𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐎𝐕

It feels like it's been ages since I've had to wrap my hands. The thick, itchy material almost feels foreign against my dry, cracked skin. Training almost seems pointless to me since I fight all the time and never needed it to begin with. I just show up and punch shit. But I couldn't just ignore the pleading in Cassie's eyes last week when she asked me. I owe it to her to at least try.

While sitting on an old wooden bench, my eyes trace along the red spray painted lockers until landing on the wall beside it. It's littered with various metals in frames with the sunlight bouncing off each one, causing my vision to resemble a kaleidoscope.

Hearing footsteps approaching, I turn my head to see a sweaty teenager with a towel draped over his shoulders peer his head inside. He pinches his eyebrows together while scanning the area before his eyes land on me.

"Hey, are you Cain?" he asks. Both of his hands pull on either end of the towel while he casually leans against the wall.

I give the kid a tight-lipped smile and nod. "That'd be me."

"Dante says he's ready for you," Sweaty Kid says while hiking his thumb over his shoulder. As if I know exactly where I'm supposed to go.

I reluctantly push myself off the bench and walk in the direction he wandered in. My eyes follow along the dark-colored walls where pictures scatter in various sizes. The few that stand out to me feature people inside a ring—some covered in blood—while proudly raising a giant belt above their heads.

"I see you found our Victory Wall," a deep voice says beside me. It startles me slightly, causing me to step aside quickly. Out of habit, I look the guy up and down to get a feel for if I need to feel intimidated or not. He stands there casually with his arms crossed at his chest while his dark brown eyes stay fixed on the wall.

I stand there, not knowing what to say while he's standing this close to me. I've never been a huge fan of people invading my space, and this guy is standing a little too close for comfort. I scratch the back of my head and discreetly shift my weight, unsure if I should stay here or continue on to find this 'Dante' guy.

The man inhales a deep breath before turning to face me. "Are you ready?"

"Dante?" I ask with my eyebrows pulled together. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little shocked. This guy does not look like a physical trainer. Sure, he has some muscle mass, but I tower over this guy and could easily take him.

He chuckles. "That's what they keep calling me. Come this way," he requests before opening a set of double doors.

When we walk inside, a large room greets us with a ring that sits in the center of everything. Tall, black bags surround it, worn and faded from endless rounds of use. In the corner, various weight lifting machines sit unattended with their metals glistening from a recent cleaning.

"How long have you been fighting?" Dante asks. He walks toward a bench and sits down before wiping the sweat from his face with a rag.

I shrug. "A few years," I mutter beneath my breath.

"Why don't you head over to the bags first?" he suggests while gesturing me toward them. "We can go from there."

I slowly approach a bag and push on it to get a feel for how heavy this one might be. The chain above it clanks quietly while it sits on a runner, but it stays in place solidly. This thing weighs maybe a hundred pounds, at best, so this should be easy. My main experience is strictly skin on skin contact with people weighing over two hundred pounds and I've knocked their asses out.

Cocking my fist back, I send it flying into the hard surface, giving it a swift jab. The contact immediately reverberates through my arm to my elbow from its heavy weight. I look over at Dante, who just sits there on the bench with an unimpressed look on his face.

"Again," he states with a nod.

I shake my head and drive my fist into the bag again. It swings slightly from the force, taunting me for more.

"You can do better than that. Again."

Frustration starts to bubble, like a teapot nearing boiling temp. Without thinking, I hit it two more times at a faster rate.

"Breathe through your punches," he advises before making his way over to me. He squares his feet before inhaling deeply and immediately hits the bag. It swings back and forth vigorously from the powerful force, almost as if it's mocking me at this point.

"You have to breathe through it, or you're going to overexert yourself." He gestures toward the bag for me to try again.

I roll my eyes before taking in a deep breath and knocking into the bag a few more times.

"That was better. This time I want you to square your feet like this," he says before demonstrating beside me.

Why did I agree to do this? I clearly don't need to learn how to fight, since it's obvious I know how. This old guy things how I plant my feet matters, or how I breathe? Maybe Cassie wouldn't be upset since I technically tried it. Once.

I do as I'm told, and stand with my knees bent slightly, and plant my feet firmly on the mat.

"Hold your arms up to cover your face," Dante advises. His arms are crossed at his chest while he watches me with a cocky smirk on his face.

The way he keeps telling me what to do is annoying the hell out of me. This is the one thing I know I'm good at, and I'll be damned if this guy thinks he's better than me just because he owns a gym. I try to breathe through the anger, feeling it creep its way up my spine and pick up my fists as instructed.

Without a second thought, I wail on the bag as hard as I can. The chains above shake violently, causing an echo to sound throughout the open space. My arms start feeling like a dead weight from the repeated contact against an unfamiliar surface.

Suddenly, the feel of hands appear on my shoulders. "Okay, okay. Settle down," Dante says through a chuckle.

"No, this is bullshit. I know how to fucking fight," I seethe. I already want to knock this guy's teeth in for laughing at me like I'm a goddamn kid.

"Nobody is suggesting you cannot fight. But you are going to tire yourself out quickly if you continue doing it this way. Why don't you tell me your experience," he says.

I shrug. "I competed at Bloodroot a few months back."

His eyebrows pinch together before he nods. "Are you who they're all talking about down there? I think they call you something like 'Raw', was it?"

I lick my teeth before turning around and heading for the exit. I know Cassie meant well when she thought training might help, but I'm not dealing with this shit.

"Wait, hold on," he says before jogging toward me. "I didn't mean it as an insult. They were saying they haven't seen anyone fight like that in a long time."

"You mean nobody was sent to the hospital in a long time," I state firmly before forcing myself to look him in the eye.

"That was unfortunate. But that is something that happens without proper training. You either hurt yourself, or hurt the other person far worse than intended," he says before gesturing toward the benches. "Let's have a chat."

I reluctantly follow him, wanting more than anything to just turn around and leave. If it wasn't something I promised Cassie—I would already be out of this shit hole.

"Tell me what happened," he requests before taking a seat on the bench.

Refusing to sit beside him, I stand a few feet away with my arms crossed. I shrug before looking at the floor. "We went in the ring. We fought. I won. He was wheeled away."

"No, no. There's more to it than that," he says while waving his finger.

I throw my arms in the air exasperatedly. "I don't know what you want me to say, man. When we got in the ring, I went too hard and he got hurt. He spent two weeks in the hospital, but he's out now."

He doesn't need to know the entire story. I don't know this guy through a damn hole in the wall and it's just not relevant to this.

"And you haven't been back since."

I shake my head. "Nope."

"It's like I said before. You have great potential, but you need rules. That underground fighting at Bloodroot?" He shakes his head with a scoff. "There's no structure in that. Just a bunch of men and women tearing at each other because they can."

He stands from the bench and walks his way over to me. Standing directly in my bubble.

"Let me teach you," he says with a shrug. "Try this for a few weeks, and if it's not for you then at least you tried."

I roll my eyes. I bet Cassie made him say that. "Okay."

"Great!" he says before turning back toward the bags. "But first things first, no more Bloodroot. If you fight outside of here, you're out."

"Okay."

Jesus, what has she gotten me into?