Page 102 of Shadowman
I launch my palm at his nose to disorient, get his eyes watering up nice. Then I hit him with my signature combo… Uppercut to the chin, followed by a spin-kick to finish him. He goes down like a sack of shit.
Boom. KO.
The crowd erupts, guards and prisoners bellowing as Lucas calls it. And not that I believe in this shit, but I make the cross motion over my chest.For O’Malley.
“No mercy.” I spit blood onto the floor where Humphrey is lying. “No fuckin’ surrender, baby.”
Rest In Peace, Shamrockstar.
Stomping out of the circle, I’m refreshed. My head is clearer than it’s been inmonths. I’ve got dudes slapping me on the backleft and right, calling things out. And I won’t lie, it feels good, the recognition. But I don’t do it for that. I don’t crave attention or validation when I fight. I’m sure I would feel just as satisfied if I’d lost.
Because it’s the fight itself that settles me. The pain, the adrenaline… Hell, even the fear. They remind me that I’m stillalivewhen, in here, it’s so easy to forget.
Striding past Trevel, the illumination on his face has me smirking.
“Byron! Fucking hell… That wasamazing!” He breathes a laugh, following me over to the water bucket. “I’ve never seen anything like that!”
I give him a skeptical side-eye. “You’ve really never seen any boxing? UFC?”
He shrugs. “I told you; I’m a lover, not a fighter. Plus, that was obviously different from what’s on television…”
Perplexed by how good his praise feels, I ignore it with a huff, focusing on cleaning myself up. But when Trevel grabs the wet cloth from my hand, I freeze.
Standing stock still, I watch in bemused unease as he brings it up to my face, dabbing my brow. I might’ve stopped breathing; a Byron statue, gaping up at the stranger who’s gently cleaning blood off of my face.
Why is he doing this? Why am I letting him do this?
It’s… weird. Isn’t it? A weirdly intimate thing to do for someone you hardly know… While shirtless and… sweaty.
“I can’t believe you can fight like that,” Trevel murmurs, all of his attention on what he’s doing while I just stare. “Do you pretend that bloke hurt your family or something? Imagine he killed your puppy or slashed your tires…? I think I’d have to do that. I’d need some motivation, or—”
“Motivation can be more than just revenge,” I cut off his rambling, my voice extra raspy.
His purple eyes meet mine. “What’s yours?”
Swallowing, I consider what I could share with him. If I could tell him things… About me. My life.
Ultimately, I decide against it. This guy has already pulled more words out of me than most others can. I don’t understand how he does it.
Ducking away from his touch, I take the cloth back, because now it just seems like he’s fussing over me, and I don’t need that. I’m barely even swelling. There isn’t much blood.
And I think I felt his fingers on my lower back…
Shut it down.
“So vengeance is, like, yourthing?” I ask my own question, remembering what he said to me the other day in the cafeteria.
“You might like the taste of revenge…”
“Bit of an oddthingto have, I suppose.” He grins. “Look, I’m noBatman, roaming the streets, seeking to avenge the deaths of my parents. It’s just… Well, the only times I’ve felt the blinding need to inflict pain on someone were instances where they deserved it. They wronged me, or someone I cared for. And because of that, they had to die.”
His words give me chills.
Hmm… So he has killed people.
This is my first insight into why he’s here, and just like everything else about him, it’s intriguing as hell. I’d like to know more…
But thereisa golden rule of prison—you don’t ask people what they’ve done. You wait for them to volunteer the information themselves.
