The Discarded

The Reject Chapter 5 - 2

Even as the future crystalized in his mind, it faded away. There was a time when it would have meant everything, when he would've killed to make it happen. But that was before he'd met them. Dysfunctional and selfish beyond reason, they'd carved their names into his soul with razored words and acid dipped betrayals. But what true friend didn't? He couldn't leave them, and that proved the hateful truth of the bonds between them.

He wouldn't, couldn't, turn from them. The day would come when they left him, but he wouldn't walk away until that final betrayal. They were a barbed hook sunk deep into his flesh, tying him to Primrose like a harpoon anchored a dying whale to the ship butchering it.

"You want to make me into a trained dog." Ramona opened her mouth, but Cesare continued, his words as soft as an assassin's footsteps. "You can't make a wolf a dog." Cesare's eyes rested on Chris. "And you can't turn a dog into a wolf. A dog doesn't feel the hunt burning in its blood, it sold its wild for a warm bed and a scratch on the head. Or in this case, a dirty fuck and some paper."

Chris's hands tightened on the arms of his chair, body tensing as he started to surge to his feet. Raising its head, the wolf gave the fighter a brief look. The power of its stare drained the blood from Chris's face, setting him back into the chair with a definitive thump.

"I'm not fighting for you or your money. I'm fighting because I want to fight, and when I'm done fighting, I'll walk," Cesare said.

Ramona looked between the men and the wolf, thoughts chasing each other across her face. She wanted to fight when she snapped her fingers, a weapon without cock or balls of its own. The world had never made him behave, and no slinky snake with a forked tongue would master him.

"As long as you keep winning, you can fight the way you want. Just don't forget, if you go for blood, they'll come for yours," Ramona said before quickly moving the conversation along. "Chris is going to work on preparing you for the fight with Hog."

"Lucky you. You get my fight, twice the money, and all the work I put into researching the bastard." The fighter's fingers dug into the chair, eyes glittering with hate.

"I think we covered that you don't want a mouthpiece or cup, but we need to do something about your clothes." Pushing forward, her words came quickly, heavy with experience. "You already have an image, homeless child, angry at the world, brutal and dark avatar of the streets. Caine come to take his pound of flesh from his brothers, dark sentinel of agony. You came off the streets with only your fists to feed you. You fight to live and live to fight." Her eyes shone as she manufactured a fantasy, owning only a passing familiarity with the truth. "I want to get you a pair of distressed jeans, a black hoodie we'll wash until it's a weathered gray. We'll keep your hood up and let them wonder. Are you ugly? Beautiful? Scarred? We won't put work into hiding your face besides the hood, but we won't come out and show them."

They'd take new clothes and make them clones of the ones he already had. Why not just buy from the Good Will? Opening his mouth, Cesare slowly closed it. If they wanted to buy him clothes, he wouldn't stop them.

Caught up in her vision, she reached for her purse, the shopping gods calling her to worship. Being the devotee she was, she couldn't turn away from their altar. Standing, she gave Chris a quick peek on the cheek. "I'm off. You boys be good."

Cesare watched the woman leave, wavy brown hair swishing above her trim ass. He wondered how old Ramona really was. She'd taken him from Candy with an ease that spoke of long practice. Dealt with his shattering of her fighter gracefully, as if she'd known it would happen. The negotiation with the Governor had thrown her briefly before she'd rallied and championed Cesare's cause. Everything after had fallen into place with mechanical precision.