GOD OF CHAOS

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

JEREMY VOLKOV

Jeremy took a drag of his cigarette, his gaze drifting over the evening sky. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving behind streaks of fading light that bled into the encroaching night. It had only been about four days since Jeremy had dropped Brandon off at the Elites mansion when his phone buzzed. It was Brandon again. That fellow had managed to land himself in yet another predicament. Despite being cornered, Brandon had fought his way out, but his voice trembled with shaken nerves as he inquired if the previous offer still stood.

Jeremy agreed to meet Brandon outside the warehouse. Though Brandon initially seemed doubtful, he eventually acquiesced. Jeremy wasn't sure what was happening with the Golden King twin, nor was he particularly interested in finding out. However, the truth remained that Brandon hadn't done anything to deserve such a predicament. Jeremy also reasoned that Brandon was fair in assuming that Landon would react explosively and cause further complications. Moreover, from what Jeremy had observed of Brandon, especially during Landon's last fight with Nikolai, Brandon became visibly disturbed at the sight of violence.

Jeremy heard footsteps closing in from behind. Quickly extinguishing his cigarette, he flicked the butt to the ground and crushed it underfoot before turning to face Brandon.

"Hi," Brandon greeted nervously, his smile hesitant. His eyes flitted around the wooded surroundings, a reflexive response to the secluded setting.

"Hi, Brandon," Jeremy responded, offering a reassuring smile to ease Brandon's nerves. "There's my gym." He gestured towards the warehouse ahead.

As Brandon silently regarded the building, Jeremy waited patiently. Eventually, Brandon managed a smile and met Jeremy's gaze. "Lead the way."

Jeremy set off towards the warehouse, Brandon trailing behind in quiet contemplation. As they walked, Jeremy couldn't help but notice Brandon's stiffness, like a scared rabbit tiptoeing through a field of daisies. Yet, Jeremy had a feeling that Brandon's nerves would soon melt away.

This little adventure wasn't just for Brandon's benefit; it was a welcome distraction for Jeremy himself. Jeremy had been wrestling with his inner turmoil, trying to tame the wild beast of his aggression. While pummeling the punching bag helped to some extent, Jeremy hungered for more. However, the underground fight club was a forbidden fruit, tempting but undoubtedly sour. Jeremy knew better than to indulge in such reckless behavior, especially when he was supposed to be the voice of reason among his friends.

The idea of teaching Brandon how to throw a punch had popped into Jeremy's head like a baseless thought and he had blurted it out. At first, he didn't think Brandon would bite, nor did he anticipate the unexpected positive side it brought to him. But as he pondered it further, Jeremy realized that guiding Brandon through the art of combat would not only be a boon for the golden boy but also a salve for his own troubled soul. Besides, Jeremy reasoned, taking on this mentorship role was familiar territory for him. Normally, he played the guardian angel for his rowdy bunch of friends and kept the chaos at bay. However, this time, Jeremy knew that embracing his usual responsibilities would only fan the flames of his inner turmoil. So, he chose a different path, one that was as whimsical as it was unexpected.

Jeremy halted in front of the boxing ring, allowing Brandon to leisurely survey the surroundings. "It's a bit eerie, don't you think?" Jeremy remarked, breaking the silence.

Brandon responded with a nervous chuckle. "It's quiet. I prefer it that way," he admitted.

Jeremy nodded understandingly and gestured towards the ring. "We'll start there. And there's a shower in the back if you feel like freshening up or changing into something else."

Brandon glanced down at his attire, a blue tank top paired with black biker shorts. "Is this not good enough?" he inquired, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Jeremy shook his head, clarifying, "No, no, I meant after we're done here."

"Oh," Brandon murmured, absently touching the back of his head and rubbing it nervously—a habit he seemed to indulge in quite frequently. Jeremy couldn't help but notice the contrast between Brandon's jittery demeanor and someone else's unflappable composure. No matter the situation, Jeremy reflected, that someone wouldn't even bat an eyelash if a loaded gun were pointed at their forehead.

Not again.

Fucking not again.

Jeremy held the ropes open for Brandon, who offered him a grateful smile before gingerly climbing into the ring. Jeremy followed suit, joining Brandon in the center. As they stood facing each other, Jeremy studied Brandon intently. There was a palpable nervousness, but it wasn't directed towards Jeremy or the prospect of injury. It was the kind of unease one feels when confronted with their own inner demons. Jeremy found this dynamic intriguing, though not entirely surprising. In fact, he would have been more astonished if Brandon King had shown fear towards him. Even during the previous day's altercation when Jeremy had stumbled upon Brandon cornered by the Serpents lackey, Brandon hadn't appeared afraid of the thug pressing him against the wall. No, his fear was reserved for the violence itself. Was he afraid that he might resort to violence? That he might succumb to its allure?

Brandon, while less muscular than Landon, certainly possessed his own strength, or so he assumed. He was crazy athletic from what he knew. After all, he had witnessed the Golden King twin's prowess on the lacrosse field during a few Elites games, courtesy of Nikolai's insistence.

Speaking of which, he still hadn't quite figured out Nikolai's intentions.

Shrugging off his thoughts, Jeremy nodded. "Okay, let's get started." Brandon braced himself, as if preparing for doomsday. "First things first, you need to understand that self-defense and violence aren't synonymous, despite what it might appear like from the outside. If someone attacks you and you throw a punch to protect yourself, you're not being violent. However, if you do decide to throw that punch, you must never hesitate. It's either knock them out or endure the consequences."

"You're talking as if I'm about to join the mafia," Brandon quipped, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Jeremy chuckled. "Not quite, but given the people your brother has been tangling with, I wouldn't be surprised if you ended up with some mafia types knocking on your door."

Brandon nodded in understanding, a slight furrow forming on his forehead.

"Alright," Jeremy continued, raising his hand, "punch me."

Brandon tensed, a flicker of fear crossing his features. With determination, he raised his fist and aimed it at Jeremy's palm. However, Jeremy moved swiftly, seizing Brandon's wrist with one hand and deftly flipping him over. With a well-timed swipe of his leg, Brandon found himself tumbling to the ground with a startled yelp.

"Rule number one of fighting," Jeremy explained calmly as Brandon shot him a glare from his prone position, "if you attack your opponent, you need to ensure they can't use it against you."

Brandon turned his head away, a mixture of frustration and embarrassment evident on his face. In that moment, Jeremy couldn't help but imagine the mischievous grin that would have adorned Landon's face, likely provoking Jeremy further.

Seriously, Jeremy, stop.

"I wasn't ready," Brandon protested as he regained his footing.

"I don't think anyone would wait for you to be ready, Golden boy," Jeremy retorted, his tone sharp. He knew he needed to divert Brandon's attention from his fear before any progress could be made.

Brandon's jaw clenched, his eyes gleaming with a hint of defiance. With determination, he raised his hands into fists. "Alright, let's do it again then."