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Fast and smooth, I sprint at him. I land a nice clean blow to the center of his face, causing his nose to explode. My knuckles pulsate but the pain goes away after a few seconds of flexing my hand.
“That is it, my little pet!” Maksim chants in Russian. “Kill him!”
“Kill him?” I stop then to look at Maksim and James thumps me square in the face, knocking me clean into the air.
I'm in a haze for a moment, plummeting backward, wondering if Maksim actually wants me to kill James.
My back cracks when it hits the hard floor. I wince, arching over on my side.
Maksim's control over my mind doesn't always serve me well. One word—one click of his fingers—and I lose focus.
I don't want to kill my friend. I have to clarify this before I do.
Booting me in the stomach, James winds me. I cough up thick, warm blood, struggling to breathe for a moment. I manage to wrap my arms around James' ankles, ensuring he cannot kick me again.
“Not literally, Blaire!” Maksim shouts in Russian. “Fucking get up!”
James grabs a fist-full of my hair and pounds me in the face, sending shooting pains right through my skull. My head lashes back and forth but I'm still here. I'm not out cold yet.
“Stop the fight!” someone yells. “Now, Maksim!”
“Just wait,” Maksim says. “Blaire, Podgotovsja! Konchaj yego!”
My senses come to attention.
Bent over me, James is weak in his stance. I dig my nails into the backs of his knees and yank him forward with a loud groan, putting him on his ass. His grip still in my hair, he drags me forward with him, making my scalp tear.
He's trying to get up now, at the same time shoving me into the floor.
I fight to my feet, spin out of his grasp in my hair and boot him where it hurts.
“Oh, fuck!” cupping his crotch, he goes down like a sack of shit, all the color draining from his face.
I step back, panting like a wild cat, wiping damp strands of hair back out of my face.
“Finish him!” Maksim yells.
James wobbles to his feet and I know this is my moment—any longer, and it'll be a bloodbath. I jump up into the air with facility, wrap my legs around his neck and flip over to put him down completely. I land on the floor with open palms, James' neck between my thighs. I use all my lower body weight to keep him facedown, tensing and gritting my teeth, pressing my hands into the cold wooden floors. The veins in my eyes feel like they might pop but I don't stop. I squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.
“Jesucristo!” someone shouts out. “I thought he had her!”
Gasping and wriggling, James tries to pries my legs open, digging his fingers into my flesh. He's fruitless. I might be small but I'm strong.
“Davaj, devochka!” Maksim yells, ‘that's it girl’. “Put him to sleep!”
I do, my heart twisting with remorse. This doesn't happen often, me feeling a sense of guilt, but it's happening now.
I'm sorry...
After a few minutes, James falls limp in my thigh tight grasp.
6
Gasping, I loosen my grip on James and roll onto my back, relieved the fight is over.
A round of applause breaks out, echoing through the large room. I don't soak up the ovation. Lost somewhere in my mind, I turn over onto my knees and push to my feet, lengths of hair sticking to my sweaty, bloody face. Standing there, I look down at James. He's battered, bruised and bested. My chest aches at the sight of him. I hate that Maksim makes us do this to each other. Training together in my apartment is fine because we stop when one calls for a ceasefire, but in moments like this, we have to fight until one is cataleptic, or worse...
...I've had to kill to entertain many times before.
