by Anita Gray
5
Chairs scrape against the wooden floors as everyone stands up from the table, including Charlie. He’s getting on my last nerve with all this curious bullshit. I'm desperate to ask Maksim if I can fight him just so I can kick his ass.
James and I follow Maksim and the rest of the men through the entrance hall, down a wide lobby, and into a huge open space—a ballroom. All these rich motherfuckers have them. The room oozes luxury with ivory paneled walls, a large sparkly chandelier hanging overhead, and decadent, highly buffed wooden floors. Their oxford shoes echo through the space as we go forth, stopping by the French doors that lead out onto the back garden.
“My little pet,” Maksim calls in Russian for me to stand in front of him, waving me forward. He takes my gun and tells James to put his down on the window ledge. “You and James will battle until one is unconscious, is that clear?”
Charlie steps in front of us and crosses his arms. “Unconscious?”
My face drops. He can speak Russian?
Maksim nods. “It will be a good fight, my friend. You'll see.”
“No way. I'm not up for seeing this little girl unconscious.” Charlie points at me, then tucks his hand back into his crossed arms. “I just want to see what she's made of.”
I almost huff. I'm insulted, truly, but quite eager to see the shock in this bastard's eyes when I knock James out cold.
Shit, no. What am I thinking? I don't want to do that to James. I don't want to hurt him.
“Charlie, relax, my friend.” Maksim pulls me under his arm. I lean into him, into his warmth like a cat getting petted. He always pets me before a fight. “James will not beat Blaire. She's too good.”
“She is,” Carl concurs.
Charlie frowns down at me. “Is that right?”
Tipping my head back, I peek up at Maksim, almost purring. Since before I can remember, I've been robbed of affection, so when Maksim is like this I bask in his touch. I bask in the way he holds me. I guess everyone needs affection at some point in their lives, even me.
“Don't look at him-” Charlie snaps, making me flinch.
Everyone is instantly on guard, glancing at each other.
“-Look at me and answer me, Blaire.”
Maksim squeezes my arm to give me the go ahead.
“Yes, that's right,” I whisper.
I can feel James' anxiety behind us coming off him in waves. It would usually make my stomach turn over with guilt. Now, however, I'm too preoccupied with Maksim. He's so warm and he smells like freshly burnt brut. At times like this, I can almost imagine myself as a different person, someone who can and will thrive in another's tenderness. No more brutality. Just, this.
“Okay, Charlie?” Maksim says, holding me tighter under his arm. He knows I enjoy his touch. I've told him many of times when he's asked.
Charlie grinds his square jaw. “Yeah, but if I call it to a stop, they have to stop. I don't want to see her half dead.”
Somehow, he's snapped me out of this needy trance. I'm not sure if I'm angry, affronted, or flattered by his demand.
I frown.
No one has ever broken me out of a trance when Maksim holds me.
“Blaire, you understand?” Maksim looks down at me. “If Charlie says stop, you will both stop.”
I nod, innocently blinking up at him.
“You too, James,” Maksim says, glancing back.
“Yes,cэp Maksim.”
“Good.” My master gives me another squeeze before saying in Russian, “Now, the both of you go on and take position in the middle of the room.”
When I glance up at Charlie he nods at me. I'm not sure why.
Turning out of Maksim's embrace, I come face to face with James. He appears very deadpan but I know he's nervous—I can sense it on another level. I don't enjoy fighting my friend like this either, so I guess I am a little nervous too but I have no other choice. Maksim will beat the shit out of me if I refuse, and like always, I'll do nothing to stop him.
While the men light up cigars and place bets, James and I walk into the middle of the room and stand opposite each other. His face is pale against short red hair, his eyes a dark shade of blue under this light. My hair is tied back in a bun but that won't stop James from trying to get a good hold on me.
I won't let that happen.
“Form position!” Maksim calls out in Russian, modestly annoyed because we haven't done so already.
Raising our fists to protect our faces and opening our legs to create balance through our bodies, James and I nod at each other.
“Just go down,” I whisper, holding his uneasy gaze.
“He won't like that,” James mouths back. “He wants to show you off.”
My heart sinks because he's right. Maksim won't like that. He's boasting.
“I'm sorry,” I say truthfully. At least I tried to spare him, for this moment.
“Fight!” says Maksim in Russian.
———
James and I smile pitifully at each other to apologize for what is about to happen. Then, he goes in for the kill. He swings for my face with a few steady punches. I evade his onslaught with effortless grace, ducking and weaving to the left and the right, my muscles easing into my motions.
James always dishes out the first hit, I've noticed over the years. It gives me an advantage because one is off balance while trying to strike.
I've never told him of his bad-habit, since we often have to fight each other to train or entertain and it gives me a chance to put him down before things get bloody.
I dodge another punch, then James pounces at me. I catch his wrist and fling him across the room with all the strength I have, letting out a harsh breath. I then run at him and dish out meditated jabs, landing a few to his hard stomach when I can get through his fist attack. He gasps, twisting his face in pain, but manages to keep focus.
I don't stop there.
I dance him around in circles, lashing out athletic kicks to bat away his punches until I'm behind him.
I'm trained with Wing Chun, a Chinese Martial Arts way of fighting. Since I was... well, I don't really know how old I was when I first started fighting, but I was young, I've always fought this way.
My muscles now warm and loose, I beat James' kidneys with perfect clenched fists, exhaling for each strike. My assault puts him on his knees, groaning in agony. Clutching the scruff of his neck, I ceaselessly beat him into a bloody haze, my knuckles cracking and throbbing with pain. His eyes come up real good, red and bruised and puffy. He will look like hell tomorrow.
I boot him in the chest, knocking him over with brutal force. He doesn't get up, just lies there half curled up in a ball. So I wait, trying to filter the rush of adrenaline. I don't want to get lost in myself while fighting my friend.
The seconds tick by at snail pace. I can hear the men over there by the doors muttering amongst themselves, though I can't make out what they're saying.
James is still crippled on the floor. I steal over to assess him to make sure he's okay.He jumps to his feet and clouts me right in the face, whipping my head back and splitting my bottom lip. The pain is dull. I spit out a pool of metallic flavored blood and meet his blows with rapid movements, punch for punch, my knuckles smashing against his; my chest on fire with controlled breaths. “Aargh!” I scream through clenched teeth with every strike.
He's battling in his stride, and because I know I can't get through his ambush, I lash out a high axe kick, knocking his head back. Dizzy again, he stumbles about.
I pant through my nose, watching him strive to gather himself.
“She's fucking unbelievable!” someone yells, keyed up—I think it's Rumo.
When James is back on par, he darts at me, growling, “Gragh!” He kicks my feet and jabs through the air like he's going for gold, forcing me around the room.
With my forearms, I block his storm, left then right, amid punting away his lazy kicks. He's trying to knock me over by kicking my feet but he's not doing a good
job of it. I'm a little angry with him. He knows I'm good with my feet.
I side-kick behind his knee to put him off balance, then I twirl around and flip him over, scissoring him between my legs. I land on my palms as we hit the floor with a heavy thud, my hands throbbing with pain. Unfolding my legs from around his body, I kick him away and leap to my feet, stretching out my thigh muscles.
James struggles to get up and when he does, staggers back, I assume to put some distance between us for a breathing moment.
The adrenaline rushing through me is intoxicating, tingly sensations swimming in my bloodstream—I'm slowly losing focus. My heart is pounding.
“What... what are you-you waiting for?” James pants, squeezing his eyes shut a few times.
Fast and smooth, I sprint at him. I land a nice clean blow to the center of his face, causing his nose to explode. My knuckles pulsate but the pain goes away after a few seconds of flexing my hand.
“That is it, my little pet!” Maksim chants in Russian. “Kill him!”
“Kill him?” I stop then to look at Maksim and James thumps me square in the face, knocking me clean into the air.
I'm in a haze for a moment, plummeting backward, wondering if Maksim actually wants me to kill James.
My back cracks when it hits the hard floor. I wince, arching over on my side.
Maksim's control over my mind doesn't always serve me well. One word—one click of his fingers—and I lose focus.
I don't want to kill my friend. I have to clarify this before I do.
Booting me in the stomach, James winds me. I cough up thick, warm blood, struggling to breathe for a moment. I manage to wrap my arms around James' ankles, ensuring he cannot kick me again.
“Not literally, Blaire!” Maksim shouts in Russian. “Fucking get up!”
James grabs a fist-full of my hair and pounds me in the face, sending shooting pains right through my skull. My head lashes back and forth but I'm still here. I'm not out cold yet.
“Stop the fight!” someone yells. “Now, Maksim!”
“Just wait,” Maksim says. “Blaire, Podgotovsja! Konchaj yego!”
My senses come to attention.
Bent over me, James is weak in his stance. I dig my nails into the backs of his knees and yank him forward with a loud groan, putting him on his ass. His grip still in my hair, he drags me forward with him, making my scalp tear.
He's trying to get up now, at the same time shoving me into the floor.
I fight to my feet, spin out of his grasp in my hair and boot him where it hurts.
“Oh, fuck!” cupping his crotch, he goes down like a sack of shit, all the color draining from his face.
I step back, panting like a wild cat, wiping damp strands of hair back out of my face.
“Finish him!” Maksim yells.
James wobbles to his feet and I know this is my moment—any longer, and it'll be a bloodbath. I jump up into the air with facility, wrap my legs around his neck and flip over to put him down completely. I land on the floor with open palms, James' neck between my thighs. I use all my lower body weight to keep him facedown, tensing and gritting my teeth, pressing my hands into the cold wooden floors. The veins in my eyes feel like they might pop but I don't stop. I squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.
“Jesucristo!” someone shouts out. “I thought he had her!”
Gasping and wriggling, James tries to pries my legs open, digging his fingers into my flesh. He's fruitless. I might be small but I'm strong.
“Davaj, devochka!” Maksim yells, ‘that's it girl’. “Put him to sleep!”
I do, my heart twisting with remorse. This doesn't happen often, me feeling a sense of guilt, but it's happening now.
I'm sorry...
After a few minutes, James falls limp in my thigh tight grasp.
6
Gasping, I loosen my grip on James and roll onto my back, relieved the fight is over.
A round of applause breaks out, echoing through the large room. I don't soak up the ovation. Lost somewhere in my mind, I turn over onto my knees and push to my feet, lengths of hair sticking to my sweaty, bloody face. Standing there, I look down at James. He's battered, bruised and bested. My chest aches at the sight of him. I hate that Maksim makes us do this to each other. Training together in my apartment is fine because we stop when one calls for a ceasefire, but in moments like this, we have to fight until one is cataleptic, or worse...
...I've had to kill to entertain many times before.
Charlie saunters toward me with a white towel in hand, his ink black hair curling around his neck and face—he's undone his ponytail. “Wipe yourself off,” he says softly on reaching me, and shakes out the towel, I assume because I don't take it. I'm just glaring at him, a storm brewing inside me.
“What's with the silence? Hm?” His blue eyes glow with uncertainty as they search mine. “Maksim said you can speak to me.”
I huff under my breath, amazedby his impudence. He goads Maksim into making me beat my friend half to death and wonders why I don't want to chat?
“I don't need that,” I refuse the towel. Crouching down, I pick up my friend from the floor, hooking my arms under his so I can drag him out to the car.
“Leave him-” Maksim says.
I glance up, my muscles straining under James' weight.
“-Go on. Leave him where he is.” Maksim smiles at me with zealous wickedness, standing amid the other men who are patting him on the back.
“Okay,” I say softly and without thinking. “Sure.” I carefully put James back down on the ground and fold his hands in his chest.
“Don't worry,” Charlie whispers, draping the towel over his shoulder, “I'll put your friend in his car.”
“Don't you dare touch him,” I warn under my breath and stand up to him in defiance, barely coming up to his chest. I have no idea why I feel I can talk to him like this, but I do. “You asked for this.”
He hunches down so we're almost at eye level. “I just wanted to see what you're made of.”
“Well, now you've seen.” I'm trying to be sarcastic but I can't keep the misery out of my voice. “Happy?”
A lick of blood slithers down the side of my face, over my cheekbone. I catch it with a single finger and wipe it off on my trousers.
“You in a lot of pain?” Charlie lifts a hand to touch me, ignoring my question. “I can get you some painkillers if you need them?”
I bat away his hand with such force it makes a slapping sound. “I'm not allowed painkillers.”
His eyes widen. “Like hell you're not.”
I ball my trembling hands, the storm inside me whirling like hurricane Katrina getting ready to explode. “Who are you to tell me what I can or cannot have?” I'm just about to tell Charlie to piss off and leave me alone, then-
“What are you two talking about?” Maksim asks, reminding me that Charlie and I are not alone, and James is still lying there at my feet.
On instinct, so I don't get in trouble, I say, “Charlie was just praising me,cэp Maksim.” I give Charlie a desperate, knowing look. “Weren't you?”
“Yeah, I was,” he concurs loud enough for all to hear, and then whispers, “For that, I want to talk to you before the night is over.”
I frown at him, maintaining eye contact. What could he possibly want to talk to me about?
There's a faint vibrating sound not very far away. I realize it's Charlie’s mobile when he pulls it from his jeans pocket.
He doesn’t even check the screen to see who it is—he doesn’t once look away from me. “What?” he answers, and because we're just staring at each other, I blink about in a fluster.
He leaves the room through another door, I see out the corner of my eye.
This is so fucking weird. I've never lied to Maksim before, and I'd never be so blatant as to hold someone's gaze in front of my master.
“Come over here and have a drink, my little pet,” Maksim says, and I'm assured by his relaxed tone of voice that he hasn't
clocked onto anything.
I walk stolid across the room with a slight twinge in my back, smoothing scraps of hair back out of my face.
“There you go...” He gives me his glass and smiles with obvious elation. “Drink up. It will make you feel better.”
I nod with a forced smile, taking the glass. It's cold against my palm and quite heavy. I scoop out a cube of ice and press it to my broken lip, blinking droplets of sweat over my lashes. Not just sweat. Blood. It makes my left eye sting.
“Told you she was good,” Umberto says, his chin doubled because he's staring down at me from at least six foot.
“Yes...” Rumo's eyes thin as he looks at me. “You should put her in the monthly fights at my farm, Maksim-Markov. We could make some serious money off of her.”
“No! No!” Maksim laughs, tipping up the glass to motion I have a sip. “It would be unfair on her opponents.”
The vodka burns my throat; makes me gasp a little.
“You can say that again,” Umberto says between chuckles. “Imagine, we would be accused of fixing the fights.”
Everyone but Carl laughs at his silly joke, and then Rumo says they should get back to playing poker. “Umberto now has an extra fifty thousand to burn as he bet on Blaire winning.”
Of course he did. I'm not sure he's ever missed one of my fights.
“Go put James in the car, my little pet.” Maksim leans in to kiss the wound on my eyebrow, causing me to wince internally. He then puts warm lips on my ear and whispers, “Be cautious of Charlie if you run into him, and when you are done with James, meet me in the snooker room where we will be playing poker.”
Nodding, I pass him back the glass and walk over to James, a morsel of pain still in my back like needles in my spine. Must be due to landing on this hard floor.
James remains out cold, I see when I'm within touching distance, his hands still folded in his chest. He's not moved an inch.
Poor guy.
I have to block out the sentiment of guilt—it's the last thing I need to be feeling right now. I must keep my wits about me as I'm the only person inside Rumo's house who can protect Maksim, should he need me.