Chapter 11 - Rodion

I hate the fact that she got hurt. Especially since I was right there with her and I wasn’t able to protect her from it.

It could have been so much worse than it was. It was sheer luck that she didn’t end up with more than a graze.

I’m weighed down with guilt about it, because I exposed her to that environment, and I’ve become determined not to let anything like that happen again.

Of course, Anya is not pleased about this at all.

She keeps asking when she can come with me to the warehouses again and I keep saying not today—next time.

But she’s caught on.

“This is the fourth time in a row you’ve said I can’t come with you,” she says with accusation in her voice.

“I am aware. But I’ve had meetings to attend and you would be bored.”

“Excuse me. Since when do you get to decide if I will be bored or not? Besides, I think you should just be honest and admit the real reason you aren’t letting me come with you.” She reaches up and gingerly touches her arm. Her wound is already healing very well and isn’t causing her any discomfort—but just the fact that it is there, and will leave a faint scar on her arm, is enough to make me harden my decision.

“You can’t come with me today. That’s final.”

She sighs and throws her hands in the air in agitation. “Rodion, you’ve kept me locked inside the mansion for almost a week since the shooting incident. You didn’t even let me go out shopping yesterday. Why?”

“Because—I told you I would take you shopping this weekend,” I say defensively.

She shakes her head. Her eyes are growing dark with annoyance.

“You’re being overprotective,” she demands.

I stare at her for a long time, wanting to argue, but knowing if I deny it, I’ll be lying to her.

She won’t look away or back down, so finally, giving in, I snap back, “So what if I am?”

I know I’m not being fair. I know I’ve limited her interaction with anything outside the safety of these walls—but I don’t know what else to do.I am still horrified about what happened to her. I am terrified something like that will happen again and I can’t allow it.

I am responsible for her now. I have to take care of her.

“What if you are? Isn’t it obvious? You are treating me like a prisoner, and you are doing to me exactly what my brothers did to me. You are stopping me from experiencing anything!” She is shouting now, her frustration levels growing by the minute.

She’s right. I have no defense against what she’s saying, but I am still not going to let her out of this house without me—and she is not going back to the warehouse again.

“I have to get to a meeting. We will continue this conversation when I get home tonight,” I snarl at her. It’s the best way I can think to get away from her right now.

“Rodion—,“ she calls after me, but I’m already walking away.

I head straight out of the front door and to my car. At the gate, I stop and have a brief conversation with the security officer standing there.

“My wife is not to leave the house today. Do not open this gate for her.”

He nods. “Yes, sir.”

“I mean it, not even if she is accompanied by a guard.”

He nods again.

Satisfied, I drive out into the road and head towards the office.

I don’t have a meeting. I just had to get out of there.

We’ve been arguing constantly since she got shot. She wants to go out—I don’t want her to. It’s creating such a horrible tension between us that it feels worse than when we first got married.

I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

In the office, I bury myself in work. I do everything I have been avoiding. All the paperwork. All the annoying little bits and pieces that I usually feel are a waste of time. I reply to all of my emails and by the end of the day I’m exhausted. I still don’t want to go back home, but I know that at some point I have to. It’s really late and I might even be lucky enough to discover that she has already gone to bed.

I stand up from my desk. I’ve been sitting too long. My body is aching and tense. I’m stressed and overtired.

Gathering my things up and heading out to my car, a light rain begins to drift from the sky. It feels more like a heavy mist than anything else but the coolness of the air against my skin feels good.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Sitting in the driver’s seat, I read the message from my brother.

Rigor: Meet us for a beer.

He attaches a location to the message.

I’m so fucking tired. But it’s better than going home, so I reply and tell him I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

The location marker takes me into another industrial part of the city and I immediately know that this isn’t just a beer at a random bar. I park the car alongside my brother's car in a very crowded parking lot, and make my way into the building.

Inside it smells of salty sweat and beer.

Men are cheering and shouting, waving their fists in the air towards a metal cage in the center of the packed space.

I look around, trying to spot my brothers. Rigor sees me first and shouts my name over the other noises. I head towards them, closer to the cage.

It’s an underground fighting ring.

We have been coming to these underground fight rings for years. It’s our way of letting off steam, watching, and sometimes placing bets because Renat often takes part in these fights. But it was never something that interested me—not getting into the ring and actually fighting.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was fight night, I would have come earlier?” I say to Rad.

Rigor shoves a beer into my hand. “Yeah, well, you got here just in time. Renat is up next.”

“Great,” I mutter, turning towards the fighting cage. I’m so tense from the day I’ve had. This will be a good way to get rid of the pent-up frustration. Renat is brilliant in the ring so it’s sure to be an intense fight. Today I have reason to want to vent a little. And maybe watching Renat beat the shit out of some stranger will help me do that.

The guys in the ring now are both covered in blood.

Their fight is about to end. I can tell because one of them is barely standing.

A wide swing and an upper cut to a jaw sends the unstable fighter falling flat on his back. He doesn’t move. The ref blows his whistle loudly and the fight is over.

Some members of the crowd start cheering, and others are disappointed.

Rigor and Rad start chatting excitedly between themselves.

“Did you guys put money on Renat?” I ask, starting to feel excited for my brother’s fight.

“Of course, I’ve never seen him lose,” Rigor says and Rad nods enthusiastically. “The man is a brute in the ring. I don’t know what it is, but the second he’s in there, he turns into an animal.”

I finish my beer and Rad hands me another.

“Thirsty tonight?” he teases.

Renat’s opponent walks in first, a massive man with arms as thick as tree trunks. “Fuck,” I mutter. “That’s guy’s massive.”

“No, don’t let his size deceive you. When they are that bulky, they have no speed. You’ll see how quickly Renat is able to move around him.”

Renat enters the ring, and the entire space erupts in excited cheers. The sound of a hundred voices ricochet off the metal ceiling above us.

What the fuck? I wasn’t aware that my brother was a celebrity here.

I clearly need to come to more of these nights. I’ve been too focused on business and not focused enough on spending time with my brothers.

A whistle blows and the fight is on. Almost instantly, I can see what Rigor was talking about. The heavier guy can’t duck or swing as fast as Renat and he’s already taken a number of hits.

It’ll take more force than the average man to take him down, but Renat is ahead of the game.

“What are the rules tonight?” I shout to Rad. Each fight club is different.

“There are none. It’s like a street fight. Anything goes except for weapons.”

The more I watch, the more invested I become.

But this time, I’m not just interested in the outcome of Renat’s fight—I want to be in that ring. The appeal is too much.

I want to release all of the frustration that is building inside me.

I need an outlet, and this appears to be the perfect opportunity.

Renat ducks low and nails the guy right in his kidney. I can see the pain on his face as he buckles forward. Then Renat lifts his knee with force—right into the guy's chin. He smacks against the floor with a loud thud, rolling on his back, gasping for air and clutching his side.

He’s done.

Rad and Rigor and cheer loudly.

I down the last of my second beer and lean close to Rad. “I’ll be back,” I say, then walk away quickly before I have to explain myself.

I head straight to the lockers and find one of the officials. “Where do I sign up? I want to go in the ring.”

“Is it your first time?” he asks, looking me up and down.

“Yes.”

“You sure you want to do this? There are no rules. Once you’re in there the only way to get out is by winning or getting taken down.”

“I’m sure.”

My heart is hammering wildly in my chest. I’ve always been the responsible one, the one who watched but didn’t get involved.

“Alright. Then get ready because you can head in next. The other guy just chickened out. No shoes, no jackets.” He points to the lockers.

I shrug my jacket off and dump it into one of the lockers, along with my shirt and shoes. Excitement fills me as the guy leads me towards the ring.

I walk past Renat who doesn’t even notice that it’s me because his one eye is so swollen.

I chuckle, then take a deep breath. This might be the worst idea I’ve ever had, but I feel good about it.

I stand in the ring, jumping from foot to foot to try and warm up.

My opponent is walking towards the cage door. He looks big. Not as bulky as Renat’s opponent though. He’s going to be a difficult one to beat.

I don’t care. I need this.

The whistle blows and he comes charging towards me.

His shoulder slams into my chest and I’m thrown off my feet. We wrestle on the ground for a moment before I’m able to kick him off of me and onto the other side of the ring. I get onto my feet quickly, knowing that the ground is not where I want to be. He runs at me again and this time I use his own momentum against him. Lifting him with an uppercut into his head.

He staggers and swoons, so I land another punch on his jaw.

He shakes his head and starts swinging back at me.

I feel the sting of his hit, one on my temple, one on my cheek.

Everything around me starts fueling me. The noise. The shouts. The tension. All of the pent-up rage begins to flood out of me.

I throw myself into the fight with ferocious force and take the guy down in a vicious display of power.

The ref pulls me off him.

“He’s done!” he shouts at me. “He’s done.”

I stand up, leaning against the side of the cage to catch my breath. The guy is out cold, blood seeping from his mouth and nose. They roll him onto his side. Medics run in to check him.

“Yeah, he’s fine. Get him out of here.”

I follow the chaos out of the cage and walk past the next fighter heading in. I should feel good. I won. I should feel a release of tension.

But I don’t. I feel guilty about what I did to the other guy which takes me completely by surprise. What the hell is wrong with me?

There is no victorious streak in me.

Instead of heading back to have another beer with my brothers, I get dressed in the locker room and leave straight away.

From the car I message them and tell them I will see them another time—then switch my phone to silent because I’m not in the mood to deal with having to explain what just happened.

I can’t figure out why I would feel this guilty when the guy got into that ring of his own free will. I didn’t force him to fight me. It was a choice. So I should feel good about the win.

I sigh, driving down a long, dark road the street lights flashing into my car and onto my knuckles where they grip the steering wheel. They are cut and bruised and coated with blood.

Fuck.

I think Anya is really getting to me.

I think she’s in my head and now I’m feeling and doing things I wouldn’t normally do.