brows. “I won’t tell you again. Get. In. The. Cage.”

For a large man who spoke like a killer, he took a pussy step back. Finally a thread of apprehension filled his cocky gaze. “Fuck off. I’m not fighting a piss-ant like you.” His anger siphoned away, leaving a blathering idiot. “I’ll give you ten grand for the loss of winnings for whoever bet wrong on the fight.”

Oscar stepped forward, cracking his neck. The tension in his muscles sent more eagerness through me. “You can’t bribe your way out of this. Saying no to the boss of Obsidian is not an option. It’s in the rules. He wants you in the cage. You get in the fucking cage.”

I shuddered in pleasure.

Obsidian. That was mine. My creation. The one thing that gave me something to live for and focus all my inhumane cruel tendencies into. It was ironic that the one place I’d been running from all my life had become my future.

Thoughts raced in Everest’s eyes. Finally, he glared. “This isn’t the end of this, Fox. You may’ve won tonight, but I’ll pay you back with a whole lot of interest. Just remember me when someone pops a bullet in your brain.” Everest shrugged off his large shirt, uncovering a torso full of muscle blanketed in a layer of pudge. He used to be cut, but now he was soft around the edges. “I’ll make you pay, asshole.”

I didn’t say a word. I didn’t need to. He’d dug his own grave.

“Boy, pass me those fucking gloves.” Everest held out his hand for the rookie to place a pair of blue boxing gloves in his grip.

I snapped my fingers. “No gloves. No boxing. Get in the cage.”