I ducked closer to the side of the ring as the wash of excitement from the spectators built into a crescendo. People pressed closer; the atmosphere thickened with visible tension.

I blinked and missed what started the scuffle, but one moment the men were talking, the next they exploded into a squirmish that subsided almost as instantly as it began. A few more terse sentences and the man dressed in black pointed at the cage beside them.

The referee in the cage, who’d been watching the interaction, blew his whistle, stopping a fight mid-way. The fighters looked to the side, saw the man in black and nodded, leaving the cage as meekly as school children facing a strict headmaster.

My heart pitter-pattered as the man in black spun around and caught me staring from my place by the rigging.

His gaze glued me into place; I couldn’t move—not even to breathe.

He frowned; colourless eyes darkened with annoyance. His teeth clenched as he reverberated with energy. His square jaw looked powerful while his slightly crooked nose spoke of previous violence. His cheekbones were almost too stark for his muscular body. And I didn’t need to see beneath his clothing to know he didn’t have an inch of fat on him. He wasn’t just a man—he was a walking weapon.

He was just…more. More in every way. More man. More danger. More threat than I’d encountered in any male, but it was the scar that made him unique. Jagged, irregular, it transformed half his face from perfection to sordid story. Half of him seemed approachable while the other steeped in hell.

The doors.

The depiction of heaven and hell on the doors was perfect for the man before me.

I didn’t know him—I knew nothing more than he suffered some terrible past that made him into whoever he was, but my heart beat faster. I wanted to know, wanted to learn.

That was before he dismissed me with one look and snapped his fingers at the large man behind him. Whatever brief connection existed between us was snuffed out, leaving me with a chill.

Together they made their way to the cage and climbed the small stage to enter. Once secure inside, the man turned and locked the door.

The crowd went utterly ballistic.

The large guy ran hands over his face, speaking to the man in black. Another tense standoff happened, but finally the scarred man shook his head, snapping his fingers at the referee.

Nodding, the ref pulled a wireless mic from his back pocket and faced an audience that had turned from sedate to mob worthy.

“Ladies and gentlemen, do we have a treat for you!”

The volume on the crowd’s enjoyment dipped, holding their excitement in eager bodies. Impatience filled the large space as they tried to quieten.

My heart raced harder; blood pumped thicker.

I wanted to run. I couldn’t move.

The man in black morphed before my eyes. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, rolling his neck, he gathered every bit of energy from the room until he positively glowed with violence.

“It’s a special event—unplanned and never to be seen again. Between two ruthless contenders, please put your hands together and give a rip-roaring welcome to Mount Everest!” The referee pranced around the large shirtless man, reeling off facts. “Weighing in at two hundred kilos, Everest is well-known for his stable of elite boxers and an all-time winning streak of seventeen to none. Semi-retired, he makes his living off training other impressive fighters but is still a fearful mountain of muscle. This is the first time he’s been in the cage in over six months. Let’s make him feel welcome…Mount… Everest!”

The crowd clapped and whistled while a flurry of cash was transferred from one palm to another while bets were placed. I stayed stiff, trying to become invisible by the rigging.

Everest held up his hands, grinning with gleaming gold teeth. His bravado couldn’t hide the sheen of sweat or pallor of fear.

The crowd screamed harder.

I grimaced. He seemed juvenile even though he was older than his opponent.

The man dressed in black shook his head, saying something that caused Everest to growl in anger.

The referee put the mic back to his lips and the applause faded away. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce the fighter who will be going head-to-head with this well-known opponent.”

Screams rose from the crowd. I cocked my head, straining to hear. I wanted to know his name. I wanted to know why he enticed and made me fear all at once.

The ref carried on, “I’m sure this man doesn’t need an introduction.”

The crowd went positively bonkers. Feet slammed against floors and women squealed.

“Fox.”

“Fox.”

“Fox.”

The man in black held up his arms, letting the audience rain him in misplaced affection. He didn’t smile. He didn’t encourage; he wasn’t there to be adored, unlike the other man. He was there to fight—pure and simple.

Spectators cheered, adoring a man who looked like the devil himself—a man about to indulge in illegal blood sport.

The referee laughed, shouting over the manic crowd. “That’s it everyone. Our very own! The owner of Obsidian! Please put your hands together for…Obsidian…Fox!”

My hands twitched to clamp over my ears. I never thought such a sedate crowd, all sequestered in the dark, could conjure such mayhem.

The moment the ref finished introductions, Fox launched himself at Everest. No hesitation. No pause.

The fight began with vengeance.

Fox pummelled a fist to his opponent’s temple. Everest reeled away, thumping with large hands, trying to strike Fox’s head. But he dodged every one, raining punches on Everest’s jaw and chest.

The pure precision and cold calculation made me hate the spiral my life had become. I valued strict rules and prided myself on planning—I recognised the same discipline in the man in black.

My body grew hot with anger, absorbing the fight—letting it energize me. I didn’t know what came over me, but the man who owned this place, the man now putting his life in jeopardy just for some masculine power play, had everything I never would. I hated him for being reckless. For causing bodily harm when he had wealth to help find a cure for disease. He could be a saviour; instead he flaunted and abused. Instead he hurt others. For what? A show of ownership or pride?

I hated him.

I hated that he invoked such strange feelings inside me.

I hated that he had so much while my daughter would never live to see her teens.

I hated him for no reason at all. He was purely the vessel to funnel my hatred into. It didn’t make sense—it wasn’t rational, but my fists curled as I finally acknowledged the deep sense of helplessness I suffered. For three weeks, I’d hidden from it, pretended I could cope, but it took an illegal fight to show me just how twisted my emotions were—just how broken Clara’s diagnosis had made me.

If I had less sense, I would’ve charged into the ring and hit him myself. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to bite and lunge and inflict as much pain as I felt.

I wanted to go to war and battle and come out a victor, so I could save Clara.

Everest snapped and charged. Tackling Fox, they wrestled, yelling obscenities into each other’s ear.

Fox swung and connected with Everest’s abdomen.

Everest stopped, gritting his teeth before swinging and aiming with a sucker punch.

Ducking, Fox wheeled around and thumped a fist into his liver. My eyes never left Fox’s face. He winced in pain as his fist made contact, but then smiled, growing bolder, angrier as the fight went on.

He was completely in his element and fear threaded through me for Everest. He may be larger, but Fox had something he didn’t.

No remorse.

No respect for life.

The crowd booed as Everest landed a fist to Fox’s head.

Instead of dancing away and preparing another strike, Fox laughed. His voice rang around the club, weaving with base notes from the music, sounding almost psychotic.