CHAPTER FIVE
LUCIANO
Shoving Aya into my car, I shut the door and rounded the front in silence. It was too late at night for insects to chirp, but still too early for birds to sing. Climbing into the driver’s seat, I sucked in a breath and pushed my key into the ignition. Her eyes were on me, wandering but never straying as they searched my face and trailed everywhere else. Putting the gear in drive, I jammed my boot on the gas pedal only to hear the tires squealing in response.
A soft chink sounded inside the car once I made it past the front gates, and I glanced over at Aya. Her long legs were stuck together until the knee, with a foot pressed against the door and another against the floor. Tension created lines in her face as she stared out the windshield, and both her hands were wrapped firmly around her seat belt strap.
Seeing her obvious nervousness brought a frown to my mouth, and I adjusted my grip on the steering wheel. Turning back to the road, my eyes narrowed on the short strip before me, illuminated only by yellow headlights.
“I’m not going to shoot you out here. Someone would probably find you and that’s too much trouble.” Grumbling almost absently, I flexed my fingers against the leather wheel. “I don’t particularly want to kill you, anyway.”
Once again those soggy, green gaze met my skin, and I huffed and irritated sigh. Aya was the only person aside from Georgio and Sylvi that would look me in the eye. Speeding down the deserted street, I scowled at nothing while my brain worked.
I fucking hated women that think they’re good enough to challenge me. They bat their eyelashes and pucker their lips, posturing as if I gave two shits about their ambitions. Every time I accompanied Sylvi to one of his brothels I always left frustrated and hard.
It was ironic that I refused to be some sluts conquest- to be bragged about to other whores as if it brings pride.
But when Aya met my eye, I could feel her aloofness- that quiet passivity that had halted my trigger finger.
“Where are we going, then?” Aya’s voice was husky, her tiredness still evident as it pulled me from my thoughts. Reaching into the pocket below the stereo, I pulled out my pack of cigarettes and tossed it to her.
“Get me one.” Even though I concentrated on the road the sound of my lighter hitting the floor was loud in my ears. My leather seat creaked slightly as Aya bent to get it, and I glanced at the clock with a scowl. Pressing down on the gas pedal, my foot flexed in my boot and my heel dug into the plastic mat.
Sylvi lived on the outskirts of the city, in a neighborhood of wealthy people that minded their own fucking business. It took nearly half an hour at speed limit to drive to down town, and my speedometer needle waved right to settle on neon green numbers nearly 40mph faster.
The smell of cigarette smoke dampened some of my frustration, and I reached to roll down my window absently. In my peripheral vision Aya reached out, holding the cancer stick upright between her thumb, pointer, and middle finger. Glancing over, I grunted at the blank look on her face, watching for just a fraction of a second as the wind ruffled the ends of her cherry red hair.
Taking a wide turn, I stepped off the gas to take my cigarette just as Aya leaned over. Her fingers trembled, causing the butt to shake as she held it in front of my face. She pinched where the top of the filter and the tobacco met, her other three fingers held up high to avoid being burned. Holding it between my lips, I took in a deep, noxious breath before jerking my chin.
The smoke swirled in my lungs as Aya retreated, cigarette in hand. Letting out my heavy breath, I swiveled my jaw as it flew out the window.
Pulling to a stop in an underground garage deep in the heart of the city, I put my car in park and pulled the emergency break. Swiping my palm over my jaw, my groan reverberated through the car. Tossing my head to the side, I stared at Aya’s pensive form for a few seconds until her eyes met mine. Her orbs were the color of a shadowed swamp, a dark green that shouldn’t have been a natural eye color. They were bright with tension and fear and the light coating of tears that never seemed to dry. Pursing my lips together, I reached over to grab her face. In the dark her bruises weren’t visible, but I wasn’t fooled; her left side was swollen.
“Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t look at anyone. Don’t move from your spot. If you do any of those, I’ll leave you here- and you don’t want that. Understand?” Instantly Aya nodded, and I watched her for a second more before letting her go. Yanking open my door, I slid from my seat with a grunt. “Let’s go.”
Aya scrambled across the center console to slip out my door, and I shoved my keys in my pocket once my car was locked. Grabbing her arm, I made my way on stiff legs towards the nearby stairwell door. After only two flights down the sounds of drunk cowards shouting reached my ears.
It’s louder than usual.
Pushing open the basement door with a harsh bang, my hand clenched into a fist against the metal. My fists itched to hit something that would crunch and bleed under them, and my throat clogged with a growl. The stench of beer, vomit, sweat, and blood hit me, and behind me Aya gagged audibly as she stumbled down the short hallway.
Emerging in the main room, I held Aya’s arm tightly as the sounds and smells intensified. Slinking underneath the rickety, old bleachers that surrounded a makeshift boxing ring, I glanced around through narrowed eyes. Whores kept guests buying drinks and entertained as they waited for the fights to start. Ringside, there were new faces I could already picture bloodied and broken. My knuckles ached to connect with their jaws, and I took a deep, beer tainted breath.
“Luciano! How good of you to join us!” Stomping up a flight of metal stairs, I glared at Johann as he lifted himself from his chair. “And you brought a lady friend!”
His haggard, wrinkled face stretched into a grotesque smile, and I gnashed my teeth at him. My lips curled into a snarl, but Aya hid behind me without my prodding.
“Fuck off, Johann.” The man was at least two decades older than Georgio, and a psychopath. His stringy, lean muscles bulged as he waved his arm in dismissal; he liked to show off his strength. I wasn’t sure he owned a single shirt with sleeves on it. Dropping back into his chair, Johann smiled to reveal broken and missing teeth from a lifetime of fighting.
“Relax, my friend. I’m far too old to indulge in another man’s woman. So, what brings you to my modest club?” The steel platform was above everything, with the best view of the ring, and Johann didn’t need to speak overly loud. Pulling Aya in front of me, I sat her down next to the old man’s chair. Pulling her knees out, she crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap before I offered a response to the hanging question.
“I want to fight.” Pulling off my t-shirt, I dropped it in Aya’s lap as Johann shook his head.
“I figured you’d be by when I heard that Georgio was here. Got a good line up. Maybe one of them will make you sweat.” I thought on that for a second, and in the corner of my eye I spied my opponents. They seemed like nothing special; they were probably the best fighter where they were from.
“It’s too bad they’re going to die.” After all, this is the big leagues. There’s no bell, only a pulse check.
Jostling my way to the opposite side of the ring, I ignored everything around me to focus on the two people climbing onto the platform. There were no ropes, no bars, no cage, to keep someone from falling off, and if he did the fight didn’t just end. No- the only way it ended was with a body being dragged off.
Both men were built, tall, muscular; their hands were wrapped in bandages. The darker of the two blonds had a defined four pack, but not much else. His basketball shorts showed legs that could’ve been more defined. He’ll be no fun. The lighter haired man was much more toned, more muscular, but even then he couldn’t match me.
It was honestly disappointing that this is what Johann considered a good line up.
“I need to find a new fight club.” Muttering under the roar of the crowd, I pulled out my pack of cigarettes and flipped the top. Taking one in my mouth, my lips down turned as I fished for a lighter in my pocket. “Whatever.”
The fights were boring; each man put up a show instead of trying for actual killing blows. Rolling my eyes as one short, stocky man rolled dramatically off the platform, I ground my teeth and gripped the wooden railing tightly. Instead of watching this farce, I turned my gaze to the ‘VIP’ landing. Johann looked like he had better things to do, his face a twisted mask of displeasure and disinterest.
Still sitting on the floor of the grated metal platform, Aya met my gaze with her own. Her face was pale where it wasn’t black and blue, and even from my distance I could see the white ring around her mouth. Grimacing, I didn’t blame her for wanting to puke her guts out. Others in the audience had and no one was going to clean it up; it just ended up mixing with the stench of everything else.
Shaking my head hard, I took a deep drag of my cigarette. I just want to kill someone…
Jumping up onto the ring platform, I eyeballed the man that had won every other match. It was the blond from the first match; the lighter of the two. Sweat dripped down his skin, and blood stained his nose and mouth. Aggression radiated from his pores, his stance unyielding even as he panted hard. Calculating, light blue eyes scanned my form, and he reached up to swipe his forehead as he adjusted his feet.
The man’s moment of struggle was short, and I flew at him with all of the strength and speed I possessed. He didn’t even have time to blink before my fist connected with the right side of his rib cage. A low grunt reached my ears, and the sound drew a wicked smirk to my lips. Slamming my knee into his gut, I relished his hurting sounds as he doubled over. Taking his pretty boy hair into my fists, I ducked and spun to spend him flying to the other side of the ring.
Adrenaline surged through my veins, and a sick kind of joy made my hands shake. Strands of gold hair lodged under my fingernails, and I whirled around to watch the man groan as he pushed himself onto his elbows. I waited, the anticipation of bashing his skull in blocking out every other noise, every smell, every other part of my vision. Licking my teeth, I panted lightly from the pure pleasure that rocketed through me.
“Fuck!” My roar shook the platform, and I charged just as the blond was straightening up. He couldn’t even defend himself when I knocked his feet out from under him, sending him onto his back. Straddling his chest, I bore down all my weight until his choking was all I could hear. Even my own blood rushing past my ear drums was absent. Sending my fist into his face, a low chuckle breached my throat at the satisfying crack that sounded.
I wasn’t a patient man, and he groaned as I struck him again. His blood speckled my hands and forearms, the sweet, metallic scent of it wafted up to caress my brain.
The blond’s face was a bloodied pulp by the time I felt his chest deflate and refuse to rise. Leaning back, I took a look at my handiwork as a satisfied smirk picked up my lips.