Page 8 of Healing Souls

Too bad when I walked into the club, I would not be getting any rest for hours. Fucking hell, my brother has lost his common sense over this girl.

Cayden

Axe immediately shoves me behind him as the other guy jumps forward to grab me.

“That’s enough!” Axe shouts. “Get your friend awake and we will sit down and discuss this. I’m not saying shit until you tell me how you know Harley.”

I watch the shaggy-haired dude bend down and slap his friend lightly until he comes to. When he does, he immediately zeros in on me and jumps to his feet. A part of me knows I shouldn’t do this, but something in me is begging for a good fight, so I step forward and he lunges at me. I dodge his first hit and land one of my own to his side.

He turns faster than I thought possible for a man his size and gets me good on the cheek. I shake it off fast and duck when he goes to throw another punch and earns two hits to his side again. He grunts but shows no other sign of it hurting.

Damn, this motherfucker can take some hits. To be fair, I am not weak by any means; I have been working out for a few years now and can throw some solid punches.

Before either of us can continue, someone puts me in a headlock. I glance over and see Axe and Sugar holding the guy back. I throw my elbow at the person holding me, and they grunt out in pain.

“Fucking stop, Cayden!”Noah.

I go lax in his grip so he will let go. As soon as he does, I whirl on him, ready to fight him next. He knows me well though and immediately redirects me.

“No! Get your ass downstairs to the gym. Now!” he commands.

Catching my breath, I do as instructed, knowing I won’t win this one. My shoulders stay tense as I move away, going towards the stairs, I can feel the fury inside me bubbling up, ready to explode at any moment.

When we get down to our massive gym, Noah walks to the far wall that has different gloves and equipment hanging from it, while I head into the center of the gym where our big mats are out that we use to box or spar.

“Glove up,” he orders. “We’ll box. I am not sparring with you right now.” He throws a set of gloves at me. “I don’t know what the fuck your problem has been lately, but you need to sort it out.”

I am not going to do this with Noah. I won’t burden him with my ridiculous thoughts about a girl who doesn’t belong to me. So instead, I swing at him.

He dodges it easily and comes right at me. “Don’t want to talk? Fine. But don’t go beating up random fucking strangers! I thought we were past your stage of causing fights all the time.”

I let him hit me a few times before spinning around and attempting a few blows myself. He can take my hits, so I let my anger out. I fucking hate that he is saying shit like that. I don’t want to drag up old wounds that don’t need reopening. My father forced me to talk and be his puppet for years as a child. So, in return, I took out my anger on everyone he brought to me.

I hurt so many people. My hands are toxic. I break everything I touch. I hate speaking because my voice was stolen from me for so many years. Used as a weapon against me and other people in ways I didn’t even understand until now.

Memories of my past slam into me without warning, making me stumble back a step.

“Now, Cayden. Tell him what I said, or I will turn this crop on you and him,” Father orders from behind me where he sits on a wooden stool blocking the staircase that leads out of the basement in our home.

“You have one more chance to tell us what you did. Or I will take this knife and carve you to pieces,” I say to the guy trembling in front of me. I don’t even understand why Father makes me do this.

My eyes narrow on Blade as he charges me. I let his fist hit my cheek, the pain fueling me as my past surfaces once more, threatening to consume me whole.

The guy doesn’t answer. He can’t be much older than nineteen. Father has randomly brought me down here over the last few years; calls it my training to take over his business.

I have no fucking clue what that business is. I’ve only ever seen him hurt random people. Usually, he tells me what to say and makes me say it all.

But not this time. This time, he hands me the knife.

“Get to work, boy. You’re eleven now. It’s time to put you to work for real. You slice him up like you’ve seen me do until he gives you the answers you want. If you hesitate or refuse, I will take this crop to your back until you get it done.”

Having learned from the moment I could walk and talk that life is a game of survival, I say a silent prayer for forgiveness to the only people I care about: my brother and my mom.

Then, letting my mind go blank, I get to work.

Ending up behind Noah, I use it to my advantage before he has a chance to spin around. I kick straight into the middle of his back, knocking him down to his knees with a grunt. Being older and more experienced than me, Noah easily spins on the mat and knocks me off my feet by kicking out my legs. As soon as my back hits the mat, I drown in the memory—no, a nightmare.

Slice. “Tell me what we want to know.”

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