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“Holding back!” he said. “That’s got to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard! Why would anyone hold back in the pit?”
His gang chuckled along with him.
But there was a dangerous glint in Trayem’s eye, one I had seen many times in the pit fights. It happened the moment the victor realized they were sitting on an ace card and were about to release it and claim the victory.
The gang must have noticed it too because their bodies tensed and their muscles tightened, preparing to spring forward and destroy Trayem. Adrenaline flooded their systems and they would release it on my body.
Thanks a lot, asshole.
“You can’t claim a prize until you win a fight,” Trayem said.
He turned his head to one side and the bones cracked in his neck.
“I’m here to provide that challenge for you,” he said, glancing over his shoulder and watching as the entrance shut.
Fayn had had just about enough of this guy.
“I warned you,” he said. “Now we’re going to have to beat you.”
He nodded to his men, who descended upon Trayem.
I couldn’t catch what exactly took place the following moment from my position on the bed. My head was thrown back and my neck was turned at an uncomfortable angle. All I could make out were blurred fists, grunting, smacking, and the shuffling of feet on the floor.
In the blink of an eye, two of Fayn’s gang members were on the floor. One lay unconscious on his back, the other screamed as he clutched his fractured arm in his other hand.
I focused on Trayem, who drove his knee into the third gang member’s gut, then spun his elbow around and caught the creature on the side of the head with a hard thwak noise.
Trayem marched on Fayn. His movements were confident, determined. He didn’t stop.
Fayn bent down for the clothes he’d removed earlier and came out with a pair of sharpened blades.
Trayem altered his stance. It was strong, his movements stiff and yet graceful. Precise, powerful, and faster than a python’s strike.
Fayn attacked Trayem. His blades sliced through the air, making a sharp hissing noise.
Trayem backed away, but not quick enough. One blade found his cheek, another his forearm. He shifted his weight and went on the attack. He lurched out with a coiled fist to Fayn’s chin.
Fayn staggered back, stunned.
Trayem pressed the advantage, throwing one blow after another, striking the leader in the face, gut, and chest.
Fayn was nothing if not tough and struck with his blades, slicing Fayn across the stomach and chest.
Fayn backed away.
Injured.
Bleeding.
Beaten?
As Fayn leaned forward to maintain his attack, Trayem leaped, spun, and performed a perfect kick that I’d only ever seen in the movies.
Fayn took the blow on the chin. It knocked him sideways. As he turned back to Trayem, another spin came, loaded with another vicious strike to the face.
Fayn grunted painfully, staggered, and hit the floor. He landed on his hands and knees and lost his grip on his blades. They skittered across the floor and out of reach. He spat out a wad of blood and turned to look up at Trayem.
“Who are you?” he said.
