Jake
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The past-18 years old
Blood splutters from my mouth as my opponent strikes me hard on my cheek. I spit out the blood and shake my head.
With my fists up protecting my face, I dogde his next hit before going low and punching him in his abdomen.
He's a big guy compared to me so his movements are slow. I use my speed as I run circles around him.
He managed a few lucky punches but I won't let my guard down again. I move around him and punch him on his ribs right where his liver is and he grunts.
Not wasting my chance when he's in pain, I strike him hard on his stomach, he bends over from the pain. That's when I deliver the final blow on his face. I hear a crack from his jaw before he falls to the floor.
The crowd erupts around the arena. People are screaming so loud it's deafening, the lights are bright in my eyes as I limp off the stage. I'm not the type to stick around after a win.
In my room back stage as I tend to my injuries, I hear a bang on the door. Before I can answer the door flies open and a guy walks in, closing the door behind him.
He doesn't seem that much older than me. Maybe he's in his mid 20's. His hazel eyes asses me with a grim expression on his face.
He has a scar above his eyebrow that adds to the scary look on his face. Even before he says anything. I can tell what type of guy he is. But still I don't fear him. There is something familiar about him, I can't explain it though.
“Jake, I've heard a lot of good things about you.” he says. Though he's smiling, his voice still comes out cold.
“Oh yeah, I haven't heard a thing about you. Who the fuck are you and why should I care.” Well that was dumb. I had to open my big mouth.
He chuckles but there is no humor in his eyes. “The name is Nikolai Volkov”. All the blood in my body turns to ice. I know that name. It's the name that strikes fear in anyone with half a brain.
The Volkov's own everything illegal that goes on in this city, including the underground fighting ring we are in right now.
“Still doesn't tell me why I should care,” I say. Okay, if he doesn't punch me I'll punch myself. Can't I just shut up and have a little self-preservation?
He moves closer to me and I assume a fighting stance. He's the same size as the guy I just fought. Although I'm injured, I'm sure I'll get in a punch or two before he kills me.
As if he can read my thoughts, he says, “Relax, I'm not here to hurt you.” He takes a seat and gestures for me to sit down.
Reluctantly, I do as he says. It has more to do with the fact that my body is in so much pain from the fight. And not that I'm scared of him.
'At least that's what I tell myself'.
He goes quiet again while he watches me. It's creepy the way he stares as if he can read my mind.
“Your name is Jake Boyle, son of Lilian Boyle. Am I right?” He asks and I tense. Why would he know my mother's name. And why is he bringing her up.
“What does it matter to you?” I ask.
“It doesn't,” he pauses.
“I’ve been searching for you for a long time. After you ran away from your foster home, it was difficult to track you down. Imagine my surprise when I saw you fighting in one of my establishments.” he says.
“Why would you be searching for me. If my mother owed you money I can't pay you back, as you can see I'm as broke as they come.“
My mother was a drug addict and for a short while before I was born she used to work at one of the Volkov's stripper joints. I wouldn't be surprised if she owed money to people like them.
“No, your mother didn't owe us money but she did take something of more value than money from my father.” he states casually.
I stiffen. What mess did she leave me in now. “Oh yeah, and what is that?“ I ask.
His eyes lock with mine before he answers, “You”.
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