Quick as lightning, and faster than the judge’s teeth as he tries to bite me, the knife embeds in the wooden chair. An abhorrent scream rips up his throat as my laughter joins the cacophony of noises.
“You… should… see your…face!” Still crouching next to him, tears drip for an entirely different reason. As I swipe them away, I stand once more. “How funny would that be if I pissed myself too!”
“What the fuck! You crazy fucking bitch!” Judge Jackson glances down, not daring to hope. “You almost stabbed me in the dick!”
Another pout. “I missed. What a shame.” This time he doesn’t predict it and has this slight sense of safety from the miss but that was to create a vulnerable moment, offering a small reprieve that I greatly enjoy destroying when I pop the blade free, and stab it straight through his junk. This time the scream is of genuine pain, an octave he’s never pitched before, but I don’tstop there because I want my blade back cutting down like flaying carrots; his manhood is now the makings of a hotdog octopus. The ones that perfect parents create for their perfect kids for lunch.
Satisfaction is there, but the hollowness of missing my bestie continues eating away at my soul, wishing she were here to aid in our revenge. There’s no time for sensitivities though, slamming an emotional wall between my new reality, and the past. Blood drips from the shiny blade, causing my lip to curl in disgust, and wiping it on his shoulder as he continues to weep like a child who had their favorite toy taken away.
He doesn’t break from his screaming when I lean down and whisper in his ear. “Didn’t miss that time.” My blade easily slips back into its sheath as I strut around to the front of the desk again. “Hopefully, you’ll learn your lesson in hell, since you didn’t learn it here today.” As I walk toward the back door, a pitiful whimper trailing after, the final blow is locked and ready. “Have a great day, Your Honor. Once I’m on the bus, I’ll give you a call.” A smirk sarcastically tilts my lips, wiggling a cell phone, which is also the detonator for the cords tying him down.
~~~~~
The explosion is all over the news.
An upstanding judge targeted. What could he have done?This is what they’re reporting. A complete fucking lie. Disintegrating him wasn’t enough, but ruining his wife and child’s lives just doesn’t do it for me. Revenge on those who hurtus is one thing, but I’m not a cold-hearted monster. Empathy for the innocent remains a part of my moral compass.
Luckily, The Underground is accepting fighters, and early enough to avoid the guys. Nothing silences the demons banging against my skull completely, and when diving into revenge isn’t an option, fighting is the only other outlet that balances my personality.
It’s equal parts pleasure and pain, because the same gratification comes whether my fist smashes into the face of my opponent or when they snap my head back with one of their own jabs.
The crowd is chanting Cupcake, drawing the attention of everyone in the room to the stage, and failing miserably at keeping a low profile. Twice my size, my adversary isn’t nimble but packs a punch. A pleasant change from the last fight, since they paired me by weight class before they could see what I could do. Even though she’s twice my size, her skill is minimal, charging like a bull in a glass shop. The only time she lands a hit is because I let her, encouraging contact, and the pain that clears the darkness if only for that moment.
Once this fight clears, the promoter promised a premier fight against a regular. He’s got something up his sleeve if the sly expression on his face was anything to judge by, but I’ll accept the challenge. The matches so far have been subpar at best, and speaking of, this one is turning out to be just as bland. After dancing around for one of three rounds, enervation is apparentwith each of her jabs, disappointing since they no longer dispel the darkness creeping at the edges of my vision.
Slowly, the haze obscures rational thought, firing each strike harder, and deadlier. Harder. Faster. Harder. Faster. Harder. Faster. Until she’s backpedaling, stumbling, and then on the ground. In an instant, I’m over her, crunching knuckles against bone, bursting blood from her nose like a hose on a firetruck.
When the visceral creature lurking beneath the surface finally breaks free—teeth bared, hunger dripping from its snarl—the moment for restraint is already gone. Whatever line once existed has been crossed, and there’s no turning back now. Jay warned me numerous times about passing the point of no return. Typically, he’d be there to restrain me, hold me accountable, but he’s dead now. There’s no one left.
Growling, my thoughts only add fuel to the fire, hitting harder. A shrill sound echoes through my skull—a cacophony of noise drowned out by the static filtering the darkness. Soon the ant race will be over, and nothing but shadow will remain.
Suddenly, hands grip my shoulders, yanking back, trying to extract the attack. Once there’s contact, reality rushes in, and I realize the noise is the bell. The match is over.
When I glance over, my opponent is motionless, face barely recognizable. She coughs, and blood pools out the side of her mouth.
Jesus.
My hands shake as I stand and am pronounced the winner. Victory is mine. Adrenaline pounds through my veins, lighting every neuron on fire, retracting some of the darkness but replacing it with vengeance. I need more. I’m nowhere near finished tonight.
Bring on the next contender.
Chapter Six
Ronan
The crowd is fucking feral by the time I slide through the door—sweaty bodies packed tight, heat rolling off them like steam in a pressure cooker. The scent of adrenaline, blood, and cheap whiskey punches me straight in the chest.
It’s beautiful.
I shoulder my way through, barely registering the curses and shoves. People move when I want them to. They always do. Especially when I hear it—that chant.
Cupcake! Cupcake! Cupcake!
A sick grin curls at the edge of my mouth. My Pixie’s name on their tongues, like a prayer they don’t even realize they’re whispering.
I push forward until I’m close enough to see the ring, and there she is—my girl, my madness—raining hell down on some poor bastard who clearly didn’t know what kind of monster he stepped into the cage with.
Fists flying. Eyes locked. That little snarl tugging at her lips like she’s daring him to stay conscious.