CHAPTER THREE | BAD BLOOD

SUNDAY

WHEN VOLKOV'S FIST connected with his opponent's jaw, the audience roared in ruthless delight. Everyone in the club eagerly feasted their eyes on the ring as Kolson Simmons respectfully got the shit beat out of him. The world spun around me. 

The Vanquisher was going to kill him before I ever got the chance.

Kolson was a far cry from the undernourished, jittery and unashamedly graceless boy that ruined me all those years ago. As the two men lethally circled each other, I realised just that; Kolson was now unapologetically a man.

He stood tall, well built and regal with high cheekbones and a brooding scowl, sharp enough to cut through even the hardest of hearts. His midnight hair was longer than when we were children, lightly curling at the tips of his ears and raggedly cut to the top of his neck. Inky tattoos danced all over his lean body and broad shoulders, dipping down to his v-shaped lower abdomen, catching the heated gazes of all the nearby women. But deep behind the inexpressive mask, I recognized the unchanged touch of smugness; he was the same devastating villain he had always been.

Even the air rearranged itself to make space for his cruel presence. He was everything I had armoured myself against.

Volkov lunged forward and my knuckles paled, clutching at the edge of the booth. Kolson evaded the punch, ducking and turning towards the other fighter in a defensive stance. He was surprisingly lighter on his feet than Volkov.

"Who the hell let that cocksucker back into town?" Toby grunted, nursing another glass of something strong.

"I'm not worried," Temper snarled. "I have full faith in him."

Ridley exhaled an annoyed breath. "In Simmons?!"

"In his ability to fuck things up and have to haul ass." Temper muttered bitterly.

Hollers, hoots and roars thundered in the air like a dense smog as the two men stormed each other.

"Am I missing something? Who is this guy?" Ridge asked, but no one answered. The Simmons family was a tragic tale that Graycott drained from its memory a long time ago. As far as everyone knew, Kolson was a fallen angel back from the dead.

Though I hated it, I couldn't shift my attention away from the ring.

Away from him.

I was too stunned to say anything, still battling with the mere affirmation that he was alive. He hadn't just been a figment of my imagination. He was here.

The boy that left Graycott five years ago had been swallowed up by something angrier, more powerful and breathtakingly vile. Everything blurred as I slowly took him in, transfixed.

I heard the disturbing sound of a fist cracking against bone as Volkov swung his arm, landing a solid jab underneath Kolson's jaw. The crowd winced, enraptured, as Kolson staggered back from the blow. When Volkov advanced toward him a second time, Kolson dodged the attack. He turned just in time to pummel his elbow straight into Volkov's waist and then once more into the side of his face for good measure. Kolson waited, gingerly bouncing on his heels but the power behind the strike made Volkov stumble backward.

The audience erupted into hysterics with the knowledge that Volkov might have finally met his match.

My heart howled inside my chest, inwardly flinching at every punch, swing and growl.

The Vanquisher appraised his opponent with death-dealing eyes and a bloody-toothed laugh. Volkov spat out a clot of blood, looking murderously into Kolson's eyes. He rubbed his palm over his mouth before bringing his hand up to his face and licking up the scarlet liquid.

"Ya tebe zhopu porvu i glaza vikolu, malchishka." Volkov hissed, muscles tensing from each heavy breath. ("I'm going to rip out your ass and gouge out your eyes, pretty boy.")

Volkov flexed his arms and stretched his fingers before pouncing. His shoulders collided into Kolson's waist, knocking him down to the ground with a loud thud. He mounted Kolson's upper torso and locked his knees on either side of Kolson's arms, raining his hard fists onto Kolson's face.

My breath hitched and I reached out to Ridge's arm beside mine, anchoring myself. I felt my stomach churn and my entire body tremble as the room fell completely silent with only a handful of shrieks and gasps.

"He's killing him," Ridge murmured behind me.

"Well, isn't that just an awful idea." Toby drawled sarcastically, mouth curled in repulsion.

"Good riddance," Ridley added at the same time. "This town is in need of some serious pest control."

"Seriously," Ridge turned towards me, "Who the fuck is this guy?"

Before I could think of a plausible answer, Kolson rammed his knee into Volkov's lower back and lifted himself from his position on the ground. Both eyes bloodshot and bruised, Kolson managed to roll on top of Volkov before he was able to shake off the hit. He quivered in fury, heavily hitting Volkov's face over and over again, busting the Russian fighter's lip wide open.

Kolson whipped his neck back, coming down with full force to collide his head onto Volkov's. A reverberating crack ricocheted through the room and something warm settled in my core. I squeezed my thighs together and swallowed down the parchedness that coated my tongue.

People began to stand from all around the club, craning their necks to get a better view of Volkov's first worthy challenge. Both men stood upright now, pounding and hitting each other with no mercy.

At any minute, I expected one of them to plummet to the floor and never get up again.

As the fight progressed, Kolson visibly began to lose the initial vigor and ambitious energy he arrived with, leaving him vulnerable to Volkov's onslaught of assault. As a final move, Volkov seized Kolson's knees and tackled him to the floor, delivering a knockout blow and ending the match. As he fell, blood sprayed from Kolson's mouth onto the already-red lined ring.

He laid still, limp and beaten raw, reminding me just how savagely mortal he was.

Shivers sprung down my spine and I moved before I could stop myself. From behind me, I heard Ridley call out my name but my body had a mind of its own. 

Get the fuck up, you useless piece of shit.

The ringmaster raised Volkov's arm in triumph. The Vanquisher dripped down beads of sweat and simply stared at his conquest with no regret in his cold eyes. Screams and cheers exploded from all around me, engulfing the hurling people in desperation and sadistic relief.

I briefly felt someone yanking my arm, tugging me back before I throttled myself into the detonating crowd. I pushed my way towards the ring, mesmerised by the filthy god that laid unmoving in front of me.

When I reached the front of the platform, I was breathing laboriously and my chest heaved with fear and wanton hunger. Flames lapped at my skin as I stared at the beautiful monster faced away from me. His arm was draped across his body and his dark hair buried his features from view.

A white-hot fervor spread through my nerves and knotted deep in my gut, I wanted to throw up. 

You're here.

You're alive.

You came back to shatter me like you promised.

I helplessly stood there, blinking in a bewildered daze. I drank in the unconscious figure that tormented my fantasies, that made me crave destruction and demolition, that drove me to yearn for something dirty and disturbed.

Kolson stirred slowly, flexing his long porcelain fingers at his sides before turning his head to face mine, eyes sealed shut.

My body fluttered, shadowed sensations whipped through my system. A heady feeling swarmed my brain and tightened my muscles, muddling my every thought and reasoning. I felt intoxicated near him.

His dark lashes fluttered open, soft against all his hard angles. He shifted his gaze towards me with sluggish reluctance. His eyes blinked up toward my direction and an ocean of murky-blue crashed into me, piercing every organ in my body. I sucked in a sharp breath and watched as his chest rose and fell in cavernous movements.

Kolson stared at me. Hooded, predatory eyes glued to mine. His gaze widened ever-so-slightly, as if he couldn't believe I was truly standing before him. The horror etched on his face was a mix between distaste and desire.

Then, there was nothing. His face blanked as he leered emotionless. A deep and rough voice slowly cut through my crumbling anatomy, each word calculated and deliberated.

"I've waited a long time for you, little bird."