“I told you,” Pavo growls, breathing hard, his eyes locked with mine as he spits blood on the concrete at my feet. “You will be mine in the end.”
But he’s not talking to me. He’s talking to Anya. I can’t spare the moment it will take to locate her, but I can hear her wheezing somewhere behind me.
Pavo still has bounce in his step. And now I see it. The blue ring around his irises goes fluorescent purple in the black light. The ring of Lectra addiction. He is fucking high. Which is not against the rules. There are no rules. You win any way you can.
But it’s a risk. The Lectra can be a bonus. It can make you fearless. It can dull pain. And if this were chess, it could help you see a dozen moves ahead.
But this isn’t chess. This is life and death and Lectra can also make you afraid. It can amplify the agony. It can pull you into a slow-motion dream world where nothing makes sense and every action comes with hallucinogenic tracers.
It affects Pavo the first way. That’s why he drinks it before a fight.
But it affects me the opposite. That’s why I don’t.
“You had a good run,” Pavo says, attacking me again, his perfectly executed kick crashing against my hips. He doesn’t check me this time. Just backs off because he knows I’m not in a good place.
I’m playing defense. I’m dizzy and blood is streaming down the right side of my body.
His knife didn’t hit the artery because I’d be bleeding out on the ground by now if it had. But he hit something. My rib is screaming and I can feel those kicks all the way to my kidneys.
The drumming starts again. A new beat. The death beat. The final beat.
Someone, probably my father since he’s hosting this event, has decided that Pavo has won and has instructed the drummers to pound out the ending sequence.
And that’s when Anya steps between us, knife in hand. Pointed at Pavo, not me. And she thrusts it into his side.
I actually laugh at the gall of this stupid girl and the gasp of the crowd is loud enough to hear in between the slow beat of the death drums.
Pavo grabs her, reaching for the knife in his side. I expect her to let it go, but she doesn’t. She holds on to it. She’s actually fighting him for the knife, her body glowing a surreal white in the blackness all around us. A ghost fighting the snake.
That fucking girl just saved my ass.
I’m up. Hurting, but up.
Pavo sees me, lets go of the knife, and pushes Anya so hard, she goes reeling backwards. Right in to me.
I catch her. Hold her.
“Nice.” Pavo laughs the word out loud enough to be heard. “Using a woman as a shield.”
No. That’s not what I’m doing, dickface. My hand slides over her hip and finds the knife in her hand.
She releases it. And I step out around her.
Pavo doesn’t even look at the weapon, but I know he sees it. “You’re not gonna make it this time, Sick Heart. Not even that knife can help you now.”
I toss the knife and it goes careening across the helipad as I smile at Pavo Vervonal.
Then I attack.
I will not win my last fight with a weapon.
Four long strides cover the distance between us. He comes at me with elbows and knees, but I’m done with Muay Thai tonight.
There is an advantage to living on this side of the world and that’s why I stay here. And that advantage is Brazil and the art of capoeira.
I duck and feign. Hop out of reach. Block as Pavo attacks again with kicks and I wait for that look on his face. It’s a look every fighter gets when they think they’ve won, when they haven’t. This look is a tell of weakness. Because in the Ring of Fire, it’s not over ‘till it’s over.
When he pauses, I swing at him and he blocks as I twist my upper body—left leg front, right leg back—and then I am turning. Right leg following the arc of the spin until my heel connects with the side of his head with a sickening thunk.
He goes down.
Then I’m on top of him because there are no referees on the platform to pull me away and let him recover, and this is just how it’s done in my world. You can set your fucking watch to the sick ending that comes with each and every Ring of Fire fight.
I straddle Pavo, running through all my options in my head. And then my hands are on his throat.
I can hear the crowd because the drumming has stopped. Actually stopped. And they are calling my name.
But it’s not the way they should be calling it.