"The Underground Fighter and His Kitten"
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Sasha "Kayo" Sokolov is a Russian fighter who was sent to America at a young age. One day, he met a young girl by the name of Everleigh Wilson, who taught him how to speak English, and helped him with his s...
"I'm not losing to no fucker named Clown Killer," I stated. "Get the fuck outta here."
"Kyle is fighting right now. Why don't you go watch for yourself?" he advised. The man opened the door and headed out, leaving the door ajar.
Just on time, I could hear cheering going on. I stepped out of the bathroom, following the noise all the way to the ring where I could see the familar man that once tried to scare me when I was nothing but a child. He was going against one of the biggest guys I had ever seen, Deadly Giant. Deadly Giant looked to be about seven-feet-tall, and huge with pure muscle, not an ounce of fat on his body.
Kyle slammed his fist into the man's face just one time and he stumbled down to the floor with a loud thud that rumbled through the entire arena. The moment he fell, Kyle was on him. He slammed his foot into the man's arm, probably breaking it. Deadly Giant let out a loud groan as Kyle got on top of him and wrapped his hands around his head.
I knew what was going to happen before it did. He snapped his head, killing him instantly. Everyone cheered Kyle on as Deadly Giant laid there dead. Deadly Giant was a great fighter, and the fact that Kyle killed him without doing so much as lifting a finger said a lot about how skillful of a fighter he was.
Kyle stood up with a smirk on his face, and suddenly, he looked directly at me. His face transformed from a smirk to a smile as he put his index finger and middle finger together like a gun, and he pointed it directly at me.
"I'd take my offer," the same guy from the restroom whispered in my ear.
"Take your offer and fuck your piss hole with it," I said, walking out of the building.
Hastings was quick to join me seeing as I almost made it out to my car without having to hear a word from him. Even after all these years I still hated his ass. Now more than ever.
"What the hell was that, boy? You could've done better," Hastings nagged. The motherfucker was never grateful.
I no longer feared the man. He had to crane his neck up to look at me. He was old now and weak. Gray hairs and wrinkles covered every part of his head and face. After he lost his job, he grew entirely dependent on me and it made him lazy, big, and old.
"Deposit my money into my account," I demanded, walking past him and making sure I bumped his shoulder.
"Aye, boy!" Hastings called. I turned around with a raised brow, folding my arms across my chest as I awaited for whatever bullshit he was about to throw my way.
"Your mother misses you," he said more softly than his words before.
I rolled my eyes. "She's not my mother. How many times do I have to tell you, and Nikolai, and Adrian that shit?" I asked.
"She took care of you! Don't think that just because you moved out that she was never there for you!" Hastings yelled, trying to jam his finger in my face.
My jaw clenched as the need to punch him square in the jaw grew. "Neither of you took care of me. You used me, and you're still using me. I'm not a goddamn idiot, Hastings," I returned.
He grew silent for a moment, only huffing and puffing, knowing that I said nothing but the truth.
"What about your brothers? Who—"
"Me! I take care of them! You can lie to Angelia all you want and say you still got that job, and that all the money y'all spend comes from you, but you ain't gonna lie to me. That's my money! It's my money that comes from risking my life with these goddamn fights while you sit around and look pretty. You're full of shit, Hastings. Now, get the fuck out of my face, deposit my money into my account, and use the rest of it to take care of my brothers," I ordered.
He took a deep breath, turning on his heel to head back into the building. Just before he left, he muttered, "She's dying, Sasha."
"Text me when there's a funeral," I said, opening my car door and getting in.
I slammed my door shut and started up my car. All I could do was sit there as my chest heaved up in down as rage consumed every part of me. It seemed like the only emotion I could ever feel was anger. I blamed the world for knowing what it was like to be normal just as much as I blamed the world for forcing me not to be.
Angelia was kind but I didn't like her. I hated her. She was so damn oblivious. She was ignorant to the darkness in the world. She was naïve to believe her husband was a good man. She was an oblivious, ignorant, and naïve woman, and I fucking hated it. I hated it because I was jealous of it. If only I could've been oblivious, ignorant, and naïve like a goddamn child should be, I would be sane... I would be normal just like little miss Angelia.
I turned my music all the way up to drown out my thoughts and slammed my fist into the steering wheel of my car. A loud scream ripped out of me as I continued to sit there in the parking lot.
That feeling was bubbling up again. The feeling that drove me to win my every fight. It was a mixture of pure rage and deep sadness.
Picking up my phone, I dialed a number before holding it up to my ear. On the first ring, she answered.
"Come over," I told her.
"On my way," she said seductively into the phone just before hanging up.
With that, I drove off, going way beyond the speed limit but not bringing myself to give a single fuck about it. I needed to get my frustrations out one way or another and it seemed like Sophia was going to be my perfect antidote.
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