Page 157 of Forgotten Comeback
“Dante’s Inferno?” I clarify, and he slices his head. “You have a sense of humor, then.”
“More a sense of the macabre. We have that in common, don’t we?” He muses, eyeing some of his sketches that I’ve given devilish qualities.
“Yes,” I admit. “I’m a twin like you, except I absorbed mine,” I say for some reason.
“Cannibalism?” he asks, as if we’re discussing something mundane like the weather.
“Oh my God, no, it was vanishing twin syndrome. It happened in the womb,” I explain.
“Ah,” he says thoughtfully. “What was your twin’s name?”
I blink. “My mom never named her.” New therapy topic unlocked. “Anyway, I guess you heard the news about me and Gavin.”
“Yes.” He watches me, but doesn’t comment.
“The socially acceptable response is to say, “Congratulations.” I motion with my hand.
“Your marriage to my brother won’t be legal,” he says instead. “We prefer less government involvement in our affairs.” Gavin told me Rocco was dead, and I’m guessing that wasn’t just a metaphor. “But you will become a part of our family, and you will always be protected,” he vows with an intensity that borders on the scary.
“Okay.” The devil’s giving me his blessing, and secretly, I’m beaming.
Inferno returns to his position on the stool, and I move to monochromatic watercolors, painting him—not in a dreamy—but a nightmarish free form. “What happened to you?” I finally work up the courage to ask.
“I died, but my body didn’t have the good sense to stay down,” he says in a sardonic tone. “Now, I get to cosplay being alive.”
“How’s that going?” I wonder.
He pauses a beat. “Depends on the day.”
I nod, that making perfect sense to me.
His phone notifies, and he removes a glove, his hand as mangled and scarred as his face. Retrieving his phone, he reads the message before silently placing his glove back on. Striding across the room, he uses the mirror to get his mask back into position. Without a word, Inferno walks out.
“The socially acceptable response is to say, “Bye,” I call after him.
Chapter
Sixty-One
Taylor
Gavin didn’t stop by my dressing room for his good luck kiss. He’s ritualistic about his pre-fight routine, and something doesn’t feel right.
This is the championship, so maybe he had to do something different…
Like what, I don’t know.
My nerves are a jangled mess, and I try to soothe myself by organizing my round signs for a second time. Mike’s bitch of a girlfriend comes strutting my way, but security blocks her before she can get a snarky word in.
The arena goes dark, an excited hush falling over the crowd. The spotlight lands on the announcer in the ring. “Ladies and gentlemen, who’s ready to throw hands?”
The crowd erupts in rowdy cheers.
“Tonight, one fighter walks away with the coveted championship belt. Will it be our reigning champ of bare-knuckle boxing? Make some noise for the Hammer!”
The arena goes wild as Mike and his entourage enter the arena with their usual hammer schtick, except his entourage is noticeably smaller. And that’s not counting the two men who Gavin may or may not have killed.
“Standing in the Hammer’s way is his opponent. Can the Spider weave a comeback web? Make some noise for the Spider!”
