My favourite place for medicine.
I’d found it purely by chance. When I moved to Sydney, I didn’t know anyone. Cast out of the only world I knew, I fumbled in society. With no guidance or rules, I had none of my usual tools to stay together.
The only way to keep my temper at a manageable level had been to ambush. Most nights I hid in dark alleys, just waiting for random, clueless prey to stumble upon my trap.
The moment they were close I taunted and teased, hurting them just enough for them to hurt me. Then I’d force myself to stop—to give them the winning hand. Every strike helped ease my pain, and I welcomed the throws.
Only once they’d given me enough to exist another day did I knock them out and run. Leaving them to be found by another—keeping my identity hidden thanks to the tricks I’d been taught by my owners.
For weeks it worked, until one night I picked a guy who owned the Dragonfly and he gave me the beating I’d been searching for. He tore into me like he channelled a fucking velociraptor. He cleared my head completely of the mess inside.
A fight was mere aspirin, whereas Poison Oaks was my morphine.
His fighting name fit him perfectly—built like a thousand-year-old tree, his arms were the size of trunks, and his temper was poisonous. No one pissed him off. They knew better.
Double parking my black Cayman, I jogged down the dark alley before taking a sharp left.
A glowing dragonfly was the only signal the club existed. No garish signs, no hint of existence. Just like Obsidian, both clubs worked on referral and secrecy.
Knocking on the door in the correct code sequence, I glared at the bouncer who cracked it open.
The gloomy, smoky world behind him set my teeth on edge. I needed to get in there and fight. Then maybe I could clear my head before searching for Zel.
To track her down and take her home like a kill that was rightfully mine.
“Poison Oaks? Is he here?” My voice lost its fake Australian accent and slipped into Russian. My eyesight pulsated with greys and whites, almost as if my vision clouded and fogged.
I hadn’t been this close before. Not since two years ago.
The bouncer held out his hand, pointing toward the back. Stepping aside, he let me pass, knowing not to touch me.
I didn’t say a word as I made my way through the heaving crowd, careful to keep a wide berth. The boxing ring in the centre of the club was the only fighting arena. Every discipline was allowed and the dark stains on the floor, along with the tattered rigging and ropes, spoke of battles won and lost.
My heart thudded faster, preparing for a fight.
I found who I needed sitting with a half-naked woman with fake breasts on his lap. His tanned skin and tattooed arms tensed, bouncing her weight like a pet or a child on his knee.
The instant he saw me, he froze. “Not tonight, Fox. I’m not up for your bullshit.”
It took everything in me not to slap the woman off his lap and haul him into the ring.
“Ten thousand. Give me everything you have.”
He shook his head, his bald scalp shining thanks to the neon lights in the shapes of dragonflies. The ceiling had been painted with a thousand of the fucking bugs, transforming the entire room into an insect ridden cage.
“I’m not in the mood to go to the hospital again, Fox. Fuck off.”
The woman giggled and kissed his cheek, rubbing her nipples against his groping hand.
The woman was tacky and cheap; my cock showed no interest in her fakery. Only Zel had power over that piece of my anatomy. She proved it still worked. Too well.
“I won’t touch you. You have my word,” I lied, but so what. I had to get him in the ring. My body felt like it would explode at any moment. I had to get this evilness out of me. I had to find my way back to the man I wanted to be and not the man I’d been trained to be.
I needed to be punished.
Poison’s brown eyes narrowed. “You expect me to believe that?”
“You can bind my hands. I don’t care.” My eyes dropped to his fingers stroking the woman’s thigh. I knew how deadly they could be. I’d suffered pain. Great pain. Pain I wanted again.
After a never-ending minute, he sighed. “Fine.” Looking over my shoulder, he motioned to a large guy with a black goatee. “Get some rope and bind his wrists.”
The man nodded and disappeared into the crowd. He returned a moment later with a length of heavy-duty twine.
I was well-versed in the art of knots and rope. It was a perfect weapon: silent, portable, undetectable.
“Hold ’em out.” He chewed loudly on some gum, waiting for me to obey.
It took a lot to spin around and present my wrists. My jaw locked as I deliberately and obediently held the submissive position.
Looking over my shoulder, I demanded, “Don’t touch me. Just wrap the rope and tie it tight.”
“Dude, how the fuck am I not supposed to touch you?” He popped his gum, glaring at me like I was an idiot.
Touch me and see what happens, cocksucker.
“Do as he says, Geoff. You don’t want to know what happens otherwise.” Poison Oaks shifted the woman off his knee and stood to his impressive six foot four height.
I kept my eyes locked with his, trying hard to ignore any quick touches as Geoff bound my wrists. My heart raced as the twine rubbed against my skin and pulled taut.
Once the knot was tight, he mumbled, “Done.”
Poison cocked his head at the ring. “Come on then, you psycho. I don’t have time for this bullshit.” Together we moved toward the ring. He added, “You really need some therapy. This isn’t the kind of shit you should need.”
I didn’t answer. My body had ceased to exist; all I thought of was finding peace. The fear of being bound couldn’t override the delicious expectation of what was to come.
Poison looked across to the DJ in the corner of the small overly packed room and dragged a finger over his throat. The music cut out and people stopped talking instantly. “Anyone who wants to see a brutal bashing, gather ’round. You—” he pointed at the men in the ring “—out.”
The guys slid through the rigging. I climbed up with the aid of an angry push from Poison. The moment we were in the ring, a buzz filled me. The knowledge I would get my ass kicked and everything would be okay.
“See how we manipulate you, Fox? You might as well stop fighting us. We win. Every time. You’re ours, and you need to remember that.”
The vision popped into my head just before Poison’s fist collided with my gut. My lungs gasped for air as I doubled over—shock and pain quaked through my torso. The moment the agony pulsed through me, a small bit of torture left. The blackness in my brain cracked, letting light shine.
Music clicked on, raining from the speakers; reggae with a touch of drum and bass. My body twisted, anticipating Poison’s next move. I was there to be purged by pain, but it didn’t mean I’d make it easy for him.
He thought he was safe with my hands tied. Fucking idiot.
“Get ’em, Oaks!” someone shouted, just as Poison flung himself off the boxing ropes and torpedoed toward me. Darting to the side, I brought my knee up and slammed him in the stomach.
Oaks bent to the side, breathing hard. His tanned skin flushed red with anger and pain. “Oi, motherfucker. I thought you said you wouldn’t retaliate.” He charged, pushing me back with well-aimed strikes. Fist after fist landed on my jaw and chest. Every wallop brought more light. More space to breathe.
I felt lighter, more human.
I smiled as he slugged me with a right hook, and I fell to my knees. Stars and bright lights danced in my vision, dispelling the white fog that’d crept over me. I was on the mend.
I’d found what I needed.
My teeth clanked together as Poison kicked me in the chest. My lungs slammed closed, stopping any air from entering.
I lay on my side, gasping like a fucking dying fish as Poison delivered kick after kick to my ribs. I kept my body clenched ag
ainst the onslaught, protecting bones with thick muscles.
Confusion and memories—the mess in my brain—evaporated, giving clarity.
When Poison’s leg came in grabbing distance, I reared up and head-butted his chest. He went down just like a giant oak tree, bouncing on the springy floor. “What the fuck, Fox?”
Climbing to my feet awkwardly, I kicked him once. “I said I wouldn’t put you back in the hospital, not that I wouldn’t try.”
“That’s a lie. You said you wouldn’t touch me. Period.”
I smiled, feeling a trickle of hot metallic drip from my nose into my mouth. “Oops.”
He charged upright and lunged. His shoulder connected with my chest, driving me backward to collide with the ropes.
I closed my eyes as he trapped me and welcomed the flurry of fists to my sides. Every bruise sent pleasure and relief. Every agony helped me inch toward bliss.
Poison danced away, fists held upright, protecting himself. I advanced, arms tied behind my back. Breathing was difficult. Seeing was difficult. Every movement screamed with pain. But I couldn’t stop yet. Not yet.
“Fox. Do—” he shouted just as I sprung and roundhoused his ear. Victory thudded swift and hot even as my wrists grew slick with blood from the twine.
Poison stumbled to the side, holding his head where I’d kicked him. His bald scalp showed a massive swelling building under the skin.
“You’ll pay for that,” he growled.
“Come and get me.” I stood taller, leaving myself wide open for a free shot to my jaw.
He wasn’t stupid. He sensed the trap and backed away, searching for a weakness. His hands flexed as he plotted his next manoeuvre.
I knew the moment he made a decision and jumped as high as I could go as he charged. The moment he rammed into me, my legs wrapped around his waist, and I used my skull to crash against his.
He stumbled, falling to the floor, landing on his side with me clinging to him. More stars flashed in my eyes, but I didn’t unlock my ankles.
He walloped me in the side, sending dull agony through my lower back. Another fist connected with my solar plexus, collapsing my lungs, so I couldn’t catch a breath.
Then he did a cheap shot.
An elbow landed in my groin. My balls shot inward, yelping in excruciation. Fire licked right through me. My legs let go on their own accord, and he pushed me away with an angry grunt.
The crowd’s chants and encouragement for Poison clanged in my ears. The agony of the junk shot sent nausea building in my gut.
Fucking cheater.
I rolled to my knees, bowing over bent legs, gasping through the wash of pain.
Poison stood, breathing hard. A cut spewed blood from his forehead, tracking on either side of his nose. “Done, Fox?”
“You’re never done. No matter what condition your body is in. You always finish the objective.” My handler stood above me with the all too familiar crowbar. He’d beaten me bloody enough times for me to shudder whenever he came near. I was right to fear him.
“Answer me, operative.”
“Yes, sir.” I kept my eyes downcast as he patrolled around me. I stood steadfast, not letting him see my fear. Out of nowhere, he thwacked the crowbar on my thighbone. It snapped with a horrible crunch.
I bit my lip so hard it bled like a waterfall in my mouth, but I didn’t move from my position. I didn’t make a sound.
Shoving a gun with a silencer into my grip, he pointed toward the horizon where a compound full of diplomats and informants rested. “Go finish your mission, operative. If you succeed, then we’ll fix your leg.”
I nodded once and clutched the gun as if it could give me pain relief.
I hobbled off to work.
“Never done, Oaks,” I growled, launching myself upright. Dropping my shoulder, I knocked him off his feet and went down with him. He punched my jaw and my cheekbone, until a few teeth rattled, and I could no longer see out of my right eye.
Only when I let all the fight out of my body and flopped to the side did he stop punching me. “Done now, motherfucker?”
I grinned, no longer in my broken and bruised body, but floating in a sea of calmness. Peace, serenity—a drug of oblivion.
“Yes. Now I’m done.”
* * *
“You need to stop him from coming here. I’m done giving him his fucked-up therapy.”
I left my pain free haze, where no thoughts or flashbacks existed to pay attention to the rumble of male voices. A car door slammed, blocking off the noise of street life and night time comings and goings.
My body ached liked I’d been run over by a fucking train.
“Got it. It won’t happen again,” Oz’s cultured voice drifted quietly.
Goddammit, why had Poison called him? The one man I didn’t want to see. The man I owed an apology to. I could’ve driven home after I slept off the worst of it.
Swallowing, I winced. Okay, maybe I would need longer than just to sleep it off, but that’s what I loved about Poison Oaks. He gave me what I needed.
And I’d desperately needed an ass-kicking.
If you’re not careful you’ll turn him into your handler. Be a fucking man and own your own life.
I would if I knew how. How was a rogue killer supposed to exist in a world of hierarchy if he had no orders to follow?
They gave you the pill to end it. You know that’s what’s expected of you.
The cyanide pill they’d given me rested in my safe hidden in my wardrobe. I hadn’t done what was expected as I wanted to live.
I wanted to see what everyone else had—to live a different kind of life.
I twisted a little on the backseat where I’d been laid. The pain resonated through my body, keeping me focused and present. Smiling, I sighed.
Tonight was a good night.
Tonight had purged me enough to be safe around Zel.
Tomorrow, I would find her and beg for a second chance.
* * *
“Wake up, you idiot. We’re home.”
My left eye had swollen shut and the one that was still operational had a red haze over it from the blood oozing from my hairline.
Oscar opened the car door, glowering.
I glared back, squinting against the lights of the house illuminating him as he stood with his hands on his hips like a disgruntled father.
Bet he was glad he wasn’t my true father.
I killed him.
Swallowing hard, I focused on the aches and pains, so as not to remember last night. I couldn’t think about raping Zel—about the monster I’d become.
Groaning loudly, I pulled myself upright and practically fell out of the car.
Oscar grabbed me under the arm, hoisting me to my feet. This time I didn’t care that he touched me—his fingers held violence not companionship. I was used to that.
Instead of helping me into the building, he shoved me forward as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. “Get some rest. I’ll send up a medic.”
I stumbled and weaved forward. My ears pricked as he muttered, “God have mercy on your fucked-up soul.”
Giving him the one finger salute over my shoulder, I continued my swaying and shuffling journey toward my home.
My body creaked and complained, but slowly remembered how to move.
My blurry eyes peered at the horizon. Heavy black velvet blotted out all the stars and moonlight. I estimated the time was around two in the morning.
Shit. All I wanted to do was crash and sleep, but I couldn’t.
The sun would be missing for another four hours.
I would have to wait for my one and only friend to appear and protect me from nightmares.
My vigil for daylight had begun.
Chapter Nine
Hazel
I’d always prided myself on being strong, on not taking life’s nonsense lying down, but that changed when I was told Clara only had a few months left to live.
The illusion of power over one’s destiny was
a lie. The biggest lie of all.
Her immune system was her enemy and for that I hated life with an ever burning passion. I lost faith in humanity, in fairness, in myself.
I let my weakness put me in a situation where a man took brutal advantage of me.
But in his violence, he made me remember.
He reminded me of my past, my temper, my courage.
He gave me back my backbone and I would never let it go again.
I would teach him why I’d christened myself Hunter.
The hunt had begun to make him pay.
* * *
“Zelly, is that you?” Clue popped her head from her bedroom, black hair tussled from sleep.
I quietly locked the front door behind me, sighing. “Yes, I’m back.”
I hadn’t expected Oscar—the opinionated idiot who worked with Fox—to bring me home. When he spotted me sneaking through the semi-empty fighting floor just before sundown, I worried he’d throw me over his shoulder and take me back to Fox.
Instead he’d smiled and apologised for being a dick the night before and offered to take me wherever I wanted. We didn’t say much on the way back, and we fell into a companionable silence that smoothed over the animosity between us.
The drive from the Eastern Suburbs to Inner Suburbs took longer than I wanted with traffic, and the lack of sleep caught up to me. All I wanted to do was curl up in a familiar bed and forget.
About everything.
Clue glanced at the door opposite hers and made sure it was shut tightly against inquisitive ears of my daughter.
Shuffling forward in her pink unicorn slippers and matching huge t-shirt, she looked about fourteen years old. “I thought you said you’d be gone for a while?” She slapped a hand over her mouth as a yawn caught her unaware. “What happened?”
The apartment smelled of oregano and basil from whatever Clue had cooked for dinner. The second-hand couch was covered in a daisy-print fabric, and our mix-match coffee table was an entirely different world compared to the sleek black violence of Fox’s mansion.
This place resonated rainbows thanks to Clara’s bright artwork blue-tacked to the walls and an odd assortment of knick-knacks. Fox’s place was morbid in the use of nothing but midnight. No wonder he seemed so lost and alone. He lived in the never ending dark.