Always For You (Books 1-3) (37 page)

A father, me. My life was a mess, I
wasn't ready for that, I wasn't responsible enough to have a child.

“What are you going to do,” I
asked, sitting down next to her on the bed, trying to calm myself
down for her, to put her at ease.

She shook her head, a small smile on
her face. “I don't know Cain, I didn't know what to do when I found
out, when I knew you were fighting. But now, if it's over, maybe it
might work...I don't know.”

This was so much to deal with, so much
to compute. I'd just run away from a life or death fight and now I'd
learned I was about to be a dad. Of all the fucked up and crazy
nights I'd had in my life, this was right up there.

I took her by the hand once more and
looked in her eyes. “I'll be there, whatever you choose. I'll be
there to support you, no matter what.”

But I knew, after tonight, that it
wouldn't be that easy.  

October 6
^th
2014

Cain

You will honor what you agreed upon. My
bosses are not happy with you Cain, you cost them a lot of money. If
you don't, your world will come crumbling down around you.

The threat was still ringing in my
ears. I'd deleted it from my voicemail immediately, trying to block
it out, trying to ignore it. But I knew what these sorts of guys were
about, I knew what they were capable of if they didn't get their way.
And my life, my shitty life, had suddenly got a whole lot more
complicated.

They didn't know where I lived though,
they didn't know about my family, anything about me. All he had was
my phone number, that was it. Everything was unofficial, everything
under the table: I'd fight, win, get paid. That was the extent of it.
But I knew it was only a matter of time before they found me, only a
matter of time before they forced me back into the pit, or worse,
killed me themselves.

I told Emily what happened, told her
that we needed to move away if we wanted to be together. I could
support her, work in a bar, anything, give her everything she needed.
But she said she couldn't, she couldn't leave college, couldn't leave
her mom. I didn't know how to convince her of the seriousness of it
all, of the danger I might be in, but I couldn't leave her, not
again, not now.

I was tied there and, for better or
worse, I needed to stay.

I met Brad at his place for a strategy
meeting, to get everything in order, to think about what the fuck
we'd do.

“Do they know about the bar? About
Foz
?” I asked him.

“Mate you know I don't work there
anymore, I don't need to with the money we're making through your
fights. Or, at least, the money we
were
making.”

“Yeah I know that, but do they know
you used to work there, that I used to work there? If they do they'll
find out where we live for sure.”

We both sat and thought for a moment, a
silence hanging over the room. I felt bad for putting Brad in this
position, potentially putting him in danger. I should have just said
no to doing the fight in the first place.
Why didn't I fucking say
no.

It was too late to think like that now
though. I didn't know if they really cared about Brad, it wasn't his
fault after all. But me - I knew they wanted me, I knew that what I
did would eventually catch up with me. Unless - I ran away again,
left and never came back?

I couldn't. Not now, not with Emily,
not with the baby.

“So what are we gonna do? We're
relying on your fights for money mate....what now?”

“If they don't know about
Foz
,
you can go back there right? Me - I'll figure something out.”

I knew what I had to do. I knew I had
to face things up like a man, try to work to a conclusion to all of
this. It was down to me, the ball was in my court.

It was a few days after getting that
voicemail that I
dialed
the number from a phone box in town. I had become paranoid, thinking
that if I called them from my own cell they'd be able to trace it,
find out where I was. I'd seen enough movies where that happened to
know it wasn't sensible.

The phone rang and I heard a voice on
the other end, the voice of the announcer. “Hello,” it said, who
is this? How did you get this number?”

I took a breath before speaking. “It's
Cain,” I said, “I need to talk to you.”

His voice went
smooth and cold. “Cain, good to talk to you. How are
you...
Spartan
?”

I had no time to play his games. “Look,
lets cut to the chase. I know that I let you down, I know that your
bosses aren't happy, but I did what I had to do. I can't kill someone
like that, I just can't do it.”

His voice stayed cold and calm. “I
understand that Cain, but you really should have realized that before
you agreed on it. My bosses, my clients, they were all looking
forward to seeing the Spartan in the pit that night. That's the
character I created for you Cain, and you let everybody down. An
apology just isn't enough.”

“Well what is enough?” I asked
quickly. “What do you want from me?”

“
I want you to
honor
your
agreement.”

“I can't do that. I can't kill
anyone, I can't risk being killed.” I stopped and thought of Emily,
of my unborn child. “I have responsibilities now, I can't take that
risk.”

There was a heavy silence on the line
as he considered his options. “I have responsibilities too Spartan,
responsibilities to my bosses, to our clients. If I don't get things
done, it's my fucking neck on the line.” He was starting to lose
his cool now, his voice raising in temperature.

“How about if I come back to fight?
Just to fight, not kill?” My voice was hopeful. If only I could
take a few steps back in time and just fight down in the pit.
Why
did I get so fucking greedy, why would I agree to something so
dangerous? I was making great money, why wasn't that good enough for
me.

There was a hanging silence once more.
“OK Cain,” he said finally, “perhaps we can work with that.
This coming Saturday, you'll fight.”

I took a breath. “And then what?”

“Well,” he said coldly, a menace to
his words, “we'll take it from there.”

October 11
^th
2014

Cain

We'll take it
from there.
What the hell did he mean
by that. Is he going to force me to keep on fighting? I guess, maybe,
that wouldn't be the worst thing. The fighting, the normal fighting,
I enjoyed all that. The thrill, the roar of the crowd,
the
money
. But Emily, I had to stop for
her. If we were having a child together, I needed to get real, find
something permanent, something I could build a life around.

I'd told Brad about my chat, about how
I'd sorted things out, for now at least. I didn't know what the
announcer really wanted from me, what his intentions were, but I'd
have to play ball for now. I guessed I'd be fighting for free, my
winnings taken as recompense for what I'd done. I didn't care though,
not right now. Right now I was just happy to not be fearing for my
life, not having to worry about those I cared about.

There was a nervousness in the air as I
sat there with Brad, in that familiar changing room down the corridor
from the door into the pit. My senses were tingling as I listened to
the roar of the crowd - a mixture of excitement and fear building
inside of me. I had no idea what to expect, but assumed that my
opponent would be hard to beat, someone to teach me a lesson. I knew
that I was about to pay for what I'd done.

I hadn't been told
when I was up, when I'd be fighting. That made it worse. Sitting
there, unable to prepare mentally, not knowing when the door would
open, when I'd be shoved into that pit, the rich and powerful
residents of West Norton peering down at me, licking their lips in
anticipation. It still shocked me that a place like this existed,
that these people, pillars of the community, held in such high
esteem, were so drawn to something so primal, so barbaric. I guess
that human instinct for violence wasn't just limited to those like
me.
As if any of them would ever have
the fucking guts to step into the pit themselves though.

I sat there, trying to focus, trying to
keep my calm, control my nervous energy. The more experienced I'd
got, the more I'd learned from Uri, the more I'd come to realize how
important it was to prepare mentally before any fight. If I got too
anxious, or if I didn't get into the right frame of mind beforehand,
the fight could go bad. Sitting there now, not knowing when I'd be
up, was making it hard for me to concentrate, to get in the zone.
This was probably what he wanted.

Brad was quiet too, his own concerns
weighing heavily on his shoulders. He'd usually deal with his own
nerves by talking, by trying to gee me up, trying to fill the
silence. Not today though - today he sat there in silence, a worry on
his face. He knew, like I did, that this wouldn't be any fight, that
there was something sinister lingering in the background, something
neither of us were privy to.

I was snapped out of
my own thoughts as the door opened, a couple of bouncers appearing on
the other side. “You're up Spartan,” one said, stepping to one
side. There was no five minute warning this time, no opportunity to
prepare.
And why were there two guards?
As if I'd try to run away again.

I stood and walked to the door, Brad
patting me on the back supportively as I passed. “Good luck mate,
you'll be fine.” His words lacked their usual confidence.

The bouncers
followed behind me as I walked towards the door to the pit, their two
enormous frames blocking the narrow corridor to my back. I could hear
a general murmur of excitement as I got closer to the door, the crowd
perhaps eager to see me once more. I'd only been there a short time,
but this character they'd built for me, this
Spartan
,
had made it's mark.

I stood there for a moment as I heard
the announcer call to the crowd, then a cheer as my name was shouted.
It was my cue to walk in.

I stepped through the door and the
noise grew. A smile hit my face, one I couldn't restrain. I was back,
and I felt alive once more. I looked over at my opponent, his
appearance settling my nerves. I knew that size didn't necessarily
count for much, but this guy was unimpressive, and he looked nervous,
as though he'd just been plucked from the streets. It wasn't the
seasoned brute I was expecting.

We turned like the gladiators of old
and looked up to the summit of the pit as the announcer held out his
hands to calm the crowd. Then, as he spoke, the words hit me like a
truck, his lips curling into a smile. “To the death,” he shouted,
staring straight at me, the onlookers cheering 'Spartan...Spartan' as
the truth dawned on me.

It was a set up.

He'd got me back to where he wanted,
back into this pit, seduced by a lie. My opponent wasn't a brute
meant to teach me a lesson, he was nothing, cannon fodder intended to
get me to cross the line. He wanted me to kill, and he was making it
as easy as possible for me to do it.

I turned to my opponent who came at me,
his fists flailing. He was wild, desperate, like a cornered animal. I
dodged his arms as the shot at my face, weaving this way and that to
avoid his blows. He struck me in the side of the head, a glancing
punch that did little but light my rage. I returned the sentiment,
sending my first true punch towards his jaw, cracking him square, my
fist like lightning. I felt his jaw rattle like a baby's toy, his
body falling back against the concrete wall as the crowd jumped to
their feet and the roar grew louder.

I knew I could finish this guy in a
moment. If it was a regular fight, I'd have downed him already. He
was nothing but a pawn in the game, thrown into the pit to die by my
hand. I knew that the announcer was forcing me to take that step,
forcing me to kill, but I couldn't do that. But what could I do?

My opponent groggily pushed himself off
the wall and came at me again, his movements even more erratic. I
caught him again and sent him packing, hitting the deck as the crowd
began to jeer. They wanted a contest, a battle, not this. I looked up
towards the announcer who continued to stare down at me, his eyes
unmoving.

He slowly lifted his arms to silence
the crowd once more, before speaking with a calm authority.

“The Spartan refuses to take this
life. Perhaps he feels it's too easy. This weak little man is no
challenge to the Spartan.”

The crowd cheered and roared their
agreement.

“Shall we even the odds?” he called
again, once more hearing the masses rise in volume.

He turned to the side and nodded to a
man who turned and reached into a box. Then, suddenly, he flung
something into the pit, landing at the feet of my downed opponent,
who sat up against the walls, blood dripping from his nose.

“Now fight,” the announcer called,
“fight to the death!”

The crowd burst to life once again as
my opponent stood and picked up the machete, the blade glinting under
the lights above. My heart shot to life, a primal feeling surging
through me, a feeling of self preservation.

He came at me again, this
time swinging the long blade at my neck. I'd done no weapons
training, nothing to prepare me for this. My instinct took over,
sending me ducking and diving left and right to avoid the blade. He
caught me, cutting a shallow line across my right arm as I withdrew
from his attack. The crowd oohed and aahed as the blood began to
cascade down my arm. But it was only a light cut, nothing to worry
about.