by S W Vaughn
He rained blows on the figure before him, letting conscious thought depart and instinct take over. Though Slade gave as good as he got, he barely noticed the pain the other man inflicted on him. At last a crushing uppercut sent Slade to the mat.
And still, he advanced.
Slade drew himself up, and he fisted both hands, hauled one back and drove forward.
Slade dashed his arm aside.
“You’re pathetic.” Slade spat blood and grinned. “Look at you. Trying to play with the pros. And for what?” He swung, and he avoided the blow by a whisper. “She was never yours to fight for, boy. You would have died for her...and that’s exactly what she wanted.”
“Shut up!” The clamor of the crowd swallowed the conversation in the ring. He lobbed a punch, missed. “I don’t care about her.”
Slade jabbed him. He stumbled back. “I think you do,” the man said. “You loved her so much, and all the time she despised you. You made her sick. She couldn’t wait to get away from you.”
His words hit harder than his punches.
He blinked through blurred vision. His head spun with feelings too powerful to name. He tried again, but his strike landed weak, and his knuckles glanced off his opponent without effect. “Fuck you,” he said through dulled lips. “And her. Fuck her.”
“I have. Dozens of times.” Slade’s mouth rose in a sneer. “I’ll do it a thousand more, and the bitch will love every minute of it.”
“God...” Nausea clamped down on his throat.
Slade grinned. “Funny. Your sister calls me that, too.”
Rage propelled him forward blindly. He lashed out, hit something. A fist collided with his gut and stole his breath. His knees met the floor.
“Lillith was right. You are broken.”
In a single motion, Slade grabbed his arms and threw him into the cage wall. He tried to stand. Failed. Slade snagged a fistful of hair and pulled him to his feet.
“You get nothing, boy,” Slade snarled. “I told you I keep what’s mine. What made you think you could ever beat me?” A cage-rattling blow detonated pain in his ribs. “So weak. I don’t know how you survived your father, but you won’t survive me.”
He closed his eyes. Weak. Broken. He’d always thought he was. Always been told, and never decided for himself. He’d simply accepted the labels. Worthless. Stupid. Sniveling. But he hadn’t been any of those. He’d taken the beatings without complaint, taken the humiliation of endless verbal abuse, of counting strokes when his father demanded it, never wavering.
Not for Lillith. For himself. Because he could.
Screw Lillith.
“Pay attention, brat.” Slade’s palm struck his face. Sparks exploded behind his eyes.
He looked at him. “One.”
“What?”
Slade’s grip on his hair loosened. He twisted away, stood straight and held himself open. After a beat, Slade drove a blow into his sternum.
“Two.”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Slade flushed crimson and backhanded him. “Are you insane? Snap out of it!”
He grinned. Blood leaked from his mouth. “Three.”
“Knock it off, goddamn it!” A rabbit punch pounded his kidney.
“Four.”
A frustrated growl strained through Slade’s clenched teeth. He drew back and lobbed a fist at face level. His head whipped aside with the force of the blow. The leak became a hot, flowing stream.
He spat blood, pivoted back to meet Slade’s eyes. “Five.”
“You little bastard.” Slade glanced down at his groin. “Count this.”
Moving faster than he thought possible, he delivered the blow Slade intended for him. Slade gasped and dropped to the mat.
“Five is all you get,” he said. “You won’t touch me again.”
“The hell...I won’t.” Slade scrambled back and gained his feet. “I’ll kill you.”
“That’s against the rules.” He stepped forward.
Slade swung, and he swatted the blow away, responded with one of his own that sent the man reeling. “You know, Slade, you should really learn to protect yourself better. Maybe you should take your clothes off. Tell you what—you do it first, and I’ll join you.”
“No.” Slade shook himself. “You won’t win. You’re just a boy.” He lunged.
He avoided the strike with ease, then laced his fingers and pistoned the double fist in Slade’s gut. Slade flew back, bounced off the cage wall. Landed hard on the mat. “This is my game now,” he said. “My rules. And the first one is that you will not touch me again. Ever.”
“You don’t make the rules.” Breathing hard, Slade struggled to stand. A grim smile stretched his lips. “You’re alone, boy. Even your sister hates you.”
He smirked. “Thank God for that,” he said. “I’d hate to see what she does to people she likes.”
“You won’t best me!”
Slade rushed him.
He felt the vibrations of his advance in his feet, and stood his ground, timed his response for the last instant. Just before Slade reached him, he dove aside, half-turned on the ball of one foot, and slammed an elbow between his opponent’s shoulders.
Slade’s face made contact with the mat. Something crunched.
“Want to know my second rule?” He squatted next to Slade’s head and lifted it by the hair. “It’s a simple one,” he said. “The only one that matters, actually. And it’s all thanks to you.”
“What...”
He leaned down and spoke near his ear. “Don’t lose.”
He bounced Slade’s head hard on the floor. A long exhale indicated the man’s loss of consciousness. He straightened to a near-silent crowd and turned in a slow circle, absently wiping a runner of blood from the corner of his mouth. Their anticipation washed over him. They hovered on the verge of frenzy.
His lips stretched in a parody of a smile. “One.”
The mob took up the count at two. He stood over Slade’s motionless body until they reached twenty. An explosive clamor proclaimed their acceptance of the fight’s outcome.
He decided not to wait for the loser, and walked away alone.
Chapter 35
The morning ushered Gabriel to his final task. His aching muscles made climbing the stairs to the second floor of the hotel a challenge, but he didn’t mind the pain. It reminded him that he’d ended on his feet. He’d won.
Now he intended to collect Slade’s debt and get on with his life. His real life. Unfortunately, Slade wasn’t going to like what he had planned.
He stopped in front of a door and knocked. From inside, he heard a chair scrape across the floor, a muttering voice, footsteps. The door opened to a familiar disgruntled face.
He lifted a hand in greeting. “Hi, Doc.”
“Jesus Christ!” Doc slipped into the hallway and closed the door. “You look terrible. Are you all right?”
“No worse than usual.”
“In that case, let me be the first to shake your hand.” Grinning like a kid with a new bike, Doc clasped one hand in both of his. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to see someone kick the crap out of that arrogant son of a shithead. I’m so glad it was you.”
“You saw the fight?”
“Damn straight I did. Think I’d miss the match of the century?” His grin widened. “Besides, somebody had to pick up after you boneheads.”
He laughed. “Yeah. There’s always that.”
“I wasn’t the only unusual one there.” Doc’s expression smoothed. “Jenner saw it, too.”
“He did?” He shook his head. “Guess I should’ve expected that.”
Doc sent him a suspicious look. “Why would you? Jenner never attends fights. Come to think of it, the old psycho looked almost happy. Something you want to tell me about, Gabriel?”
“I...can’t. Not yet.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Doc grunted. “So where’d you take off to last night? I looked for you then. Asked around a little. No one saw you
leave.”
He shrugged. “I went out browsing for a while. I’m in the market for some real estate. Business property.”
“Well I guess since you’re a millionaire now, you can afford it. What are you looking for?”
“I’m going to open a gym.”
Doc blinked at him. “Any particular reason?”
“Yes, but I can’t—”
“—tell me right now. Yeah, I know.”
He inclined his head toward the door. “Is he in there?”
“Where else would he be?”
“Good.” He put a hand on Doc’s shoulder. “I need to talk to him. Alone. I hope that’s okay with you.”
“Sure, it’s your funeral. He’s pretty pissed. You want to bring a gun with you or something?”
“No. I think we understand each other now.” He smiled. “Thanks for everything, Doc. I’ll see you around.”
“God, I hope not. No offense, but you should take the money and get the hell out of here. You don’t want to give these assholes a chance to...why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re not listening to a word I’m saying.”
He didn’t reply.
“Damn it, Gabriel. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“My mind’s made up, Doc. And my eyes are open.”
Doc sighed. “Okay, then. Go have your little chat. I’ll probably have to tranquilize him when you’re done.”
“Probably.” He reached for the door. “Oh, and Doc? If you do have to put him down, make sure you use a really big needle.”
Doc’s laughter followed him inside.
* * * *
Slade lay on Doc’s cot, hooked to the ubiquitous IV. His eyes found Gabriel the instant the door closed. “Well, boy. I didn’t expect you so soon. Having a good laugh, are we?”
“Not really.” He crossed to Doc’s desk and leaned against the edge, took in the massive bruising on Slade’s face, his battered torso. The mat burn blazed across his forehead. “You know why I’m here. And I half expect you to say you’re not going to pay me.”
Slade sat up slowly and swung his feet to the floor. He closed his eyes, gripped the edge of the mattress. “We had a deal, Mr. Morgan. I don’t renege. The money is yours.” He grimaced, either from pain or the admission. Probably both. “You’ll have to be patient, though. It will take some time to liquidate that much cash. I can give you a million and a half today, but it’ll be at least two weeks for the rest.”
“That’s fine.” He crossed his arms. “There’s another reason I came here.”
“Your sister—”
“No. That’s not it. Do what you want with her.” He felt nothing at the mention of Lillith now. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Do you?” Slade leaned back against the wall. “This should be interesting. Let’s hear it.”
“How much would you like to keep the other eight and a half?”
Slade’s eyebrows raised. “Go on.”
“I want to buy something from you. For eight point five million dollars.”
“And that would be...”
“Jenner.”
“What?”
He forced himself to breathe evenly. “You heard me. I want Jenner. Give me him, and the cash you have now, and we’ll call it even.”
“You—” Slade stopped abruptly. “Explain this to me. Why in the hell would you give up that much money for Jenner? What are you going to do with him, teach him needlepoint?”
“I need a lieutenant.”
“Boy, you have about five seconds before I break your neck. What are you talking about?”
He smiled without warmth. “Here’s the thing. I like fighting. I’m good at it—as I’m sure you know.” He paused, enjoying the fury that spread on Slade’s face. “So I’m starting my own House.”
“You can’t do that!”
“I can, according to Dell Ramone and Tomi Harada. They want fresh blood in the organization...and they have more money than you. It’s already been settled.”
Slade fell silent. At last, he smiled. “You really are stupid, aren’t you? You have the opportunity to take ten million dollars and do whatever you want. And you’d rather play tough-guy with truly dangerous men.” Rough laughter escaped him. “You can’t control Jenner. The minute your back is turned, he’ll stab it.”
“I don’t have to control him.”
“You’re serious. I don’t believe this.” The smile lingered on his face. “Very well. We have a deal—eight and a half million for Jenner. The rest in cash. And you never so much as walk past this place again.”
He held out a hand. Slade took it and squeezed hard. He let him, holding his gaze steady until he released it. “Goodbye, Slade. See you in the ring.”
He headed across the room. Slade called to him.
“You’re going to fail.”
He stopped with a hand on the door. “Is that right.”
“You’ll never make it in the organization. I certainly won’t go easy on you, and if Mendez gets the opportunity, he’ll kill you.” Slade stood and advanced with a sneer. “I’m going to enjoy watching you burn. You have no idea what you’re getting into, Mr. Morgan.”
This time the rage passed almost before he acknowledged it. He turned and let his gaze linger on the bruises he’d inflicted, the beginnings of uncertainty he’d placed into those ice-blue eyes. And smiled.
“My name is Angel.”
About SW Vaughn
http://www.lyricalpress.com/sw_vaughn
S. W. Vaughn is a collection of crazy ideas and bad habits who got it together long enough to write a few books. Street fights and New York have always been passions for Vaughn, so it was only natural to put them together in the most twisted way possible.
The entire House Phoenix series started with the last line in Broken Angel, and grew from there. It’s been a real trip so far.
SW’s Website:
www.swvaughn.com
Reader eMail:
[email protected]
About the House Phoenix Series
Book I: Broken Angel
Available in ebook from Lyrical Press, Inc.
Book II: Devil’s Honor
Coming Soon from Lyrical Press, Inc.
Book III: Mask of the Serpent
Coming Soon from Lyrical Press, Inc.
Book IV: Shades of Black
Coming Soon from Lyrical Press, Inc.
Book V: Alpha Male
Coming Soon from Lyrical Press, Inc.
Book VI: Circle of Vengeance
Coming Soon from Lyrical Press, Inc.
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