5. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

M itchell knew he was dying. His past and present collided, but not in the way he experienced memories. It was more than wanting a future and knowing he had a few hours left. Every moment centered on Jude. The past. The present.

He pictured Jude gathering stones on the beach as if he were finding the best ones to skip. Each stone Jude picked up was one of Mitchell's regrets. Jude held them in his hands, holding them close as if that was the only thing he'd have of Mitchell when he fell into the shadows.

Each breath was important because it was one he'd never get again, so he focused on breathing until the emotions gathered in his throat. After that, he covered his face with his arm as he lay on his cot.

The last time he cried was the day his dad died. Afterward, he was busy surviving and making sure Jude survived, too. The state-run group home had become the scariest place he'd ever been in up to that point. And he'd had to protect Jude.

Tears soaked his skin and fell to the mattress. They stung the cut on his cheek, right below his right eye.

Pain was a constant reminder of life. He still had a will to keep going, even knowing he wouldn't be able to perform during the next fight. If his opponent didn't kill him, Davorion would when Mitchell lost.

Mitchell was pretty sure the brute from his last fight broke his ribs, and he'd have a scar below his right eye. He should have had stitches on some of the deeper cuts and ice for the swelling. He wasn't the only one who came back beat near to death with no medical care afterward. More than one fighter had died. But how long ago was the last time? A month? Two? He wasn't sure.

Time was difficult to tell in the tunnels. He hadn't seen sunlight in months, although he didn't have a clue how long he'd been there. If he counted the fights he and the others had been to, and if the fights happened every weekend, then he'd been in the tunnels for just over seven months.

The outer door opened. Mitchell didn't bother standing. Was it go time already? He was hoping to rest longer.

"Mitchell Burke. Legendary in more ways than one." The voice wasn't entirely new to Mitchell, and neither was the person it belonged to. He'd heard and seen Davorion from a distance more than once. But he'd never come to visit the fighters. "For a moment there, I thought Brutus would kill you. But you turned it around at the end."

Mitchell didn't move or take his arm away from his face. And he didn't respond. No way would he give Davorion the satisfaction. Anything he had to say would come out angry.

"He's going to need medical attention before the next fight, sir." Wilson's defense came at a price. One Mitchell didn't expect Wilson would want to pay. But maybe it was a way to gain Mitchell's trust. Wilson would twist the trust until he came out the winner, looking good in Davorion's eyes. So maybe he figured it was worth taking a minor hit.

"Did I ask for your opinion?"

"It's fact, sir." Wilson's conviction gave Mitchell pause. Maybe Mitchell had pegged him wrong.

Mitchell moved his arm just enough to glance at Wilson and Davorion. They stood just outside his cell, close enough for Mitchell to grab if he stood close to the iron bars. If Mitchell hadn't been beaten to hell, and unable to stand upright, he might have gone for it.

Davorion waved away the comment as if it was inconsequential. "If you win the next fight, you're in for a treat. I'll give you my finest boy. You can have him for one night."

Mitchell covered his eyes again. He should have told Davorion to shove his rewards up his ass.

Davorion and the other owners already made him fight with other individuals who were in a similar predicament, causing them to victimize one another. The last thing he wanted to do was traumatize someone.

He said nothing because it didn't matter what came out of his mouth. He knew he wouldn't make it through the next fight. He was one head blow away from never waking up again.

"Sir, I honestly don't think he'll win the next fight. Brutus did a number on him." Was Wilson shoving his near failure down Mitchell's throat? Was that his angle? Or did he honestly want to help Mitchell?

Davorion sighed. "Tell the doctor to medicate him, if that's what it takes. But get him in the ring."

"Yes, sir." And with that, Wilson must have walked off because Mitchell heard the familiar sound of his boots on the concrete. The outer door opened and then the familiar bang as it closed.

Mitchell could still feel Davorion watching him. He did the pregnant pause thing. Most people did it right before they wanted to say something they thought was profound. The thing they wanted to say was never as deep as they thought.

"You've won every fight. I can't stop asking myself why. Some would lose on purpose just so they wouldn't have to fight as much. While the strategy always ends in death, it is effective." Davorion paused again, waiting for Mitchell to speak.

Davorion wanted something to use against Mitchell. All it would take was one slip up from Mitchell. One wrong word. And Davorion had Mitchell right where he wanted him.

He really wanted to tell Davorion to go fuck himself, but if he did, Davorion would think he'd gotten to Mitchell.

Davorion deserved to die while fighting in the ring. If Brutus were still alive, he'd cause a lot of pain. That's what Davorion deserved.

"Maybe you think I'll let you go if you fight hard enough." Davorion chuckled. The sound was as dark as his words. "It just might work."

But that wasn't why Mitchell won every fight. It was because sometimes members of the audience talked to him. If he had any hope of getting out of there, it was through the spectators who wanted to talk to a winner. One of them would be a good enough person to help him.

Mitchell had been arrogant to think time was all he needed to survive. He wasn't a superhero or invincible. He couldn't take hit after hit.

"I'm a dead man walking, Davorion."

Davorion chuckled as if the thought delighted him. "There are a hundred men like you, Mitchell Burke. After you're gone, I'll find one of them to take your place."

"Good luck, dickhead." But Mitchell knew Davorion was right. He'd kidnap some poor guy who would win fight after fight until it killed him. And Mitchell couldn't do a damn thing to stop it because he'd be six feet under.