The decision had come unbelievably easy. Prince had known what to do almost the minute Alyssa had told him about what was happening. By the time morning had rolled along, he was convinced that it was the right—and possibly the only—thing to do. He had woken up next to Alyssa and left her a note to let her know he would see her later that day, and then he had snuck out, feeling a sense of purpose growing within him with every step he took.
Anyone in their right mind would tell him that what he was planning wasn’t a good idea. His friend Rick would probably call it a suicide mission. Prince called it his only card to play. The way he saw it, should this go all wrong, he was dead anyway. He was dead if he ran away, and he was dead if he were forced to stay behind and live a life without Alyssa. He had done it for eight years and it had been hell on Earth; he was not going to let it happen again.
He didn’t go to Bennie’s house. According to club rules, members’ homes were sacred and no killing occurred in them. Prince didn’t want Bennie to think that he was being a coward, bringing him the news where no violent reaction could take place. He was going all in, even if it cost him his life. Bennie would probably not kill him immediately anyway—provided that he did decide to kill him. Over the years, Prince had learned that the man could surprise him. Whatever happened, he would have time to say goodbye to Alyssa.
As Prince drove in the streets of Pinebrook and got closer and closer to the Devil’s Fighters’ headquarters, he realized that he was not afraid. It didn’t quite come as a surprise; after all, he had been preparing for death for eight years. It had been a long time since he was last naïve, and he knew that if Benedict “Bennie” Lenday or the club didn’t kill him, one of his opponents in the ring someday would. It was just irrational to think that he could survive this lifestyle for very long. As it were, it was nothing short of miraculous that he had survived for almost a decade.
Prince parked his car in the parking lot of the building. The vehicle was almost as beat-up as he was, and it was a wonder that it still ran—just like Prince himself. Sometimes, it was a wonder that he still functioned.
The Devil’s Fighters’ headquarters was an old restaurant that the club had remodeled to accommodate their needs. There was a meeting room, and a main, spacious room with billiard tables and a bar. When Prince walked in, almost no one was around. There was Rick, nursing a beer at the bar, and Johnnie, the member who took care of the bar and drinks. Everyone else seemed to be taking care of their own business elsewhere.
Prince walked up to the bar and nodded at both men in greeting.
“Is Bennie around?” he asked, having spotted the president’s motorcycle outside.
“He’s in the meeting room,” Johnnie said, nodding towards the closed door at the far end of the room.
“Is he alone?”
“Yep.”
Rick was watching him intently. “Why?”
“I need to talk to him.”
“Before you do, I need to talk to you, too.”
Prince watched in confusion as Rick got off the bar stool he was sitting on and led him to one of the tables in the main room, as far away from the bar as possible. Johnnie’s brown eyes followed them attentively, but he was the quietest and most discreet official member of the Devil’s Fighters, and Prince knew he wouldn’t be straining his ears to hear what they had to say to each other. Besides, it wasn’t like the Devil’s Fighters had much to fear in terms of schemes and plots. Few had tried to play them, and those few had met a very unpleasant end. Even fewer had tried to play them from within, and those fewer had met an even more unpleasant end.
Prince sat down with Rick at the table his friend had selected.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Rick almost crucified him with one intense look. “You tell me,” he said, keeping his voice down to a low murmur. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Cut the crap, Prince,” Rick said brusquely. “You’ve only sought Bennie out for a private chat once in eight years, and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how that went.”
Prince shuddered. If he concentrated hard enough, he could still feel the pain from the bruises he had gotten from one of the worst beat-ups of his life. Back then, after two years of fighting, he had confronted Bennie and declared that his father’s debt had to be paid up by then and that he was done.
“The debt’s paid when I say it’s paid,” Bennie had said afterwards, holding the bloodied mask that had once been Prince’s face between his hands. “And you’re done when I say you’re done. Are we clear?”
They were clear, and Bennie had never said it. He had never said that the debt was paid or that Prince was done, and Prince had never asked again. Until now.
“I have to speak to him,” Prince said. “Believe me, I’m not looking forward to it, but I have to.”
“Why?” Rick asked. “To tell him what?”
If it were anyone else, Prince would tell them to just back off and mind their own business, but Rick was a whole other story. Rick was his brother.
And so Prince took a deep breath, and he told his brother the truth. “I have to tell him that I want out.”
A stunned silence fell—hard, fast, and heavy—over the small table, like a cartoon anvil.
“Excuse me?” Rick finally hissed under his breath.
Prince cringed inwardly, but he stood his ground. “You heard me.”
“I did,” Rick said, “and, please, tell me I heard you wrong.”
Prince shrugged.
Rick’s hazel eyes blazed. “Don’t you shrug! Don’t you dare sit there and just shrug at me after what you’ve just said!”
“Calm down—”
“Calm down?” Rick repeated, incredulous. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I’ve never been more lucid,” Prince said, and it was true. Now that his mind was made up, he felt oddly at peace with the world. He felt sharp, focused. For the first time in eight years, he had a purpose, and it made him feel so much stronger. It didn’t matter how his story would end; by taking action, Prince felt that he had already won. “I have to do this.”
“Why?” Rick half-snapped and half-pleaded. “Why do you suddenly feel like you ‘have’ to do this?” His voice dropped even lower. “What changed, Prince? I thought we were waiting to create the right circumstances.”
Prince’s face darkened. “There’s no time for that. I can’t wait any longer.”
“Why?” Rick pressed.
“Alyssa’s situation has changed. The vet clinic where she works in Vancouver has given her an ultimatum. Either she’s back to work in two weeks, or they fire her. We’re out of time.”
Rick thought it over for a moment. “No,” he said then, “you’re not. She can go back to Canada, and you can join her later—when the time is right.”
Prince stared at him. “Come on, Rick,” he said. “You and I both know that if Alyssa goes ahead without me, I’ll lose her again, probably for good this time. We’ve all been fools; the time will never be right.”
Rick took the words in. “So, what do you want to do then? What’s your plan? Tell Bennie you want out and beg him to let you go?”
“Pretty much, yes.”
“It’s suicide,” Rick said bluntly. “He’ll have you killed.”
“Possibly,” Prince agreed. “But it’s a risk I’ve got to take.”
Rick shook his head. “You’re crazy,” he said, matter-of-factly. “And what does Alyssa have to say about this brilliant plan of yours?”
Prince shifted in his chair, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. He looked away briefly. “She doesn’t know,” he muttered.
“Really!” Rick exclaimed in a mocking tone. “I’m shocked.” Prince glared at him, and Rick sighed heavily. “This is insane, Prince. You’ve got to reconsider.”
Prince was shaking his head even before his friend had finished the sentence. “It’s the only thing I can do.”
“It’s suicide,” Rick said again.
“No,” Prince argued. “It’s my chance to create the right circumstances.”
Silence came back then, and it was still heavy, but now it was also filled with something else—resignation. Prince felt it radiate off his friend in waves.
“It’s going to be okay,” he tried to offer. “I’ll be fine.”
“What about me?” Rick’s voice had gone very quiet, and he was staring gloomily down at the dark wooden surface of the table.
Prince frowned. “What do you mean?”
Rick looked up. There was pain shining in his hazel eyes.
“I said, what about me?” he repeated. “You’re just going to leave me behind in this hell?”
It was as if someone had just punched him in the stomach. Prince found himself staring dumbfounded at his friend, horrified and out of breath. He could almost feel the color drain from his face.
Something in Prince’s expression must have hit Rick hard, because he seemed to forcibly shake himself out of it. He sat up straighter, squared is shoulders, and exhaled sharply.
“Shit,” he said, running a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Of course you should go. If you have a chance to get out of this hellhole on Earth, you should take it and not look back.” He shook his head, visibly angry at himself. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Please, forget I’ve said anything.”
“I can’t,” Prince said, finding his voice with some difficulty. “Do you really think that I would leave you here?”
Rick frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re coming with me,” Prince said forcefully. “With us.”
“No, I’m not,” Rick said. “You know I can’t. Bennie will never let us both go.”
“You let me handle Bennie.”
Rick stared at him. “No,” he said after a few moments, sharply. “You are not exposing yourself even further because of me. I’ll be fine here.”
Prince arched an eyebrow. “Will you?” They both knew he wouldn’t. They both knew that it was a miracle that they were even alive now. It was only a matter of time before the fight killed them.
Rick looked away. “I’ll be fine,” he said again, and it sounded like he was trying very hard to convince himself.
“You won’t,” Prince said. There was no malice behind his words, no hurtful intent. He was merely stating a fact they were both painfully aware of. “Please, let me help you.”
Rick looked back at him then, and the fear and hopelessness written all over his face tore at Prince’s heart.
“How?” Rick asked. “How are you going to help me? How are you even going to help yourself?” He let out a long, frustrated breath. “I’m sorry, Prince. I hate myself for telling you this, but we’re fucking trapped. We’re going to die in this hellhole of a town.”
Prince frowned. It wasn’t like Rick to be so bleakly negative. He realized then that those were all the fears and feelings of despairs that his friend had kept buried for over eight years, finally bubbling to the surface and being released in dark, depressing waves. He reached out across the table and grabbed his friend’s forearm.
“We’re going to be okay,” he said, making sure he had Rick’s undivided attention. “Do you hear me? We’ll be just fine. I’ll make sure of it.”
Rick was staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. It was obvious that he thought Prince had gone completely mad, but he was also clearly intrigued. “How can you be so confident?”
“Because after eight years of horrors, I think we deserve something good to happen in our lives,” Prince said.
He sounded confident to his own ears, because that’s how he needed to sound in order to soothe the terror he could still see in the bottom of his friend’s hazel eyes. But the truth was, he wasn’t nearly as sure of himself as he would have liked to be.
Finally, Rick nodded. “All right,” he said. “You go in there and you do what you need to do. I’ve got your back.”
Prince knew what that meant. It meant that if things took a turn of the worse, Rick would be by his side. It meant that if somebody had to die, it would be both of them. He gave a nod in return and squeezed Rick’s forearm one last time before letting go and sitting back in his chair.
“I’m going back to the bar now,” Rick said, “Johnnie is probably getting suspicious.”
“Good idea,” Prince agreed. “I’ll stay here just a little longer to try and gather my thoughts, then I’m going in.”
“Please, don’t get yourself killed.”
Prince grinned. “I’ll try.”
He watched as Rick stood up and went back to the bar, settling on one of the tall stools and asking Johnnie for another beer. The man gave them both a suspicious look, but soon he relaxed again.
On his part, Prince felt anything but relaxed. No matter how confident he tried to appear, his stomach was tied up in knots and his heart was beating a mile a minute in his chest. He had spent the whole morning trying to come up with the words. He could never get anywhere past, “I want out,” which he knew would be the wrong way to start the conversation.
He hoped there would be a conversation. He hoped Bennie didn’t freak out on him immediately and gun him down on the spot. The thing with Benedict “Bennie” Lenday, one of the founders and the current president of the Devil’s Fighters, was that he was unpredictable. He had killed for way less and spared lives for way more. There was no way to guess his reaction.
Still, Prince tried. He tried to play it all in his mind, and he came up empty-handed every time. If a reprise of the beating from six years ago were to occur, he was pretty sure he would be able to take Bennie now. The man wasn’t a fighter, at least not in the strict sense of the term; Prince, much to his chagrin, was. But beating up the club’s president was probably the stupidest thing he could do and the fastest way to get himself a death sentence, effective immediately.
Eventually, he decided that the only way to know what would happen was to knock on the door of the meeting room.