Destroyed(4)

“Whoa, that’s a bit morbid,” Clue said, reaching out to touch a severed leg.

I snatched her hand back and pressed the other door to open it. I wanted away from the scene; it came too close to home.

Don’t think of your troubles. Tonight, pretend to forget.

Troubles.

I could never forget about them. They were a noose around my neck; a guillotine waiting to fall. But I was done moping, so it didn’t matter.

The instant the door cracked open, noise assaulted us. A potent mixture of fists hitting flesh, grunts of pain, lilts of feminine laughter, shouts of encouragement, and the smooth beats of music.

We entered a cavernous dark room—either a converted ballroom or a specially designed arena. It welcomed us with thick black velvet covering four story high walls. Lining the perimeter, a grandstand held black couches, La-Z-boys, and luxury daybeds. Each one had its own podium with side table and a small lamp, looking like fireflies in the dark.

“Oh my,” Clue murmured, focusing on the main event.

Every apparatus of fighting existed: a Mixed Marital Arts cage, a boxing ring, a Muay Thai ring, mats for close combat, and bare floor for other barbaric blood sports. Each space was crowded with men either bloodied from a fight or bouncing on their feet ready to meet a new opponent. I’d never seen such a display of masculinity—raw and unbridled.

Sweaty towels hung off chairs and modesty was non-existent as men changed from torn work-out gear into loose fitting cool down attire. Water stations and medic booths rested between each arena.

My breathing came faster, dragging in scents of disinfectant, beer, and the clean smell of hard work. I couldn’t focus on just one thing. A fight had begun with a bombardment of fists and scary determination in the Muay Thai ring, while another fight in the MMA cage had just finished—the victor pranced around his unconscious foe waving his blood-smeared fists in the air.

Everywhere I looked men grinned, audience members encouraged, and people throbbed with vitality. My body sucked up every ounce of liveliness, storing it.

What the hellis this place?

A huge banner hung from the ceiling directly above all five fighting rings.



Fight with honour, fight with discipline, fight with vengeance.



Goosebumps rose on my arms. The words were poignant, holding a promise of more than just violence—a whole new world I didn’t know existed. Despite myself, I wanted to find out more. Clue was right—seeing a man fight awoke something deeper, darker, less tame inside me. We may be refined and socially acceptable on the outside, but at heart we were still animals. All my life, I’d fought my own battles, but now I wondered what it would’ve been like to have someone fight beside me.

“I think I died and went to man heaven,” Clue whispered, her almond eyes the widest I’d ever seen. Her cheeks flushed with colour as a man in the boxing ring took a hit to the jaw by a fighter glistening with sweat and crimson.

Every man held an edge of eager pleasure—even those black and bruised joked and watched comrades get beaten while sipping on icy bottles of water.

The atmosphere in the room wasn’t feral or violent like I expected. It had an old-world class about it. An exclusivity. A richness. An unwritten code that said they’d try to win, but would never kill. I found the restraint reassuring but weirdly annoying at the same time.

There were so many fighters I had no idea how Clue would find the man she’d come to see.

The music changed tracks from sultry to pulsing. Not so loud to distract the fighters, but it added yet another element to this strange, illegal club.

Arms suddenly slinked around Clue, dislodging her from my side. I blinked as a tall man with cropped black hair and ebony skin gathered her close. His arms were cut and defined, wrapping around her with propriety but also tenderness. “You remembered the address and password. I’m impressed.” He nuzzled her throat, sending Clue into a flurry of lusty giggles.

My heart fluttered for her. I loved seeing her smile. I didn’t think I’d seen her so infatuated before. Ever since I took her home that fateful night and put her broken pieces back together, I’d been afraid she wouldn’t ever trust a man enough to let him get close. Hence why she called herself Clue. She wanted to be a mystery that no man could solve.

My eyes flickered between the two; my heart thudded sensing the spark, the need between them. If lust could be seen they’d be wrapped up in a cloud of erotic colour.

Where Clue was an Asian beauty, this man was an African Adonis. If they ever made it to procreation, their children would be spectacular.

The thought of children sent mine reeling back to Clara. Her pretty, eight-year-old face filled my mind. Her long hair, so similar to my own, and her dark brown eyes made my heart weep knowing our time together was running out.

She looked nothing like her father which I thanked the universe for every day. She was mine. All mine.

Not for much longer.

The memory shattered and a rush of vertigo grabbed me. After weeks of barely any sleep, constant stress, and a body humming with a mixture of anger and tears, I suffered a momentary lapse of motor control; I stumbled.

Clue’s man grabbed my forearm, steadying me with a strong grip. His touch was warm and comforting—brotherly compared to the obvious spark between him and Clue. “You okay?”

Clue untangled herself from his embrace to support my other side. I thought I’d turned a corner walking in here. I wanted to fight. Not wallow.