Catalina's eyes felt too faulty to register every nuance of the situation unraveling in front of her. Her fingers played nervously with the belt of her camera, but before registering any of it on pictures, she wanted to soak in the atmosphere first, become part of it.
Yet in her mind's eye she saw exactly what and how she wanted to show.
Before stepping into the ring the man dropped his sweatshirt, which was welcomed by increased applause and really, Cat couldn't be able to blame others for the reaction because her hand automatically reached for her Canon.
In her haste to capture the fluidity with which he was moving, along with compelling, seemingly alive tattoos adorning his bared flesh, she forgot all her reasons to wait.
She utterly gave herself to what she came here for, to what she was good at after all.
***
Xan breathed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to distance himself from everything except the awaiting fight when it was being announced. He knew his opponent but it didn't make a difference to him one way or another. It was neither the time nor the place to be sentimental and pull his punches.
He came here to do one thing only–win the fight.
Besides that, nothing mattered to him.
Not the crowd anticipating the show, not individuals trying to engage him in conversations, not even countless women trying to gain his attention. Nothing and no one could pull him away from his priorities while he was zeroed on the win.
He's been fighting for long enough to work out a kind of routine for himself, instinctively omitting anything that could lead him astray and further from his goal.
Xan knew that the majority of the audience consisted of regulars but he also knew better than to make a mistake and look at faces.
He didn't care about their names, reasons for being here, emotions or fantasies. He was used to people wanting to be a part of the event, wanting to own a part of him.
None of it had anything to do with him personally so he paid it no heed while he was walking through the throng.
Perhaps someone else in his place would be proud or satisfied at the very least when the cheering grew in volume after he had bared his torso. It had no effect on him, making him smirk instead.
He knew how feeble people were, how easy it was to no longer enjoy their affections no matter how misplaced they were to begin with. He had seen it time and time again, knew a day would come he was going to find himself on the losing end so he was hell bent on gaining as much as possible as long as he held their interest.
Was he cynical? Undoubtedly.
But it was hard to be an optimist after the things he had witnessed. After the things he had done himself, he acknowledged and pushed this line of thinking out of his mind.
He fist-bumped his rival, noticing the guy had taken a beating recently but it wouldn't sway Xan or soften him. Nor would the fact he knew Noah Michaels–known by most as Dragon–was a soldier who had come back from his tour in Afghanistan just to find out his wife had left him for his best friend.
They all had their stories, lost something or someone on the way if they didn't learn how to cut their losses in time.
It turned some into victims, others into fighters.
Xan knew how it felt to be both and he would be damned if he ever let himself taste defeat again. Failure was not an option, he thought taking the fighting stance with his left foot forward, keeping his guard up at all times.
He was the one who threw the first punch, striking with his left fist. It was just a small jab, a foreplay really, heralding the next move. He pulled back his left fist, striking with his right, while he twisted on the ball of his rear foot in order to rotate his hips and gain extra speed and strength.
It was a gentle introduction to Jujitsu, something to test his opponent's mood and Noah should have blocked him without the smallest problem. Yet Xan's blow reached its target and blood spurted from the other guy's nose. Noah's distraction was going to make Xan's win so much easier and faster. He tried not to show his disappointment.
Challenges were all there was to fights.
Challenges and money, he thought, not letting lack of the former to lessen the meaning of his impending success.
The crowd hooted with glee at the sight of blood but it was yet another thing that was a part of this sport.
People were like a horde of wild animals shedding any pretense of civilization with every blow delivered, with every drop of blood spilled. The frenzy often fed his personal mercilessness, but not tonight.
Tonight he felt as if he were in the wrong place and at the wrong time, walking in the skin of someone who was like a wild horse trying to buck and rear just to get free himself.
But tonight everything was proving to be just more annoying to him, just more disappointing after he witnessed a drug deal.
A teenager, a fucking kid, he thought again.
What were they thinking? Were they at all?
He had done plenty of questionable things himself but drugs were never a part of it. He wasn't naive to believe he was going to change the dirty reality of the underground world; in fact he didn't give a flying fuck about saving someone who didn't want to save himself. Who didn't even realize needed saving in the first place.
He just didn't want to be mixed up in things he avoided since he was younger than the kid trying to get his fix tonight.
It was Xan's old man's game and he was a heavy player, but Xan himself had always stayed away and it was not going to change now.
It all rubbed at him, bringing forth memories of places he had left a long time ago, chafing at his skin like lies his boss tried to feed him with after he had brought the matter to him.
Again.
It was the same song and dance they went through before and Xan was growing tired of this bullshit. Money was always the reason, he wasn't much better himself and he guessed that the only difference was how far a person was willing to go and what boundaries to cross to get more dough.
Just because he wouldn't be the one to cast the first stone didn't mean he was willing to participate in it either.
Xan avoided a front snap kick Noah used to strike him in the groin and he chuckled at the dirty move.
Dirty but acceptable.
In their club there were not many things that were forbidden. The unpredictability was as dangerous as it was exhilarating, nipping the routine in the bud.
Noah threw a right punch and Xan blocked it instinctively with his right arm twisting anti-clockwise on the ball of his right foot, his body moving with precision which was the effect of years spent on perfecting its usefulness. He threw his right foot in answer and this time Noah blocked it with his right arm without any effort.
They kept coming at each other, throwing and avoiding blows, neither remaining unscathed. Noah grabbed both of Xan's wrists when he attacked him, trying to stop him from delivering a punishing punch. Xan responded immediately by directing his hands slightly outwards and clasping them together. He stepped into his attacker and used them to strike him in the stomach throwing them both off-balance and pulled his hands free over his shoulder while moving backward.
It was then when a sudden flash distracted him, causing him to falter and lose his rhythm. As he searched for the source of the disturbance he saw a blonde with a camera raised to her eyes, snapping pictures as if nothing else existed around her.
His first thought was that she was an undercover cop because he simply couldn't imagine someone bold or stupid enough to step into their underground world and carelessly take pictures for God knew what purpose.
It was unheard of and he didn't think Tony Boden–the owner of the club–would invite a journalist, leaving her unfettered with a free reign to roam around and do as she pleased.
Especially not with all the activities taking place behind the scene.
She stood in the middle of the crowd, yet a strange kind of aloofness seemed to be clinging to her skin, making her look as if she were standing alon
e. She was concealed by half-shadows and he couldn't see her clearly but it was obvious she saw him just fine since her nosy camera was pointed more or less in his direction.
His brows furrowed and his uneasiness spiked.
The moment of diversion cost him when Noah used the chance to strangle him from the back. It pissed him off to no end and he used his own flare or temper to escape the hold.
He stepped with his left leg and placed his foot to the left of the other man's left foot and struck with his right elbow to Noah's stomach again, vulnerable after the previous blow. Xan placed his right hand behind his attacker's back and grabbed his right bicep with his own left hand. Next he placed his right foot to the right of Noah's right foot. Took his left foot further to the left and bent his left knee.
He kept his right leg nearly straight with the ball of his foot on the floor. His calf muscle touched the shin of his opponent's right leg. Xan twisted his upper body counterclockwise and put the heel of his right foot on the floor.
Noah's right leg was swept backwards as Xan's right hand dragged him over his right leg. Since Noah was already on the floor, Xan used it to his advantage by taking up the mounted position and delivering blow after blow until Noah tapped out signaling he had enough.
And just like that the fight was over.
The crowd started to chant Xan’s name but he barely heard it through the roar of blood in his temples.
No, it wasn't due to the fight, not even because of his win.
The unfamiliar woman, with her camera and unknown motives, was solely responsible for that, unaware at the moment she was going to pay for what could have resulted in Xan's downfall.
CHAPTER 2
Cat's camera was registering all the details her eyes would surely miss, but she still feared the pictures wouldn't be able to paint the whole story or the specific atmosphere which was simply not possible to compare to anything else she had ever witnessed.
She regretted now taking the oldest camera in her possession, instead of going for the one that could catch and register even the smallest of details. But it was her talisman, and tonight's uneasiness called for every bit of comfort she could find, accepting this indulgence on her part.
Being a photographer often brought her to places or landed her in situations an average person couldn't imagine or didn't even think of. It was part of the job she loved since she was a little girl and her father bought her the very first camera. It was something they had in common, the passion that bonded them even stronger.
But then all the ties were severed in the most brutal fashion possible, she thought, and had to lower her camera and close her eyes for the briefest moment necessary to pull her cool and unaffected mask back on.
She hated the fact that she needed to remind herself that she came here to do a specific job. It was hardly the place or the time for any kind of personal musings, especially of the bloody nature her mind was always more than ready to seize on.
And it was blood again that brought her focus back to here and now when the crowd around her seemed to undulate in pleasure at the sight of it.
She could never understand people's inclination to violence, or their need for ferocity. Would she be the same had she not tasted it firsthand as a child? She wondered, raising her camera again.
Things on the ring seemed to be happening continuously and pretty fast from the moment the two men found themselves in the spotlight. She barely looked at the other fighter when he stepped onto the platform.
He was more or less the same height, she judged, dark haired as well and of athletic build. But that was where the similarities between both men ended as fast as they started.
He lacked... purpose, Cat supposed.
He was physically equipped to face a challenge, but he didn't seem to be focused enough, as if the will to fight was yet to raise its head within him. His eyes, caught by her camera, looked distant, and there wouldn't be anything wrong with the fact if they weren't vacant at the same time.
The kind of vacant that screamed about things done and seen yet still keeping him in their throes.
No, he was not the one having the lead here.
It was the other man, the first one who had stepped into the ring that was drawing gazes and her camera as well. Catalina was convinced she was looking at the winner, and judging by the general reaction of the people gathered around her, she was not the only one.
She heard them talking, taking bets, arguing fervently about each fighter's chances. While the names didn't mean anything to her, it didn't take long to connect all the dots and understand that the one everyone was rooting for was called Xan. Anyone barely mentioned the one named Dragon and she tried not to feel sorry for the guy. Same as she tried not to think about the origin of their nicknames, but she retained this tidbit of information in some part of her brain for later.
For now, she pushed it aside from the forefront of her mind in order to give her undivided attention to the ever growing level of excitement speeding throughout the crowd like wildfire.
The world seen through the lens of her camera had its own rhythm, its own rules, different from the one physically surrounding her. She was nothing but a translator trying to convert it as faithfully as possible combining two worlds at the same time, which was equally rewarding as it was frustrating.
But photography had taught her the meaning of three p's; patience, persistence and precision were the keys to this kingdom.
Catalina's stomach roiled angrily at the sight of blood, but it also made her realize that in her eagerness, she walked close enough to the ring she could nearly feel the heat coming off the powerful fighter's bodies.
Her camera seemed to have a mind of its own, returning to the man time after time, seizing him in snapshots.
Only because of that she caught the exact moment in which Xan's gaze landed squarely on her and his eyes narrowed.
She swallowed hard, stubbornly refusing to lower her camera and move her attention elsewhere, trying not to give in to her instinct demanding her to flee.
No matter how ephemeral this instant was, it ended abruptly when his opponent used it to his advantage and attacked him from the back.
Cat unwittingly held her breath but he swiftly escaped the hold, tipping the scales in his favor. A moment later, it was all over and nobody seemed to be surprised with the outcome of the fight.
She walked away, searching for another spot that would allow her a different angle, letting people's agitation wash over her own senses. It was close to impossible not to let the excitement of the audience get to her. She was trying to distance herself from the event, but the fever continuously rising all around her was a hard thing to ignore.
She could swear the temperature of the club was systematically increasing by degrees just to reach a tipping point when the fight ended.
She wondered at the amount of preparation before the main occurrence could take place, no matter how brief it felt in the end. But it was her first fight and in her inexperienced eyes everything seemed exaggerated, even if went smoothly like well oiled machinery.
Practice, she thought.
It all required practice, and it was something she could understand and relate to. It also required money; the stakes reaching her ears were astronomical, causing her eyes to go wide. She could only shake her head.
Catalina was convinced she was against it all, not only because it was balancing on the thin line of outlawed, but mostly due to the violence vibrating in the air.
Yet when music stopped and the fight started, she forgot about her prejudice, judgment and assumptions. Luckily she didn't neglect her camera, letting it work through the most intense minutes of the whole event.
It was hard not to admire the way in which both men moved, like in a well synchronized if dangerous dance. Her heart was pounding wildly accompanying the cheering of the crowd and the chanting of the champion's name, until it all blurred into an almost unrecognizable roar.
She smiled softly to herself,
as if the fact she appointed him for the winner was personally affecting her as well. It wasn't, yet the quirked line of her lips refused to listen to the voice of reason. She was bewildered by her own reaction, fighting it and trying to act as a professional that she was.
It was one of the things she loved the most about her job. It allowed her to get close to places and events she would have never been a part of otherwise. She could own a sliver of other people's lives while still keeping herself out of it all, remaining on the fringes the way she preferred.
So far, nobody made an issue of her presence or her camera for that matter, and she was grateful for the opportunity and anonymity the crowd allowed her.
She stopped to change the memory card in her Canon and replace it with a new one, congratulating herself on the job well done. She pocketed the replaced card and contemplated leaving the place when someone tapped her lightly on the shoulder.
Her head whipped to the side and she pivoted on her feet just to face the man of whom she was taking pictures throughout the whole event as if her life depended on it. She was happy for the darkness of the interior that allowed her to hide a sudden flush spreading all over her cheeks.
He was tall alright, Cat thought.
Up close and personal he seemed even taller than from the distance separating them before. He was crowding her with his frame, making her feel threatened on some fundamental level until she had to fight with herself and not to take a step back the way her body clearly wanted.
Yet again the Bennetts’ pride prevailed, not allowing her to back down.
His hair was dark and a bit damp, as if he freshly stepped out of the shower. It was obvious he hadn’t had time to take one yet, so it had to be sweat. Cat had to admit he wore the look of general dishevelment well. His eyes were piercingly green and it was a detail her camera had translated perfectly, she thought.
CUL-DE-SAC (On The Edge Book 1) Page 2