King Of The Diamonds

Chapter 10 | streets

They Grew Up On The Outside Of Society. They Weren't Looking For A Fight. They Were Looking To Belong.

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I've always been a fighter.

I think some people are just born to fight.

It's not just being born brave or strong. It's the universe's decision whether people are born with fire, and grit, and steel in their blood. The universe decides when they have their next battle. Trials and trial, being broken and damaged in numerous ways until the worlds finally done with you.

I was born to fight. It wasn't the life that I had chosen or one that I had sacrificed everything for. It was the life I was handed. It's what I do best. It's all I can do.

When the universe labelled me a fighter, they also labelled me with this consistent warning.

A warning that told people to automatically flinch when meeting my calloused eyes.

And to walk away when tempted by me.

To love is to destroy, and to be love is to be the one destroyed.

Fuck you, world. I'm not easy to ruin.

Punch.

They took Brett.  

Punch. Punch. Punch.

"Killian?"

Punch. Punch. Kick.

"Kill, you need to wrap your knuckles."

Punch.

The blood decorates the bag as my punches continuously hit it. This is what I was made for.

I was made to fight. All of us was. My father needed soldiers, he needed legacies.

Punch. Punch. Punch.

I'm tired of just being a weapon.

Punch. Kick. Punch.

I'm worth more than that.

"You owe us more than this."

Punch. Punch.

"You're not one of us."

Punch. Kick. Kick.

"I love you, irmão."

Punch.

I miss you, Brett.

"Kill?"

"Yeah?" I inhale deeply, "What's up, Li?"

"Rocky texted Cole saying the first fight is booked at 9. You've got just under an hour and she said that we need to get our faces seen."

"Get everyone in the cars, I'll be there in a minute."

My forehead rests against the boxing bag.

This is our chance to show just what happens when you fuck with the Kings.

I might never have chose to be a fighter, but I fucking loved the feeling it created. That's the thing, you see. Once you've taken a punch and realised you're not made of glass, you won't feel truly alive until you're pushing yourself as far as you possibly can go.