Russian Beast: Underground Fighters #2

by Aislinn Kearns

  He frowned in confusion. “Your door, of course. Your boyfriend here called me out on a rush job this morning, before I started my official day.”

  “Boyf—”

  Her neighbour loomed in the doorway behind the tradesman, who had apparently decided her answer was sufficient enough for him to continue his work. Evie narrowed her eyes at her rescuer from last night, any warm feelings that had remained towards him dissipating as she realised what he’d done.

  Heedless of the fact that she was still in her pajamas, which consisted of a tank top and loose short-shorts, Evie stepped towards the two men. Her annoyance must have shown on her face, because her neighbour took a hesitant step back and looked sideways, as if searching for an escape route. Evie grinned in a savage kind of satisfaction that she could make a big, powerful man like this even a little nervous.

  She slid around the back of the tradesman, who wisely ignored her as he worked, and planted herself in the hall a few feet away from him. Her neighbour reluctantly slunk over. He stopped well outside her personal boundary, and not within reach. Evie noticed the consideration, and wondered whether he did it on purpose, or if it was just coincidence.

  She decided on coincidence.

  “He needs to leave,” she told him. “Now.”

  Her neighbour’s gaze shuttled down over her, once, then stared somewhere over her right shoulder. She crossed her arms over her chest to give herself some meagre protection in her flimsy pajamas.

  “The door needs fixing,” he replied matter-of-factly. He had a thick accent that sounded Russian to her inexpert ears. He hesitated a moment before speaking, as if searching for the correct word, telling her he wasn’t particularly familiar with speaking in English.

  As an allowance, Evie slowed down her speech, without being condescending about it. “It does need fixing. I would like to arrange that myself, rather than having strange men show up in my house uninvited.”

  He frowned. “I need to pay. I broke it.”

  Evie sighed. Honestly, she was grateful he’d offered, since she could hardly afford a repairman, and she doubted the landlord would be quick at replacing the door, if he did at all. But her neighbour was still missing the point. “Fine. But I don’t know I can trust this man.”

  The repairman was currently changing the lock on the door. She’d heard some horror stories of lock repair guys who kept spare keys for themselves, and not for any altruistic reasons.

  “He is good man. Trustworthy. My friend gave me recommendation.”

  Evie sighed again. She looked over at the repairman, who gave her a cheerful smile before returning to work. Her years with Jimmy had made her a contradictory mess. On the one hand, she’d gotten very good at reading people. She’d had to watch Jimmy carefully for signs of anger and belligerence that meant he was working himself into a violent rage. Occasionally, she could soothe whatever imagined wound he had before he got out of control, saving herself some pain. But on the other hand, she no longer trusted those instincts, the same ones that had kept her alive through the years of violence and gaslighting. If she could have been so deceived by Jimmy, then who’s to say any person she trusted wouldn’t end up being just like the man who almost broke her?

  But at the same time, she couldn’t live her life like that. Not forever. It would take some time for her to trust anyone again, but if she started in this small way it would be a step in the right direction.

  She studied Alexei’s face, searching for signs he was anything like Jimmy. She didn’t know what she expected. ‘I’M AN ABUSIVE LIAR’ tattooed to his forehead, perhaps? But there was nothing, only the way his eyes darted from her bruise, to the wall over her head and back again, all with a slight scowl.

  He wasn’t a handsome man. Dark brows sliced over piercing pale eyes. His crooked nose had obviously been broken many times, and never set properly. It was a brutish face, but there was something compelling about it, too. Not the story of violence that the shadow of a bruise near his temple told, nor the harsh planes of his face, but the contradiction of his almost beastly appearance with the careful way he didn’t look at her, and the controlled way he moved.

  She eyed the deliberate space between them, noticing the way he seemed to shrink when her eyes fell on him as if he was trying to make himself less intimidating. An impossible feat, but one she appreciated nonetheless.

  Something told her he was an okay guy. A little too used to violence for her to have in her life, but he seemed to mean well.

  “Okay, fine. I don’t have time to argue this right now. I’m late for class. But if he does anything at all, I’m calling the cops on you both, alright?”

  Her neighbour’s eyes widened, then he nodded once, apparently done with his words for the day.

  Evie hesitated for a long moment, then decisively stepped forward with her hand outstretched to shake.

  “I’m Evie,” she said.

  Her neighbour straightened, his shadow falling over her, cast from the weak hallway bulb.

  “Alexei,” he muttered, and gently closed his huge hand over her own, then dropped it as soon as he could.

  “Well, it was nice to officially meet you, Alexei,” she told him with a small smile.

  He nodded, and she took that to mean ‘likewise’. She pointed to the hallway beyond him with an apologetic smile, and he pushed himself against the unstable bannister that was all that stood between them and a two-flight drop down the staircase.

  She squeezed past him, careful not to touch him. She was almost at her door when his voice stopped her.

  “Are you…okay?” he asked, voice low and rough.

  She half-turned towards him, glancing over her shoulder. “Yeah,” she said. “I will be.”

  He nodded at that, as if accepting her words. But there was a shadow of worry in his eyes. Something passed between them, the shared knowledge of what had occurred the night before, the fact he knew something so deeply personal about her life. A level of intimacy not generally experienced between strangers such as themselves.

  Evie swallowed, suddenly awkward, and turned away. She felt too exposed when he looked at her like that, almost embarrassed. It was stupid, of course, to feel that way, but feelings were rarely logical.

  Evie turned away from his piercing stare and hurried back into her apartment, glad she’d never have to see her hulking neighbour again any time soon.

  Chapter 3

  Alexei’s opponent rolled his shoulders across the ring, preparing for the fight. Alexei grinned, a savage baring of teeth that caused Wyatt to blanch slightly before recovering himself. The crowd beyond the cage was silent and watchful, waiting for the match to begin.

  A whistle blew. Alexei charged forward, his feet hitting the concrete with heavy thumps as he rushed his opponent. Wyatt ducked and dodged, landing a solid punch in Alexei’s gut that he barely felt. He turned on Wyatt, the lust for violence coursing through him. An unexpected backhand from a closed fist struck him across the temple and he staggered back. Wyatt winked at him, knowing he’d deceived Alexei.

  Wyatt was new to the ring. Alexei had never fought him before, so he wasn’t personally familiar with the guy’s fighting style, but was fairly confident he could beat him anyway. Alexei liked to watch the other matches that happened on the same nights as his fights, figure out his opponent’s weaknesses, but Wyatt was still a bit of a mystery.

  He’d clearly had formal training, but didn’t seem to be that familiar with the all-out fights in the ring. He was more determined than skilled, always getting up once he’d been knocked down, as if he fought for something other than money.

  But that wouldn’t stop Alexei.

  He stepped forward and picked Wyatt up by his neck, intending to slam him against the hard concrete beneath them.

  But Wyatt had other ideas. He wrapped his hands around Alexei’s forearm; not as a desperate attempt to claw Alexei’s hands away, but for leverage. He crunched his stomach and heaved himself up, then wrapped his thighs around Ale
xei’s throat and squeezed.

  Alexei choked, his grip loosening. Wyatt flipped back, his legs still around Alexei’s throat, using Alexei’s own weight against him. They tumbled head over ass, Alexei landing on his back with a breath-stealing thud. Wyatt hovered over him and planted one hand against Alexei’s chest before punching him solidly in his left eye. Alexei grunted as pain speared through him, his head ringing from the impact.

  Before Wyatt could do any more damage, Alexei grabbed his descending fist and twisted it out of the way. Wyatt growled in pain, shifting off Alexei to put his arm and shoulder in a more comfortable position. Alexei sat up and gave Wyatt a solid punch to the side. A rib cracked, and Wyatt let out a howl of pain that made Alexei wince. He hadn’t meant to do that.

  The crowd beyond the cage murmured, but no other sound came from the well-dressed men and women who watched these fights. Alexei never knew what motivated them to come. They seemed bored most of the time, calmly sipping the champagne that long-legged women in revealing shorts brought them throughout the fights.

  They placed bets, too, he knew that. But he never saw it happen. He figured the gambling occurred before the fighters arrived.

  Wyatt lashed out with a savage kick that hit Alexei in the stomach, bringing his attention back to the fight.

  Alexei whirled with more speed than he knew people expected of him and came up behind Wyatt. He locked his arm around the man’s throat and gave the perfect amount of pressure. Wyatt kicked and struggled, but he couldn’t budge Alexei’s tree trunk arm. He kicked back, catching Alexei’s knee so he sagged. But Alexei caught himself in time and managed to stay upright.

  Soon enough, Wyatt was unconscious, a deadweight in his grip. Alexei carefully lowered the other man to the floor and stepped back. The crowd didn’t cheer, or even clap. Just eyed him through the diamond-shaped wire that stood between them.

  Alexei gave Wyatt a final glance. The other man was already blinking himself awake, so Alexei stepped out of the cage with a slight limp, his leg already aching where Wyatt had struck him.

  One of McCready’s men waited to escort him past the crowd. McCready owned and ran these fights, and he didn’t want his grubby, brutal fighters to get anywhere near his cash cows. It irked Alexei to know that he was just meat to this guy, but he never expressed his displeasure. If he did, he risked getting kicked out of the fights, or worse, a knife in his back down a dark alley. These men were not known for their forgiving natures.

  He waited behind the crowd for Weston to appear with his money. Weston had taken over as McCready’s right-hand man while Spider recovered from his last fight. Spider was another fighter, one who had cheated in the ring on McCready’s orders. Diego, his opponent, had disappeared from the fights soon after, and hadn’t been back for the last few weeks.

  Alexei didn’t know for sure, but he assumed that Diego had either been killed for his refusal to follow the rules, or he’d gone into hiding. He hoped the latter.

  Weston appeared and reluctantly handed Alexei his envelope of money with a sneer. He was a big guy, but Alexei still dwarfed him. He had a mean face arranged in a perpetual scowl and he wasn’t particularly bright. Worse, he had a lust for violence which spoke to some significant defect in his character. It reminded him a little of the look in Jimmy’s eye as he’d stood over Evie.

  Evie. He’d barely been able to get her out of his head since he’d burst into her apartment. He’d tried to apologise by getting her busted door fixed, always having been better with gestures than with words, particularly since he still struggled with English. He was improving, considering he hadn’t spoken a word of the language when he’d first arrived on US soil, but it was slow. He never had much of an opportunity to practice, since he never really spoke to anyone.

  But even his clumsy attempt to make it up to Evie had backfired. He’d known immediately that she was angry, and once she explained, he’d seen she was right. It had been a stupid gesture, even if he’d meant well.

  He knew from now on it was better if he just stayed away from her. She was trouble, he had no doubt. But no matter how many times he’d told himself that, he’d still been unable to get her out of his mind. He’d spent the last two days cleaning his apartment from top to bottom. After seeing how much pride she’d taken in her small corner of the world, he’d felt vaguely ashamed of his own neglect of himself and his living quarters.

  Now, it was cleaner than it had ever been, but he still had a sense of dissatisfaction he couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t like he could get any place better. He needed somewhere that didn’t ask too many questions about its tenants, and accepted rent in cash.

  Annoyed with himself, Alexei tucked the money in his back pocket and strode towards the back room. Doc was already treating Wyatt, checking his eyes to make sure Alexei hadn’t done any permanent damage. No one knew Doc’s real name, which was not an uncommon occurrence in these parts. He was an older man with a shock of white hair and thin-rimmed glasses. If it wasn’t for the grimy room that passed as his office, and the constant shake of his hand, Alexei would have said the guy looked like every stereotype of a kindly doctor.

  The only thing was that Doc wasn’t a doctor, at least not anymore. Rumour was he’d lost his license after he’d screwed up somehow, and now earned his money by treating fighters once a week off the books.

  It wasn’t because McCready cared about them that he provided this service. He just didn’t want them to keel over outside the cage because he made a lot more money if they died in front of his hand-picked crowd.

  Alexei hovered in the doorway to the makeshift surgery, waiting for the verdict on Wyatt, and breathed a sigh of relief when Doc finally spoke.

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks, man,” Wyatt said, and clapped Doc on the shoulder. He stood, then glanced over to see Alexei hovering in the doorway. Wyatt’s gaze frosted over as he strode in Alexei’s direction, and Alexei couldn’t help a surge of disappointment that welled within him. He knew he won a lot, and the other fighters didn’t exactly appreciate that, but it was hardly his fault he was so big and strong. If these fights were run properly, then there would be weight classes for them to fight in. But McCready liked the mismatched fights for some unknown reason. Alexei suspected it gave him a greater control over the winner, since he could hand pick who each fighter competed against each week.

  Alexei wouldn’t call the other fighters his friends; he knew better than to expect that considering they punched each other in the face each week to compete for a payday. But he felt a certain comradery with them. No one else knew what it was like to do what they did—step in the ring each week for a fight that might be their last, and try not to die in the process. It was brutal, and difficult, and isolating in a way the licensed MMA fights he’d competed in when he’d first arrived in America were not. There, they had proper doctors, and referees, and safety measures. Here, it was a cruel free-for-all where no one cared if anyone else lived or died.

  By the time Wyatt had made his way to Alexei, the chilly look in his eyes had disappeared. Instead, he held out his hand to shake and Alexei took it in confusion.

  “I suppose I had to lose eventually,” Wyatt said. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I’ll get over it. Eventually.”

  He smiled to lessen the sting of his words, and Alexei smiled back. “Good fight,” he said.

  Wyatt nodded in agreement, then stepped around Alexei and headed in Weston’s direction. Alexei watched him for a moment, wondering if there would be a confrontation, but instead Weston smiled when Wyatt approached. The two men looked friendly, chatting together. Alexei scowled in their direction. He’d thought Wyatt might be better than that, smarter than to get into McCready’s pocket, but apparently not. Nothing good could come of his association with that crowd.

  Alexei turned back to Doc, who tilted his head in the direction of the chair sitting in the middle of the room. Alexei eased himself down and held himself still as Doc examined him. A bru
ise was blooming on his cheek where Wyatt had struck him, but other than that he felt fine. His knee was a bit sore, maybe, and if he wasn’t careful it might swell.

  Eventually, Doc pronounced him well enough to leave.

  Alexei stood and moved towards the door, then turned back. “Doc?”

  “Hmmm?” Doc glanced towards him with a frown.

  “When you practiced, were many patients from domestic violence?” He scowled, knowing his English was fairly garbled and annoyed at himself for even asking the question. He almost told Doc to forget it, but the other man tilted his head and studied him for a moment.

  “A few,” he said eventually. “More than I’d like to see, but so many less than I knew were out there.”

  Alexei pressed his lips together in displeasure at that truth. His own mother had never sought help, had never tried to leave. Once, Alexei had searched the internet for anything that might get her to leave his father, but all he’d found were statistics showing the most dangerous time for a woman leaving an abusive relationship was right after she’d fled. So many died when they tried to escape. And in the end, his mother had died because she’d stayed.

  He cleared his throat, refusing to succumb to the memories. “Anything I should know?”

  Doc gave him a slight smile. “Go slow, be careful, and listen to what they need.”

  Alexei nodded. “Thanks.” It wasn’t that he couldn’t figure out that advice for himself, but it helped to have the reminder. After his attempt to help Evie by having her door fixed without her permission, he knew if he saw her again he’d have to be more considerate, even if it was against his nature.

  He avoided women, particularly small, delicate ones. With his size and strength, it was so easy to hurt them. And he refused to become like his father.

  Alexei left the warehouse they used for the fights and walked in the direction of his apartment. His knee was already hurting, making him limp slightly, but he ignored it. It was about an hour away, but he could do with the walk to clear his head. He had to stop thinking about Evie, or he could get himself into some real danger.