Page 3 of Scarred Sunrise

Smithy rolled his neck as he and his opponent circled each other, the wire cage a prison of death for one of them. He knew it wouldn’t be him carried out of here with sightless eyes. Smithy could beat this man. He was a trained killer and not just because he could feel the thirst for blood course through his veins. The animal inside, the one he kept contained, leashed, was clawing at his insides. He’d kill this man, allowing the animal free rein and then soak in the regret and hatred that would drown him.

His opponent attacked with a kick to the head, which Smithy blocked with both arms, before landing a punch to the ribs he’d foolishly left open. Smithy held nothing back, feeling the crack as the bone gave under the force. The man danced away from the next punch Smithy threw, landing a punch to the face Smithy allowed, which only fuelled the fire burning his gut.

Smithy felt the blood in his mouth as he smiled, knowing nothing was comforting about the macabre expression he wore. The man came at him again thinking he had the upper hand, and again Smithy let him land the strike, the pain nothing to him, only something that told him he was alive.

Bouncing forward, Smithy landed three quick hits to the head, dazing the man who tried to get away, his back hitting the cage. Smithy lost his appetite for this game, wanting to get back to his quarters and shower the stink of death from himself. Spinning, he executed a sweep which took the man to his back. Sinking to his knees, he hardly heard the roar of the crowd as he looped his arm around the man’s neck and choked him out.

He hoped that the man would tap out and save his life, but he knew deep down he wouldn’t, and as he felt the struggle weaken, he prayed to a God he no longer believed in that he didn’t have to take this life. As the man struggles stopped and he went limp, Smithy knew his prayers wouldn’t be answered. He fought the bile in his gut trying to work its way up his throat and the hysterical laughter that made him wonder if he was even sane any more. God wouldn’t help; the only person who would answer his prayers was the devil because he had already reserved him a place beside him in hell.

A roar went up as he staggered to his feet, casting a glance at the lone guard who held hatred in his eyes before he inclined his head and left the room. Smithy stepped out of the cage as the dead man was carried away.

“Enough drills for today.” He waved at the blood and gore. “Clean this fucking mess up.” He walked to his tiny room with a cot and his locker, if you could call it that, nothing locked in this hell.

Sitting down heavily, he dropped his head into his hands, breathing hard. Disgust simmered inside him at what he’d done, at the man he’d become. His muscles shook with adrenalin as he tried to choke back the thick knot of despair. Knowing that even if he left this place it had taken another part of him that he could never get back, because this time when he’d killed, he’d known precisely what he was doing.

He looked at his hands covered in blood, the taste of it on his tongue. Standing, he went to the shower and shucked his clothes, stepping under the scolding hot spray as the water turned red. Bracing his hand against the wall, he bent his head and watched as it swirled down the drain.

As the shakes began to recede, he soaped his body clean and shut off the water. That he even had this minuscule amount of privacy was only because he was the Commander and his rank demanded it.

Wrapping a towel around himself, he looked in the small mirror he used to shave and saw haunted eyes staring back at him. He had promised Lizzie he’d come back to her and try to heal. He’d meant it, he wanted to heal. He prayed for a future with her, but as the stranger stared back at him, he wondered if he’d once again break her heart with a lie he couldn’t help.

He knew in the pit of his gut that he’d rather die than disappoint her, but he recognised that he’d do both to keep her and Mateo safe. There would be no sacrifice. He’d step into the flames of hell to keep her from facing a single moment more of pain than she already had.

He lifted the tile underneath his bunk and retrieved the phone he’d hidden there. With his eyes on the door, he sent the message that would seal his fate. The time for an extract had come and gone, and now it was time to face his fate.