Page 3 of Strike
Completely broke and with a lifetime ban from the UFC, I came home to Australia with my tail between my legs. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I’d immediately gone back to The Underground and tried to pick up where I’d left off. There, I was Storm, a fighter to be reckoned with, not Mark Ryder, disgrace to men everywhere. In that warehouse, I was still somebody.
But life is never that simple. No matter how far you run, your past always catches up eventually, and when it does, it tears everything apart.Everything.
Before, I’d been a dick. An arrogant, selfish, cocksure, asshole who only ever thought about himself.
After my very public fleecing, I was closed, lonely, quiet, and angry. I had very little left to offer the world, so I didn’t offer anything. I was a floater in the only cesspool that would take me, and even then, it was only because I was still profitable.
What a naive bastard I’d been.
Now I fought inside a wall of chain link with a bloodstained concrete floor so I didn’t end up on the street begging for spare change. There was nowhere else for a washed-up prick to earn a living.
“That shop’s on fire!” someone exclaimed. “I’m calling triple zero.”
Glancing up, I forgot about whatever it was I was agonizing over. My gaze was instantly drawn to a plume of smoke trailing out of cracks and vents in the facade of a shop across the street. Inside, it had nowhere to go and had built up, quickly filling the enclosed room. Farther in, I could see the bright orange flicker of flames.
An explosion tore through the little shop, and everyone stumbled back a step. The windows rattled, and the sound echoed over the traffic noise.
“Did you see that?” some guy asked next to me. “Holy shit!”
“It just went up,” someone else said. “It just took seconds…”
“Help!”
I hesitated, listening. No one else standing on the street had noticed anything—they were all on their phones, taking pictures of the chaos. Vultures.
“Help!”
This time, I heard it plain as day. It was faint, but it was there. Someone was inside, and they were trapped.
Glancing up and down the street, I could hear the approaching fire trucks, but they were stuck a few blocks up the street, boxed in by traffic. There was only a split second in this. Whoever was inside might meet their maker before help arrived.
“Fuck it,” I cursed and rushed toward the shop.
“Hey!” one of the bystanders called out. “What are you doing?”
Ignoring everything around me, I dodged cars and bounded toward the fire. I shook the door, but it was locked. The fire hadn’t spread outside of the back room, but the handle was hot, and smoke was billowing into the front section of the store at an unbelievable rate.
“Help!” The cry was louder this time. A woman’s panicked voice filtered from beyond the glass, and my heart rate began to gallop.
Gathering my strength, I kicked with everything I had. My boot bounced back, and with a curse, I tried again.
“Hey, buddy! Buddy!”
I glanced up at the sound of a passerby’s voice. Having seen what I was trying to do, a random guy was brandishing a tire iron, and I snatched it from him and cracked it against the door. Once, twice, three times.
The glass shattered in one big sheet, splintering into thousands of tiny granules. Kicking it out of the frame, it smashed to the floor, and smoke streamed out onto the footpath.
“You’re going in there?” the stranger asked.
I raised my eyebrows as smoke poured out of the opening. “Sure. Why not?”
I didn’t know why I went into that building. I didn’t even know what the hell I was supposed to do, but I could hear the roar of flames and a woman’s cry for help, and that was it. I covered my nose and mouth with the sleeve of my shirt and dived headfirst into the maelstrom.
I crossed the first room with no trouble. Smoke was the only obstacle here, but it was hot as hell, and sweat erupted across my forehead. Passing by a bunch of stacked tables and chairs, I forged into the next room and was immediately pushed back by the flames. A quick glance at the scene gave me an idea.
A table sat in the center of the space. The explosion had set it alight, along with the walls and the roof, but if I could push it to where the flames were at their worst, maybe…
Grabbing the table, I flipped it onto its side and kicked it across the room, forcing the flames back. I’d managed to carve a tiny path, but I would have to be quick. I bolted across the room, heat from the fire burning against my exposed face.
