Chapter One

The crowd cheers from the darkness as I land a rapid right hook across my opponent’s face, knocking him down.

“Oh! And Cruz goes down!” The announcer calls out.

As I reposition myself away from Cruz, a small amount of air goes through my nose and into my lungs. My feet bounce on the blood-spotted square rubber mat. Most of it was Cruz’s. He was good. Got a couple of good body shots on me and grazed my nose badly to where it’s bleeding down my mouth.

But I’m better. Cruz’s head is completely drenched in blood, like a maraschino cherry out of a jar. Even his yellow and black shorts are stained with patches of red.

Before the fight, at the face-off, Cruz told me smugly that I would be the one on the ground groaning. He butted heads with me and whispered, “Soon you’d be dead like how I did to your family.” Then, he smacked my face.

I didn’t retaliate. I just nodded.

Now, in the ring, he's the one on the ground. I’m going to kill him. I pound my fists together in a slow rhythm, feeling restless.

“Cruz is now back in the action!”

I cock my head and keep my sights on Cruz like a hawk. Approaching him, I put my hands up. I see a punch zooming straight toward my face and slap it away. A hook swings for my right, and I block that with my arm. Cruz tries to close the distance, but I can hear him wheezing. So I quickly move in first, bumping him away with my left shoulder, then swing and bash my fist into his gut, creating ripples across his abdomen.

As Cruz stumbles back, I charge forward, and my left hook shoots and connects with Cruz’s head. Then I snap a straight punch, hitting the jaw. Again, with another hook, then a right hook. Again, again, and again, I land another blow. Blood flies into the air, splattering my arms and chest. Then Cruz shoves me off with what little strength he has. It doesn’t push me back, but I let it happen anyway. He throws another slow punch at me. I quickly duck before he fully extends his arm at me and spin. Packing more force into my fist as I twirl, then launching it like a canon ball, I smash into where his liver will be.

Boom!

The impact of my punch echoes through the building. Cruz collapses to the ground with a pinched expression. Then the crowd cheers.

Cruz’s group at his corner rush in to patch him up, and the referee and the announcer congratulate and compliment me.

I glance at my corner, but no one’s there. Not anymore. My head hangs low, and I catch a glimpse of Cruz glaring at me. I pay no mind to him.

“And the winner is Luke King Weaver!”

The crowd roars and chants the nickname everyone calls me by.

“King!”

“King!”

“King!”

“King!”

“King!”

* * *

In the dark locker room, with only a few bulbs lighting small cones of light, water runs from the faucet, washing away some blood that had dripped in the bowl. Then I glare at my reflection, gripping the sink tightly.

I couldn’t kill him. I’m too weak.

I let out a long sigh, then pound my fist into the wall and grunt. I put on a white and blue hoodie over my gray tank top, grab my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and finally leave.

The city is bright, with lights and very few cars passing by. I look at the time on my phone, and it’s close to midnight. No buses. Home is quite a few miles away, so I head for the nearest hotel or motel instead. Any place that offers a bed will be fine. I check the map and travel to the nearest one.

The GPS leads me down a darker side of the city. Barely any lights from buildings except for the yellow street lamps and vending machines shining white. I can barely even see my shoes as I walk on the sidewalk. Some of the doors around here are barred shut with what looks like wood, and I can barely make out the sketchy graffiti symbols on the faces of these dead businesses.

I regret coming down this road as I can feel my gut turning upside down and my heart pounding into my ears. And there are footsteps behind me. A lot of footsteps. 

Damn it!

I sprint. The cluttering footsteps all gallop behind me. I hear shouts and laughter telling me to stop running and being a pussy. Not glancing back, I think of nothing but the hotel on the other side of this dark road. But it’s really dark. So dark that something metallic bash across my face, sending me falling on my back. Light flashes. Then fists and shoes start raining on me. Pain erupts around me like my body is a sonar detecting every hit. I can feel the hot and iron taste of my blood running down my face.

A punch bashes into my face. Instantly, I grab a hold of the arm and pull whoever it is down, growling. The barrage of strikes stops. Taking this opportunity, I rise up and swing. I don’t care who they are or why they're doing this. I just want to run. And I can’t run if these guys are trying to kill me.

But they’re too many of them. They have bats and pipes hitting at me. My arms throb with numbness, and I raise them to block them. But I keep swinging. I knock a couple down, sending them rolling across the pavement or crashing into nearby garbage cans.

A loud clang rings into the air. Pain expels from my leg as I fall back onto the ground and get raided again. This time with the bats and pipes. Bones crack in me, from ribs to legs to arms and shoulders, hearing my body pop and snap. 

I'm going to die.

Then it all stops.

Light shines on me from, I think, a cell phone or something. I can’t tell, as everything looks red. My breathing quickens with a sharp knife-like agony as I struggle to keep myself awake. One of the guys kneels before me. I can’t really make out his features. 

“Cruz, says goodbye.”

Darkness again. They all leave me on the ground. Their laughter fades, echoes, then gone. I think. The booming of my heart blares over everything that I can’t tell how far they went. Even my heavy lead-like head throbs along to the beat of my chest.

I need to call 911. My body cries as I inch my way up on all fours. Reaching my pocket for my phone, I go straight to the emergency calls. But it doesn’t turn on, and the screen feels cracked.

Fuck me.

I groan.

Gotta go find help.

I can’t feel one of my legs, but I try to stand anyway. Still can’t see anything except the street lamps and the vending machine, glowing a dark red this time. The light seems to warp like it’s doing a funny dance, mocking me or something. Rubbing my eyes and shaking my head just makes it worse and makes it swirl. I start to move, but my knees buckle. Groaning, I push myself back up.

Bright light flashes, blinding me from the direction my assailants went. I can hear an engine revving and the people in the vehicle woo-hooing. The tires screech. Bones shatter. Darkness.