Letters to Inmate 29901

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Dimitri

7 years earlier,

New York City. Somewhere in an abandoned warehouse.

My knees hit the ground. Crimson, warm liquid trickled down the corner of my mouth. I spat it out, adding to the blood splattered canvas painted on the floor, mixed with the blood, sweat, and tears of many men that got beaten up before me.

We were twenty minutes into the fight, and I just took a right jab to the jaw. After years of getting your ass kicked living on the streets, pain was just another factor in my life.

The crowd was relentless.

"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" they chanted. They surrounded the fighting cage. Eager to see a knockout.

I sprang to my feet and glanced over my shoulder. You couldn't miss him. He was a colossal of a man. Big Ben was sitting in the front row, giving me a nod. A sign I needed to finish the fight. Gabriel, my brother, two rows behind Big Ben, smiling at me, cheering me along.

I circled my opponent. A tall bulky ginger-haired guy. He was older than me. I knew him as Gunner. He was slow, and not to mention dumb as fuck. That was his weakness. His kicks were sluggish, but he could hit a blow, I'll give him credit. My aching jaw was proof of that.

"Wanna come back for seconds, boy?" Gunner sneered. A cocky grin spread across his pudgy face. He thought he had the rundown on me. Fucker.

"You won't be smiling once I break you face!" I spat back.

I lifted my fists in front of me, ready to strike.

He cackled. "You look scared, boy? Daddy ain't here to help you." My skin crawled. I was no longer a boy, but at twenty years old, I had to play dad for both my brother and me. Gabriel and I had to defend ourselves from bastards like Gunner. I scowled at the fact this asshole worked for Big Ben, too.

"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" the crowd spurred on.

These underground fights attracted the worst kind of people. Rules hardly applied, setting it untamed and merciless. Their thirst for blood was demanded, and a broken face would quench it.

I closed the circle, inches away from Gunner's face. He gave his right jab again. I ducked. He gave a left. I moved to the side, driving a body kick to Gunner's liver with a left kick.

"OOOF!" Gunner scrunched his face in agony.

The crowd broke into cheers at their approval. This is what it all came down to. Blood and money.

I was a confident and fearless fighter, known as Bleeder. I earned the nickname for my aggressive fighting tactics.

The cheers resounded in my head. Swelling me up with pride and urging me on. I could feel their heat pumping through my veins, setting my body on fire.

I thrived here.

Tasting the blood lingering in my mouth, I breathed in deep.

Gunner recovered quickly. He came lunging at me with a sidekick. I blocked his shin. And fired back with a straight punch. I felt his nose crack against my bare-knuckle fist. I punched vicious jabs across his torso to disarm him.

"AAAAAAH!" Gunner shouted. Blood oozing from his face. He was punching aimlessly, trying to take back control. This was my moment to take him out.

I leaned back. Delivering a round kick to the lower part of his shin. He fell ass flat on the floor. I slid across to him, positioning my arm under Gunner's bearded chin, holding him in a choke hold. I used all my force to break down his defences. The guy was strong. He wriggled to the left and then to the right, trying every attempt to break my hold. But failed. I held on tight. I could feel him struggling. He turned red, spewing out blood and spit.

His struggled eased, and I felt him getting weak in my arms. With his limp hand, he could've reached out and tapped my shoulder to release him, and I would've let him go, but that's not what the crowd wanted. They wanted more. I held on until his eyes closed, unconscious, careful not to cause him too much damage, but just enough to temporally knock him out. Once he was lights out, I let his body go.

The crowd went berserk.

"BLEEDER! BLEEDER! BLEEDER!" the crowd shouted my name.

I felt pumped!

I FUCKEN LOVED IT!

Jeers and boos were hollered from a few people scattered in between the crowd, probably from all the money they had just lost.

The referee guy appeared next to me, lifting my right arm up.

"Winner by submission. BLEEDER!" I glanced down at Gunner as he crept to the corner, sitting and holding his broken nose. Glaring daggers at me. I smirked. Happy to shut that guy's mouth up.

I looked at Big Ben. He smiled, counting the cash in his hands. He caught me looking and gestured me with a nod of his head to go to the locker rooms.

***

Moments later, I walked inside the locker room, fresh from the fight. Sweat and some blood dripped from my body, staining my black shorts. I rubbed my jaw, which already started to swell slightly.

Gabriel burst through the doors, giving me a huge hug. He recapped the fight with warmth and energy. He was happy for me. Proud of me. I could see the adoration in his eyes. I couldn't help but smile.

I heard a deep chuckle in the middle of the room. Big Ben was already inside. He approached me and gave a hard pat on my back. I jerked forward. I could tell he was happy too, by the load of cash he was carrying. He knew I made good money for him.

"That's my Bleeder boy," he said with his British accent. He was a huge bald English man who loved his tartan plaid tailored suits. It earned him the nickname 'Big Ben'.

I gave him a weak smile. Big Ben wasn't my favourite person and knowing that I had to pay a huge debt to him made me feel trapped. He was intimidating as hell. Nobody dared to cross him. He ran the underground fighting scene, and I was one of his best fighters.

"I knew you do big things for me," he continued. He counted a handful of cash and shoved it in my hands. I took it reluctantly. I hated fighting for the man, but I had no choice. I needed the money. Ever since my brother and I got kicked out of the foster home. I needed to make cash fast, and Big Ben was happy to provide. One of his goons found me fighting with a gang banger. That's when I got introduced to this underground world. I was only fifteen years old. Ever since, my life has been one fight after another. I guess inside and outside the cage.

"This is my last fight, Big Ben. I can't do this for the rest of my life. I have a brother to think of and I can't afford to get into trouble." I said, the sweat still dripping from my brow. He stopped what he was doing and looked at me intensely, with a bitter smile pasted on his face, coming dangerously close. He stood nose to nose against me.

His smile disappeared.

"Come again?" he said menacingly. I could smell the stale cigar and whisky on his breath. I flinched.

"I can pay you some other way –"

"You will fight and continue to fight till I say so," he interrupted, his voice rising. "And if you want to pay your enormous debt owed to me quicker, since that's what you worried about. There's a few cars I need you and Kyle to acquire."

Fuck. I knew what that meant. There had to be another way out of this shit.

I couldn't agree. But did I have any choice?