Fist To The Heart

I Will Be Your Soldier

“What’s the meaning of this?” Ruslan asked. “Who are you? Where is Martin? What did you do to him? And why the hell do you sit there like you own the fucking place?”

The stranger put one hand up, and his smile grew wider. Johnny was in too much shock to say anything. Now he understood a few things, especially about why Douglas had wanted so badly to keep it a secret that Ruslan was related to him by blood.

The man in front of them needed no paternity test or fancy DNA screening. He was Ruslan, head to toes, some twenty-five years from now. Or maybe not entirely. His face was harsher, his lips thinner, and there was something cold and measured in his eyes even as he smiled. The designer suit fit him like a glove, and he was impeccable to the last hair on his head.

“I do own the fucking place,” the reply came.

Johnny noted the heavy foreign accent right away.

Ruslan gasped. “What did you do to Martin?”

“Butler? He’s fine. I just needed his phone. And this house.”

“Why?” Ruslan asked. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Such a dirty mouth. Just like your mother,” the man said.

He made a gesture to stand up, and one of the goons hurried to pull his chair. The man paid his servant no mind and walked slowly around the table, touching the lacquered table with something in his eyes and his moves that, from where Johnny stood, looked like nostalgia.

“What do you know about my mother? You still haven’t told me. Who the fuck are you?” Ruslan shouted.

Johnny could not believe Ruslan didn’t see it. Maybe he was too much in shock. “Pretty, I think that’s your father,” he said slowly.

“Ah,” the stranger said with satisfaction. “Smart. Who’s this? Bodyguard? Good choice. He looks strong.”

“You can’t be,” Ruslan said, shaking his head.

The man sighed. “All right. Let me introduce myself. I’m Vladimir Petrovsky.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Ruslan spat.

“Of course not. Douglas told you nothing about me. He was right, in his own way, I suppose. Because my son belongs to me.”

Johnny wasn’t sure whether it was the man’s broken way of speaking a foreign language or he did mean that as it came out. Instinctively, he stepped in front of Ruslan, to protect him.

“Easy, bodyguard,” Vladimir said. “No one here wants to hurt your boss.”

“He’s not my bodyguard,” Ruslan said. “He’s no one. Let him leave.”

Johnny turned to stare at Ruslan. “Now what are you playing at, pretty?”

“Ah, he’s the fiancé,” Vladimir intervened. “I heard of him. I didn’t know he was this strong. Now, Ruslan, come here and let me embrace you.”

Ruslan’s eyes were shifting from Johnny to Vladimir and back again. Johnny felt a bit relieved. He was wary still, but it didn’t look like this man wanted to hurt Ruslan. Vladimir was looking fondly at his son.

Respectfully, Johnny took one step to the side, but Ruslan made no sign that he wanted to move. Vladimir opened his arms wide and walked over to him. He pulled Ruslan who seemed more like a ragged doll at this point, into a tight embrace and kissed both his cheeks loudly.

He took Ruslan by the shoulders and made him walk to the table and sit. “You can come, too, bodyguard,” he said over his shoulder.

Johnny followed in silence. It was so strange to sit there and look at Ruslan and that stranger. Side by side, the resemblance was even more striking. It was like a punch to the gut, and Johnny could not help but wonder what Douglas must have felt when he saw Ruslan for the first time. It was clear as day who the father of his daughter’s son was. The lawyer must have lied through his teeth at the will reading. They must have all known Ruslan was the spitting image of his biological father.

Presumably, none of them thought this would bite them in the ass. Yet, Vladimir Petrovsky, as the man had dutifully recommended himself, had clearly caught wind of having a son, and he was now here to claim him.

Johnny always went with his gut instinct, and he felt completely calm in the presence of this stranger. Maybe it was because he looked so much like Ruslan that Johnny could not see him as the bad guy. If that were the case, and Vladimir’s intentions were bad, they were in deep shit.

“So, your grandpa failed to find your mom,” Vladimir said in a playful tone like he was talking to a child.

Johnny could barely keep a smile despite the seriousness of the situation. Ruslan’s glare was legendary. His lover wouldn’t tolerate being patronized like that. “And? Have you found her or something?”

Vladimir was holding Ruslan close, by his shoulders, forcing their chairs together. In turn, Ruslan looked like he wanted to be in a separate universe. “I wish I did. I wish I found you before now, little treasure.”

“Little treasure?” Ruslan sputtered. “Seriously?”

“What? Is it the wrong term of, how do you say this, endearment?”

“Let’s just say you’re just about twenty-something years late to use any term of endearment,” Ruslan said icily.

Johnny rubbed his face with one hand to hide his smile.

“Ah, I didn’t know about you,” Vladimir replied, his own smile never leaving his face. “I was interested in some small business, something little to give my cousin who wants, for who knows what reason, to live here. And I find that Douglas Kent has a son named Ruslan.”

“And? Douglas will always be my father,” Ruslan spat.

“He’s your grandfather. And did nothing to clean your spiteful mouth,” Vladimir replied, looking at his son pointedly. “Melanie told me. ‘We ever have a son, let’s name it some name you want.’ And I chose your name for you,” he added as he pushed a finger into Ruslan’s shoulder.

Johnny shook his head. He could not believe his ears, or his eyes, but Ruslan’s real father was right in front of them, and that was no fantasy.

“So I wanted to see this Ruslan. They kept me in the dark, all these years. When I could have watched you grow,” Vladimir said with affection mingled with regret.

“Spare me the crocodile tears,” Ruslan said and looked down stubbornly. “You don’t know my life.”

“But I want to know it,” Vladimir said in an excited tone. He slapped Ruslan’s back hard. “Should your mom have come to me, I could have made her a princess. Now I’ll make you a prince.”

“No, thank you,” Ruslan replied.

Johnny could feel that Ruslan’s façade was breaking. Whatever toughness he had in him, Ruslan must have felt it dissipating right now, hearing this stranger talk so casually about him and his mother.

“Ah, don’t be mad at me. Douglas should have told me of you.”

“Papa didn’t have to tell you shit,” Ruslan said and pushed the back of his hands into his eyes.

Vladimir pulled him close. “He robbed me of you. Like he robbed me of Melanie.”

Ruslan pushed his father and stood up. “He did nothing like that. You just fooled around with my mother, and I was some accident.”

He began to walk away stiffly. Vladimir was quick to stand up and catch him by one arm. “That’s not true,” he said sternly.

Johnny stood up, too. He was nothing but a spectator, but he felt like he needed to intervene. “Maybe you should listen to your father a little, Ruslan,” he asked in a soft voice.

Ruslan threw him a cutting look. “This man is not my father. My father died months ago, and his remains are ashes in an urn.”

Johnny felt taken aback by Ruslan’s determination. Vladimir sighed audibly.

“And what is that you want anyway?” Ruslan turned toward his father. “I inherited a fortune, so you came to grab it for yourself? Do you want to pressure me into it? And are you the one who’s messing with everyone’s business? How about you go back where you came from?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Vladimir said. “So many questions. Your fortune is your own, my son.”

“Really? Didn’t you pressure Martin into giving this home to you? When you knew it was papa’s?”

“I bought it above the market price. He agreed. And I’m giving it to you. You should have it. You should have everything.”

“Oh, fuck. You’re a great actor, aren’t you? Do you have any other children?”

“Yes, you have two brothers and three sisters,” Vladimir replied promptly. “And you’ll meet them all when you come with me to Russia.”

Johnny’s ears prickled. Now that was the kind of development he wasn’t expecting. And five siblings? Ruslan’s father had been a busy man, it seemed.

“I don’t want anything to do with your wife and her kids,” Ruslan replied.

“Wives,” Vladimir corrected him in the same playful tone he had used throughout the conversation.

Ruslan rolled his eyes. “Can you be married to more than one person in your country?”

Vladimir shrugged. “Technically, no. But divorce, marriage, is all blurred lines. They all live happily together. I make sure of that.”

“Fucked up,” Ruslan commented and turned on his heels again.

Vladimir caught him from behind into a hug. “You’re lucky you’re too old to turn you on my knee,” he said.

Johnny sighed and walked closer. “Mr. Petrovsky, please. I should take Ruslan home. Maybe you’ll talk more later.”

It wasn’t like him to be some diplomat, but the situation was far from being normal so that anything could go.

“You have enemies here. Both of you,” Vladimir said. “I’m here to clean up mess, too.”

Johnny was now very much interested in hearing Ruslan’s father out. “What do you mean?”

Vladimir finally let go of Ruslan who straightened up his clothes and pushed his hands through his hair like he wanted to make sure that all of himself was still there.

“You say, Ruslan, that I’m the one messing with business. But you know why the jungle goes all quiet? It’s when the king arrives. Lion,” Vladimir pointed at himself with uncontained satisfaction.

“Oh, and that’s you,” Ruslan said. “And? What am I supposed to get from that? That everyone gets out of the way the moment you make an appearance?”

“Something like that,” Vladimir said, his smile growing wider. “Who is this Davenport?”

“Nigel?” Ruslan asked.

“Friend of yours?” Vladimir asked affably.

Johnny wasn’t falling for the act. “No,” he replied in Ruslan’s stead.

“Thought so,” Vladimir said with satisfaction. “He’ll be history. Soon.”

“What? Are you just eliminating people randomly? No wonder papa didn’t want you to know about me,” Ruslan said.

Vladimir quirked an eyebrow. “Eliminate? He’ll be asked to leave. Politely.”

“So you’re ruining his business for what?”

“I don’t ruin anyone’s business. They’re weak. All. His father left him debts on top of debts. That’s not my fault,” Vladimir said, raising his shoulders as if he could not believe he was being accused for no reason.

Johnny sort of liked Ruslan’s real father. The man seemed ruthless, but he was telling the truth about Nigel. And if that fucker was out of the picture, it was all for the better. Johnny could not stand the thought of that scumbag around Ruslan.

“Did you pressure papa, too? Was that why he was worried?”

“Your grandfather did keep you hidden from me. That’s not a thing easy to forget,” Vladimir wagged a finger, and his smile became skewed a little.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Ruslan pressed the matter further. “Do you have anything to do with his death?”

“Nothing. Old man, frail bones. I guess all that happened. Not me,” Vladimir said with a shrug. “It worked out good. He would have sold everything to me anyway so I could give it to you.”

Ruslan got into his father’s face. “He gave it all to me anyway — no need for your interventions. And you know what? I don’t give a rat’s ass about all that. I’d give it all only that he was here with me still.”

“Easy there,” Vladimir warned. “It’s easy to kick it all with your foot when you have everything.”

Johnny almost felt the need to duck for cover. Ruslan’s eyes were stormy skies. “Oh, really? Didn’t your intel tell you? I had nothing until papa saved me. I was sixteen and working the streets when he got me and took me home with him.”

Finally, something seemed to get through to Vladimir. Johnny could tell by how the man’s features darkened and the few wrinkles on his face deepened. Without thinking, he took a step to be closer to Ruslan.

“She gave you away?” Vladimir said the words slowly like he could not bear to talk. “I thought she just left you with her father.”

Ruslan shrugged. “I have no idea. I have no idea what either you or she ever did. The only parent I’ve ever known is no longer with me. You don’t matter.”

Vladimir stood there, frozen. Johnny wanted to feel for the man, but couldn’t. The guy had clearly expected to come in there like a champion, and have Ruslan fall into his open arms. Nothing was like those stupid shows on TV, though. This was no lost and found reunion, with tepid tears and crooked flowers.

“Wait,” Vladimir called after Ruslan.

Johnny followed his lover, as Ruslan was marching out of the room. Then he stopped suddenly. “Are these goons of yours going to follow me?”

Vladimir shook his head. “Not these. Others.”

So, the security detail wasn’t Douglas’s doing, after all. Johnny had wondered why they still had their shadows long after Douglas’s passing away. At the time, he hadn’t questioned it at all. If it were the man’s wish to watch over them even from beyond the grave, those dudes in black could do it until their contract expired. Now it all made more sense.

“Call them off. That if you want me to talk to you again,” Ruslan said through his teeth.

“Ruslan,” Vladimir said in an apologetic tone, “don’t be mad. I won’t call off the men. You need people watching you.”

“Why? What did you do that I’m in so much danger?” Ruslan snarled.

“I told you. You have enemies,” Vladimir explained.

Ruslan threw his father a pointed look. “Choose. Call off your goons, or we’ll never talk again.”

Vladimir said nothing.

Ruslan shrugged and walked out of the room, with Johnny on his tail.

“You know it’s not his fault. If he didn’t know about you --”

“Johnny, stop. This has nothing to do with you, okay?”

“So? I’m not allowed to say anything or something?” Johnny asked and frowned. “And where are we going?”

“There’s an exit through the back. I bet that those goons are waiting for us in the front.”

Ruslan walked quickly, two steps in front, and Johnny had to speed up to keep up with him. “Maybe your father is right --”

“Don’t call that man my father,” Ruslan said.

Johnny wasn’t fooled. There was heartache right there, and Ruslan could not deny it forever. Johnny was no good at talking about things like that anyway, so he just needed to wait for his lover to calm down. Maybe they just needed to go home and sleep over all this. Yet, there was something he needed to say. “I believe Vladimir when he says that Nigel is dangerous. Don’t tell me you hate your …, whatever, Vladimir so much that you want to be on Nigel’s side on this one.”

“I’m on no one’s side but mine,” Ruslan said while stubbornly walking ahead.

“So you’re in this alone? Is this what you’re saying?” Johnny questioned, his face all a frown now.

Ruslan stopped and turned toward him. “Yes, maybe that’s what I’m saying. If you like Vladimir so much, why don’t you go to him and hold his hand? Maybe sing Kumbaya or whatever.”

“Pretty, that’s not fair,” Johnny warned.

Ruslan was royally pissed. But Johnny could feel himself heading over there fast, too.

“Are you coming home or not? I’m so done with all this for now.” Ruslan turned and walked away without waiting for an answer.

Johnny hurried after him. Now he was sure he didn’t want to let it drop.

They were out in a backstreet and Johnny followed Ruslan since apparently he was the only one knowing where they were going. “What the hell are we doing?” he asked.

“Getting out of here and looking for a cab,” Ruslan said shortly.

“We could call for one. We have these things called phones,” Johnny tried to joke.

“Not a good moment, Johnny.”

They walked for minutes, without saying anything.

“Ruslan,” Johnny called again. “How about you stop with the attitude? Are you pissed at your dad? I don’t care. But don’t treat me like shit or we’ll have a problem.”

Ruslan stopped only to get in his face. “Problem? What kind of problem? Have you taken that many hits to the head that you can’t think of why the hell I’m so pissed?”

Johnny’s eyes darkened. Ruslan knew better than to challenge him like this. Well, he would go home alone now. Johnny had had enough of all that bullshit.

He was about to tell Ruslan to fuck off when he caught something from the corner of his left eye. “Watch out,” he barely managed and tried to reach for Ruslan, but sudden pain shot through the base of his skull and the world around him tilted in slow motion before it got completely dark.

***

Johnny woke up suddenly, the sensation of not being able to breathe too much to bear. He shook his head and realized that someone was throwing water into his face. He sputtered and spat. The first instinct, to get to his feet and strangle whoever thought could drown him with water from a bucket, had him struggle furiously. His hands were tied at his back, and whatever they used for that dug into his skin, cutting circulation. He flexed his fingers in an effort to eliminate the numbness. His legs were immobilized, too.

He stared at the man in front of him. It wasn’t anyone he knew. Could it be that Vladimir had sent his goons after them anyway, and now they were taught a lesson not to disobey ever again? Somehow that didn’t seem to be it. Johnny could feel it. His gut instinct was telling him right now that they were in deep trouble.

Ruslan. Where was he? His eyes began searching around frantically. The goon in front of him, a dude in his late forties with the face peppered with deep craters from some childhood measles or something, caught his chin and then slapped him hard.

Johnny struggled against his restraints and growled loudly. The man slapped him again, seemingly amused with seeing his futile attempts to break free. “Who the fuck are you? Where is Ruslan?” he demanded to know.

The man moved out of his line of sight to allow someone else to step in. Johnny cursed loudly. “Motherfucker.”

Nigel stood there, his hands in his pockets, a jovial grin on his face that seemed completely out of place in that dank room. “Well, you do know my real name, Johnny. Or should I call you Snake? Hmm, you seem pretty fangless to me right now.”

Nigel leaned downward as if he wanted to take a better look at him.

Johnny ignored him. Now was no time to get riled up like a rabid dog, no matter what that scumbag wanted. “Where is Ruslan?”

“Ruslan? Your fiancé, you mean?” Nigel asked, his eyes glinting with something nasty that made Johnny want to kill the man just for speaking Ruslan’s name. “Oh, he’s okay. For now. I understand that his market value just went up. I have yet to make up my mind about him. At least, I know what to do with you.”

Johnny ground his teeth hard. “Where the fuck is Ruslan?”

Nigel made a bored gesture, and someone else in the room dragged Ruslan into Johnny’s line of sight. He was silenced by a piece of thick rope pushed through his teeth, and his hair was glued to his forehead with sweat. Except for looking a bit roughened up, he seemed okay.

Johnny focused on that. They weren’t dead yet. That meant the scumbag wanted something from them. “What do you want?” he asked Nigel directly.

“A man of few words. I like that. I just wished we could have been friends. Well, that ship sailed. So, here’s what I want. I want you to get into my ring, and fight until you’re dead,” Nigel spat the last word at him as if he was projecting poison.

“Yeah? And why would I want to do that? You’re that strapped for cash that you need me to bring in people for fights?”

Nigel tsked, more and more pleased with himself. “Are all fighters this stupid? It’s going to be for one night. Your last performance, Snake.” The grin on Nigel’s face was cruel, that of a mad man. “It’s fitting, don’t you think? My dad had you fight for him. I’m doing the same. But I’m also finishing the job.”

“I won’t do it,” Johnny shrugged.

He could sense Ruslan’s struggling against the man holding him, and hear his muffled angered cries. But he needed no distraction now.

“Oh, no? Even if I threaten your beloved?” Nigel gestured for the goon to push Ruslan into his arms.

Nigel held Ruslan and pushed the sweaty strands of hair out of his eyes. “Pretty. Is that what you call him? So sweet. Now here’s the deal, Johnny. You fight, or I’ll slash his throat right in front of you. I’ve always wanted to wreck something beautiful, you know?”

“Then you can slash his throat right now. If it’s now or later, what does it matter?” Johnny said in a matter of fact voice, over the crack in his heart, over the thunder in his ears.

He could swear Ruslan’s angered, but silent struggle was directed at him now. But there was only one way out, the only one he could see with the utmost clarity, no matter how many kicks to the head he had taken in his life.

“So you don’t care? How precious,” Nigel commented, but it was clear that the little scenario the scumbag had played in his head didn’t go as planned.

“Let’s make it interesting,” Johnny said and stared straight at Nigel.

Looking at Ruslan now would ruin him. And Ruslan needed someone else now. He needed Snake, the crazy fighter, not Johnny, his fiancé, not the new, better version of him.

“If I beat up your so-called fighters, you let him walk,” he said in a single breath.

Nigel began laughing hysterically. Long moments passed until he stopped, and then, he took his time, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his tears. “Ah, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny,” he said with false affection, “now that’s what I call an interesting deal indeed. And that’s also what I call having your cake and eating it, too. I’ll have you wrecked so badly. As for Ruslan, if you die, he’ll be all mine to do as I please. Maybe I’ll kill him. Maybe I’ll fuck him first, and then kill him. Maybe I’ll keep him. Ah, so many possibilities,” he said with a long sigh.

“Do you have any idea who Ruslan’s father is?” Johnny asked, searching Nigel’s face for any sign of surprise.

The grin faded in an instant. “That Russian mobster? He’ll learn his place once he knows I have his son.”

That was good to know. It meant Ruslan was safe, at least from being killed by Nigel in a reckless suicidal gesture. But he could not live with just that. There was no way of telling what was in Nigel’s head. His eyes were a bit manic, his laughter was nervous, and overall, he looked like he was about to come undone. Nigel was in a bad place, and crazy people in bad places spelled danger in capital letters.

No, that wasn’t enough to know for sure that Nigel wouldn’t hurt Ruslan. Johnny had barely met Vladimir. The man was clearly some big shot, but this wasn’t his turf. So he needed to put it all on one card and play it with every bone, and muscle, and fiber of his being.

“So, you’re not afraid?” Johnny asked with a smirk. A well-placed fist from the man with the measles marks on his face made him work his jaw. “If you want a show, you shouldn’t mess me up too badly. It would be bad for business if I go down from the first round, right?”

Johnny was carefully fishing for information. He needed details about the environment, about what Nigel had in mind. He could rely on his senses only this much, given that he was tied up and the dull pain pulsing at the base of his skull wasn’t helping, either. If Nigel just wanted to have fun killing him, he didn’t need Johnny in a ring. There was something there he needed to find out.

“I guess you have a point,” Nigel said and smiled.

The guy’s left eye was twitching. He was putting on a big show of keeping it together, but on the inside, Nigel was a wreck. Johnny knew that could be an advantage, but also a big problem. There was no way of telling what Nigel would do.

“So, big audience?” Johnny continued.

Nigel grinned. “All set. Just let me put it like this, Johnny. The bets will go about how long you’ll keep standing. Not if you win. That’s not going to happen.”

“I have conditions,” Johnny said.

A lot of witnesses meant lousy planning. It was one aspect he was counting on.

“Do you think you’re in any position to ask for that kind of thing?” Nigel expressed his surprise.

“I want to see Ruslan there. I want him there. I want to see him walk when I win.”

Nigel made an annoyed gesture, but in a second, his face lit up with another ugly smile. “I suppose I could have him watch you die. It would be fitting.”

Johnny could feel again that something that he could not put his finger on. “Why?”

“Well, let’s call it a bit of sentimentalism on my part. My father had my mother watch while he killed your deadbeat dad.”

Johnny could feel all his blood rushing to his feet. But he kept his bearings. “And then what did he do? Did he kill your mother, too?”

Nigel moved his head so fast that Johnny could swear he heard bones cracking. He decided to put more pressure on the wound. “Is that why you offed your daddy? Did he tell you what he did?”

It was a shot in the dark.

“Shut the fuck up! You know nothing!”

Johnny hadn’t known until now. It was all clear. But he could not think of his dad now. The only thing he could do was to focus on saving Ruslan, and that was all.

“Maybe I don’t,” he said and tried to lean back into his chair as much as the ties allowed him. “Are you going to keep me like this until this show of yours starts?”

Nigel smiled, pleased with himself now. “It will be your show, Snake.” He spat Johnny’s ring moniker with disgust.

But there was something else in Nigel’s voice, and that was fear. It was something Johnny knew all too well, and he had seen it in plenty of men who stood their ground and were better people in every way than this scumbag. But fear, the great equalizer, was in the cards, and Johnny was trying to find ways to capitalize on that.

“What should I expect? How many scumbags do you have lined up for me?”

“Enough to see you down. I’ll have your pretty lover watch you bleed to death. It will be my pleasure. Put on a great show, and I might let him live.”

“You’ll let him live, or his daddy will eat your heart for breakfast.”

Nigel’s manic laughter returned. He was hiccupping, making strange sounds that even his men were watching him warily. Good. If it was any doubt in them about who their boss was, that was good.

“I might,” Nigel admitted. “But he might not be exactly whole when I’m done with him. I might take a souvenir from him, something that will remember him of knowing me, more than I’ll remember him. His pinky, maybe?” He appeared to ponder over his choice.

Johnny wasn’t scared. He knew that Nigel could be crazy enough to harm Ruslan, fuck the consequences, but he could not allow himself to feel fear over that. There was only one thing to focus on, and Nigel lucked out. All his life, Johnny had done nothing but fight. The ring was his life, and Johnny was good at surviving. Right now, he fought for something more important, or better said, someone.

His eyes didn’t look for Ruslan. His decision was taken. He stared at Nigel. “Say, Nigel, do you want that show or not? Untie me.”

“And let you have a swing at me? I’m not stupid.”

Nigel looked at him as if he was trying to read him.

“There are three men with you in this room only. And more outside, right? So I can’t do a thing.”

Nigel shifted from one foot to another. “Later. Now say buh-bye to your fiancé.”

Johnny could not avoid his eyes as Ruslan was pushed into him into an awkward position. By what he could tell, his lover was tied up, too.

“What? You don’t want to kiss him?”

Johnny looked at Ruslan only for a second. “You make sure he’s there and in one piece. Leave the rest to me. And don’t forget your fucking promise. If I win, he walks.”

“Fine,” Nigel said with an exaggerated sigh. “And if you don’t, he dies.”

Johnny could feel his teeth clamping together hard. “I thought you had other plans.”

“I changed my mind,” Nigel shrugged. “I feel like you need proper motivation. Maybe you’re right. It’s my show, after all. And no one ruins my party. Also, don’t worry. Once you’re down, you’ll see him die. I won’t let you go without knowing I kept my promise.”

Fucking crazies, Johnny thought. A slight hope was that maybe Vladimir’s goons were looking for them right now. He needed to buy time. “How long until your so-called show?”

“Are in a hurry to get somewhere? Don’t worry; you won’t be late.” Nigel laughed at his own bad jokes.

There were only a few snickers from the others. They played nice for the boss, but Nigel’s position was shaky. That was also something Johnny counted on.

***

Johnny stared at his hands, his focus tunneled and quiet. There were old scabs and marks on them. With his two hands, he had bought so many days for himself throughout his life. To think that it all came down to that, to his two hands.

For once, there was something precious he held in them, much more precious than his sorry ass. He would win tonight, through any means necessary. Not only his hands, his entire body, and mind would fight for that, to keep Ruslan safe.

“Let’s go.” One of Nigel’s goons gestured for him to move.

Johnny stood up and shed off his shirt.

“Trying to be a wiseass?” The man asked.

“I don’t need it anymore.”

It wasn’t like Nigel had thought about giving him some gear to fight in it. Without any extra words, he took off his shoes and his socks. The goon was staring at him like he could not make sense of what Johnny was doing.

He needed to feel the ground under his feet. Also, the fewer clothes he had on, the better. It meant that his opponent didn’t have much to grab on and put him down.

“Are you going to give me some gloves?” Johnny put his hands up.

“No gloves,” the man said curtly. “Move your ass already.”

For the last hours, Johnny had been left to his designs in a small room, and he had used it to warm up properly, get his entire body loose and ready. Everything he knew now came to help him. He might not leave Nigel’s ring alive, but he wouldn’t be defeated.

The man took him through what seemed like a labyrinth of narrow corridors. They were somewhere, under ground level. But, as he began to hear the roaring and excitement he knew so long from so many other fights, they began to climb a flight of stairs.

Johnny took in everything. His senses were all on high alert, and his mind was registering every smell, sound, and visual cue, preparing him.

He had heard before of heightened focus; something fighters felt when they were in the zone. They had this state of mind they had to thank for their biggest victories. Johnny had thought it all a bit of mumbo-jumbo. People often needed to make something magical and spiritual of the crucial moments of their lives. But right now, Johnny stood corrected. Never in his life had he felt so calm inside, ready to get through anything, be it hell or high water.

The intense light that hit his eyes the moment he was out of the corridor and into the ring area didn’t assault him like it sometimes happened. Nothing worried him now. The time could stand still, and he wouldn’t care.

Johnny put one foot in front of the other, climbing the ring, passing through the ropes, without paying attention to anything. Jumping up and down a little, he tested the ground underneath his feet. Then he searched with his eyes for his enemy.

Nigel sat on one side, apparently not particularly concerned with having a good view of the ring. He was sitting with his back against the wall, maybe knowing, on some primitive level, that he was far from being safe. Next to him, Ruslan was sitting, too, a goon keeping him. He still had that rope stuffing his mouth, and his head was hung low, his eyes staring down.

Johnny walked close to the ropes, on Nigel’s side. The audience was already on their feet, shouting and throwing the usual profanities. Johnny ignored it all. “I want him close to the door. Not here.”

Nigel stared at him, amused. Johnny’s voice had been loud enough, but over all the noise, maybe it couldn’t be heard so well. “I said,” he shouted, “I want him close to the door!”

Eventually, Nigel made a sign for the goon holding Ruslan to come to him. After a short order, the man grabbed Ruslan and dragged him over to what looked to be an exit. Johnny had a good angle to see it. That was all he needed.

He nodded shortly and walked toward the center of the ring. He only had his pants on, part of some designer suit Ruslan had insisted he should wear. It would have been better to have only a pair of shorts on. Also, a pair of gloves. But it didn’t matter. This way, he would do more damage, no matter the damage he would do to himself, too.

Johnny began to roll up his pants with measured moves, completely deaf to the noises around him. The promise of blood was making the spectators delirious. Johnny had no eyes, nor ears, for any of that.

Some announcer talked excitedly, probably introducing the so-called opponents. Johnny heard him say something about ‘fight to the death’ which made the crowd erupt. He knew whose death they were talking about. But that wasn’t on his mind. It was just another thought of no consequence. It was under lock and key, and Johnny wouldn’t look at it.

He waited calmly, his fists clamped down hard, by his sides. Adrenaline, pure like holy water, coursed through his veins.

The first fighter to climb into the ring looked like small time fish. Johnny understood it all now. They would seek to tire him before throwing some heavy hitters into the fight. That meant he needed to be efficient and conserve his energy.

He took in the man sent to the slaughter. Johnny could feel no empathy about what he would do. Some time ago, he had been like that. And now, for the only thing that mattered to him in the whole world, he would be that again.

The whistle was the only cue he needed. He waited calmly for the man to approach him. He was young, someone probably trying to make it up the ladder in whatever organization Nigel was running. There would be no ladder for you to climb. Sorry, kid.

His right fist erupted, hitting his opponent into his right temple, almost crushing the hand raised too late in defense. The young man fell to the ground as if the rug was pulled from under his feet. The noise died down. Even the announcer had trouble finding his words. Johnny walked over to the fallen man, grabbed him by one arm, and pulled him toward the ropes. Using one foot, he pushed him down, making him fall at Nigel’s feet.

“Next,” he said.

Nigel’s pupils were dilated. Even a few feet away, Johnny could make the white of his eyes. The man was in shock, even if he was clever enough not to admit it verbally.

Someone moved behind him, and Johnny sensed the air shifting. One fraction of a second late and he would have been hit in the neck. Just in time, he caught the attacker’s stretched palm, most probably ready to apply some karate move. Without blinking, he closed his fist over the man’s hand, until he heard bones cracking, and their owner howling in pain.

This one he didn’t need to throw at Nigel’s feet. He scurried away, nursing his crushed hand, and shrieking like a wounded animal, the moment Johnny let him free. The crowd shot to its feet, the noise deafening. Johnny searched the ring with his eyes. What would they throw at him next?

Ah, they were upping the ante. From two different angles, two men who looked stronger than the first contenders began to circle him. Johnny noted their hyena-like faces and kept his cool. Who would be first to attack? They moved a lot, trying to confuse him.

In any fight, Johnny knew well, there was a calculation of sorts any fighter had. Some kicks you can’t avoid. But don’t let the sum of them bring you down. He let the one to the left bruise his arm but turned on his heels just in time to hit the other square in the face, making blood shoot out of his nose like a gory fountain.

The other tried to aim for his head, but Johnny ducked fast and took his legs in one swift move. How many amateurs would they bring in? He kicked the man down into his stomach, making the eyes bulge in his head and then turn to one side heaving and coughing. This was a battle with no rules. He had no gods to keep him accounted for his actions now.

Some other men came to take away the fallen fighters. Johnny rested against the ropes, his back to Nigel. It was a bold move, he knew, seemingly ignoring his enemy like that. But he wanted to know when the real fight would begin. There was ruckus on the opposite side, and Johnny could tell some of those who had first enthusiastically subscribed to have a piece of him were having second thoughts now.

“Who else?” Johnny shouted, raising his arms.

They would send in the heavy artillery now. The sooner, the better. Ruslan’s freedom hung in the balance. Nigel might not have believed him before when Johnny told him he would win, but seeing the truth might make him break his promise.

Finally, a man who looked like a real fighter, dressed up in gear to prove it, climbed into the ring. A heavyweight, Johnny evaluated him.

“I’ll fight you,” the man said shortly.

This one was a real danger. Johnny could tell. The man was sullen, not one ounce of bravado in his eyes. He was calculating, deciding his first move, not rushing in like the idiots before him.

“Come at me,” Johnny challenged him.

The man didn’t budge. He calmly assumed a stance that told Johnny right away he was dealing with an experienced fighter this time around. The only thing Johnny could see as an upside for him was that the fighter looked older, somewhere well into his forties. But Johnny had fought Martin many times while training to know that age was not automatically a drawback if the man still had his wits about him and knew how to use his experience to his advantage.

For seconds, they stared at each other. Johnny knew one of them had to move, and soon. Dragging this was not in his favor, and the other knew it. Douglas’s words rang into his mind, reminding him that he needed to step into the other’s space more if he wanted to be more efficient.

But how? The other fighter was holding his guard up, in perfect form, and was staring at him over his gloves.

“Are we going to sit here all day?” someone from the audience yelled.

Snickers and whistles poured from all directions. The crowd was booing. Johnny would not have cared for that type of pressure before, but this was different. As unorthodox as that was, he appeared to give in and moved.

As expected, the fighter dodged his move. But Johnny hadn’t put all his weight into it, so he had enough time and memento to steer clear of the kick that followed. The man’s fist met nothing by air.

Now wasn’t the time to give his opponent a breather. Johnny grabbed the opportunity and launched a kick with his left, even though he was in no position to put all his strength behind it. That was enough for the other fighter to block it.

Johnny took one step back. He was getting close to the ropes, and he knew that was a dangerous move. Suddenly, something hit him from behind. He jerked away and stepped aside so that he could see his invisible opponent.

The ugly man from before was grinning at him. Johnny had no time to deal with him. He needed to stay away from the ropes. It was a lawless fight, so that meant that he could expect anything from Nigel and his posse.

He moved toward the center where the other fighter was waiting for him. The crowd was booing, apparently annoyed with all the stalling.

It wasn’t Johnny’s style to be desperate. But this was the hand he had been dealt, and there was no other. He needed to use his superior strength to dominate the situation. He moved toward the other, assaulting him, tying him up, and striking him to the head while ignoring how the man’s well-aimed punches rained on his sides.

Without one smidge of regret, Johnny pushed himself back enough to have the force to put into a knee to the man’s belly. The man doubled over, taken by surprise, and Johnny used punches and kicks to bring him down.

Fast, fast, fast. That was all he could think of. Fighters of this man’s caliber could not be easy to find. Many fighting locally were still loyal to Efige. So Nigel could not have many aces up his sleeve. The faster he got rid of such difficult opponents, the better. He also aimed at destroying his enemy’s confidence and his acolytes’ morale.

Caught up in destroying his opponent, he lost sight of the bigger picture for a moment. The man twisted his body fast and hit Johnny so hard and quick in the face that his head snapped back.

Johnny staggered but got back to his senses right away. However, the punch that followed almost knocked his lights out. That eye would swell. Funny thing, Johnny thought, to worry about such a thing when it wouldn’t take too long for him to be dead once the fight was over.

The fight wasn’t over, though. Go away, he told his thoughts and put his guard up once more. The next punch made him shake on his feet, but this time, he was prepared. The man before him was a good fighter, but his stamina could not be as good as Johnny’s. He must have put all he got into that.

Johnny took advantage. While the man’s fist was still far from withdrawing, his own shot forward like a sling, hitting the man right in the chin, making him take a few awkward steps back and fall on his back with a thud.

“Snake! Snake! Snake!” the crowd chanted now.

There was no time to celebrate. But having the audience on his side served an important purpose, and Johnny knew it. He waved toward the crowd, and then hurried to the side from where Nigel watched.

The man was short of starting to eat his hanky.

“Any others? Do you have any others?”

Nigel gestured for one of his men to come closer. Johnny felt unease creeping in. What would happen next? There was movement again, and this time, there were many people climbing the ring.

Johnny’s eyes shot frantically around. Too many. There were just too many. This wasn’t a fair fight, just how many fucking times did he have to tell that to himself? Growling low in his chest, he grabbed the man closest to him and head-butted him, sending him over the ropes without leaving him one chance to fight back.

One jumped on his back, but Johnny just grabbed the hands keeping him, twisting the fingers backward, and began turning around, using that opponent as a human cannonball. When he sent that one flying, taking another with him, the crowd cheered.

There were still so many. Johnny could feel his breath coming in short. There was no time to be gassing out now. He withdrew to one corner and focused on his breathing. Two men hurried toward him, but he grabbed them both by the necks, ignoring their kicks and punches and smashed their heads together, letting them fall at his feet.

The others were watching him warily. The force was in numbers, but these people were too stupid to see it, which was just Johnny’s fucking luck. On one side of the ring, Johnny was standing, looking at them, taking no step toward them, but making them, nonetheless, to take one back.

The crowd was singing his nickname, urging him to finish them all off.

The row of would-be fighters broke to leave one coming forward. Johnny’s could feel his temples throbbing. So there was, after all, one ace up Nigel’s sleeve that he just now threw into the fight.

The cockroach. Johnny had the experience of fighting the man. However, what happened before had nothing in common with the current situation. This one was tough, and even without mind games, he was still dangerous, and Johnny knew it.

“Are you guys afraid of this bitch?” the cockroach sneered and put his guard up.

Johnny knew he needed to take him out and fast. Vallejo was no easy feat on his own, but with an army to keep his back, he could be tricky to beat.

He, too, put his fists up. There was no time to think about the pain, the raw pain coming in waves from where he hit with bare fists the others before.

“Let’s get him,” Vallejo spat, and the others moved at the same time.

Johnny had no time to think about his next move. His eyes set on his main opponent, he jumped. His fist connected with Vallejo’s forehead. The man stood his ground, but it didn’t matter. Johnny wasn’t counting on that hit to take down his opponent. But he counted on bringing him down, by pushing against him with his entire body.

They were both on the floor now, and Johnny pressed hard, sneaking his hands so that he could circle the man’s neck from beneath. The strong muscles under his fingers weren’t giving in, but Johnny knew a thing or two about human anatomy, to find that place that no muscles could protect. His thumbs began closing down fast over Vallejo’s windpipe, pressing.

The others were on him, kicking him, punching him, but Johnny didn’t feel a thing. His eyes bore into his opponent, and Vallejo was starting to realize he had miscalculated. The fighter’s face was turning fast into a deep red, then a tinge of blue.

Johnny had once sworn he would never go through this again, the knowledge that he had taken a life, with the utmost certainty. But he might have already crossed that line tonight, so nothing mattered anymore.

His head was pulled back sharply, and he couldn’t breathe. Someone had put a bag over his head, blocking his vision, and leaving him without air.

Against himself, his body moved on its own, his grasp on Vallejo’s neck waning. Soon he was on his back, and a rain of hits was pelting his entire body from all sides. He moved his hands quickly to his face, his blunt nails trying to dig into the bag over his head and tear it apart.

“Let him watch me while I kill him!”  He heard someone shouting.

The bag was pulled from his head, and just then, a punch landed straight into the middle of his face. His nose had to be broken, he thought for a fraction of a second, and putting all his strength into his kick, he raised one leg fast. It hit something, and that was all that mattered. The scream that followed told Johnny it had landed where he wanted, too.

He pulled his knees to his chest, rolled and jumped to his feet. Vallejo was on the ground, grabbing his groin and bawling like a baby. Without a word, Johnny pushed aside the others around him and hit Vallejo in the head with his feet, over and over again.

At the same time, he was using his arms to push the others who were trying to get him. The man’s face beneath his feet was turning into a tumefied mass, and soon there was movement only because Johnny continued to hit it.

With blood in his eyes, he turned toward the rest. In a frenzy, he began to punch and kick, without thinking, without strategizing, wanting, needing to get to the end of it all, to see them all dead, finished, at his feet.

The men around him tried to hit him, but Johnny was beyond caring about anything at this point. Each punch and kick he landed, there were sounds of bones cracking, shouts, and desperate cries.

The crowd was threatening to bring down the house. Around Johnny, there was a circle of bodies, some of them still moving, but no one else was standing.

Barely breathing, sweat and blood getting in his eyes, Johnny moved toward the ropes once more.

“Make him walk! I want to see him walk!”

“Johnny!” he heard someone calling for him desperately. “Johnny!”

He knew that voice. He knew that voice so well. Why did they let his mouth free now? It would have been better if they had just kicked Ruslan out the door with that improvised gag still keeping him quiet.

He dreaded that. But he needed that, just the same. He looked over, at Ruslan who was calling for him, the goon still keeping him. Without a word, he raised his right fist and tapped his chest. He held his fist to the heart while watching the love of his life, already so far away from him.

But the goon didn’t seem to care that he needed to let Ruslan go. Johnny turned his attention on Nigel and saw him laughing.

Without a moment to think it over, Johnny jumped over the ropes and was all over Nigel. The man was like a puppet in his arms. Soon, his strength would leave him, but there was still enough for this. “Do you wanna know how I got my nickname?” he whispered into Nigel’s ear while cutting his air supply. “Do you wanna know why they call me Snake?”

The man with measles marks on his fast pulled out a gun and held it to his head. Johnny grinned.

“Pull that trigger, and who knows what might happen? Your boss might end up dead, anyway.”

The goon seemed to waver.

“Just make him walk!” Johnny shouted. “Make him walk!”

“Make him walk! Make him walk!” The crowd began to chant, at this point probably not knowing what it was saying, but part of a collective mind that was there only to echo the words of its champion.

Nigel was starting to flail his arms. The goon with the gun made a sign for the other holding Ruslan. Johnny watched as the man at the door pulled Ruslan away and disappeared from view.

The next second, the butt of a pistol hit him at the base of his skull. These guys had a thing for that.

***

The goon dragging him was strong, and Ruslan had decided to quit struggling a long time ago. But right now, there was too much at stake. The tears were drying on his face. “Just let me the fuck go already!” he shouted.

The goon laughed. “Do you really think that’s going to happen, pretty boy? The boss has big plans with you.”

“He promised Johnny!”

“No shit,” the goon replied.

Ruslan stared down. Bad thinking on them to tie his hands in front this time. Beside the self-defense lessons, Johnny had taught him many other things. Throughout that horrible match, he had silently worked on making the ties go loose, little by little.

Without a word, he stepped the goon on one foot hard. “What the fuck?” the man yelled.

Ruslan turned fast and didn’t hesitate. With both hands clasped into a tight fist, he punched the man in one eye. The goon stumbled, and Ruslan hurried, pulling one arm free, grabbing the man’s gun and hitting his temple.

Without looking back, he began running. He needed backup and needed it fast.

The long corridor led into a street, and Ruslan breathed in the evening air like his lungs had been deprived of air for hours. To his left, he noticed a more crowded street. He ran in that direction. A few passersby looked at him and moved away.

“What street is this?” he yelled at one of them.

A homeless resting against the wall yelled back at him what he needed to know. Without hesitation, Ruslan grabbed a man’s phone while the guy was still talking on it.

“Hey!” The man yelled at him, but Ruslan ran away while punching in the numbers.

“Yanis!” he yelled into the phone. “I need you! It’s Johnny! It’s Johnny!”

He collapsed next to a wall while still talking to Yanis. It would take Yanis less than twenty minutes to get there. Twenty minutes Johnny didn’t have.

TBC

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