Bullet In Blue

Damon Cooper

"Are you kidding me, dude? She was here the other day and bloody loved me. Did you see how she was flirting with me? And her name is Ember for Goddess sake. She's smoking." I roll my eyes, chuckling at Nick's excitement. He's been after the same girl for ages. Every time Don brings in his girls I never hear the end of it from Nick.

"Nick, she's one of the showgirls, her job is to flirt with you. It doesn't mean she likes you. Besides, Ember is probably just a fake name. Y'know, like we have?" He shoots me his best 'shut up and let me dream' kind of look and I laugh at it, going back to wrapping my hands with the blue boxing bandages.

Nick sighs, plopping his fat ass down on the bench opposite me as he asks, "How much are you playing for tonight?"

I shrug, my mood dropping, "Like $2,600 or something altogether. You?"

"$900. I've got three fights. You suck, you know that?"

Tying off my bandages, I flex my fingers a few times, making sure I have full range of motion. I've been doing this for seven years now, four more than Nick. I've worked my way up, I've trained and bled and cried to be where I am now. He had the luxury of letting his father work and pay the bills. I took over my father's role at twelve. I had to do something to earn money. A minimum wage casual job wasn't going to cut it.

"It's not my fault everyone wants a piece of me, Nick." I think I have around five grand on my name now. Anyone beats me in a fight, that's what they win. I've got the highest number in the country, at the least. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little famous in the underground world.

"Actually, it kind of is your fault, numbnuts," Nick sighs, leaning forward to push my shoulder. A smile worms onto my face. Nick is a handful. Even when he's taking his medication, he can switch from being a child to a nasty bitch, to a mentor, within a few minutes. He hates the meds but if he wants to be my Second-In-Command, they're a requirement. I can't have him going into a manic depression or a hyperactive state when I need him.

My manager, Richard, pokes his head in the door, "Bullet, you're up."

Nodding, I get to my feet, telling Nick I'll see him later tonight and getting a good-luck in return. Not that I need it. I fiddle with my bandages, making sure they're positioned properly, as I make my way out to the main room and the pit within it. Most of the new fighters think that calling it a pit is a metaphor, and then they get a rude shock when they turn up and see that it really is a huge hole in the floor. A huge hole with sand at the bottom. As I make my way through the crowds, I tighten my bandana and make certain that it won't budge from covering the bottom half of my face and ears during the fight. Only Richard and Nick know my true identity and have seen my whole face. It's not exactly safe, being the best fighter in the country, to waltz around anywhere without at least trying to conceal my identity.

Sitting on the edge of the pit, I take the ribbon from my wrist and use it to tire up my hair. It's long enough to tie up now thank god but still short enough that two or three strands won't stay in. As I await my opponent I take a look around at tonight's turnout. There are always twice as many people when Don brings his girls. It's not hard to guess why. The girl's jobs are just to hand out drinks and flirt, they're pretty much cheerleaders until their assigned fighter decides to take them home. That part disgusts me, and what makes it even worse is that the girls aren't even allowed to keep the money they're paid or given. Three-quarters of their pay goes straight to Don. I didn't take much notice of the girls the other night they were here but they aren't usually here twice a week, something must be going on. All of the colors are here, all full-figured, gorgeous girls. Don only employs the best. It's because of that assumption that I almost miss my assigned girl. Every time I see her it's surprising. She does her very best to avoid me. I'd never take her home, I'm not even interested in speaking to her, but it's weird that she avoids me at all costs. Smart, but weird. She's almost the exact opposite of the other girls. She's shorter and petite, with close to zero shape. She looks so thin, fragile even. Her curly black hair waves, brushing against her elbows as she weaves in and out of people, nimble as a cat. It reminds me of Amaya.

I missed Amaya, in that week she was gone. I almost went crazy not knowing where she was or if she was okay. It's a foreign feeling to me. I didn't think of her this way until I hit puberty, and then not long later she pushed me away. We had a lot of late nights together, watching movies or documentaries, cuddling, or going quite a bit further. I, even now, miss that. But she worries me too. She hit puberty and got smacked in the face with sexiness. She was gorgeous and full-figured and confident. Now, it's almost like I'm looking at her ghost. She used to tell me everything, now she won't even speak to me without me prompting her.

Even considering how much he's changed, I miss my best friend too. Jake and I were somehow closer than Amaya and I were. Something changed in the two of them. He finally found some confidence, she lost hers, and they both ditched me without a word.

I curse colorfully as my knees buckle, my feet hitting the bottom of the pit. Looking back up, random people are smiling and pointing at me. Sighing and rolling my eyes, I turn to face my opponent as he drops into the pit. A similar guy to me. Same build and similar height. The bell rings once, my ears tingling when it does, signaling the start of the fight. I can tell how new to fighting the guy is just by the way he comes at me straight away. I block his punch and throw my own. He doesn't realize it's a feint, so my second punch hits home and has him doubling over, wheezing. It's a hell of a shot. Outside of having the wind knocked out of him, he seems to be in a lot of pain from the gutshot, which is unusual. A hit to the face or groin, yes, or even the kidney, but the gut shouldn't be any more than mild pain or discomfort. I almost stop the fight, just to make sure the guy's not about to die. But he stands up straight again, eyes burning with rage as he stares at me. He throws another punch, which I duck under. Before he can register the dodge, I throw my fist out again, this one to the ribs. This guy is too easy, I'm barely trying.

He closes in for another punch and it lands this time, my block a bit sluggish. I hear my jaw crack as he comes in contact with my cheek, and I taste blood. The noise of the room fades out as I start shaking. I shove him off me, and the shove alone sends him flying almost out of the ring within the pit. I cover the distance between us fast as lightning, throwing punch after punch, even after he's on the ground. He gets out from under me though, pushing me over to the other side of the ring. His leg flies towards me. I slide into it, blocking it with my side and taking the chance to feint another punch. This stupid motherfucker falls for it again, ducking. I respond to the parry with an uppercut.

Click.

The sound of his upper and lower rows of teeth making unplanned contact is sickening. He keeps his feet for a moment and in that short moment, I throw another punch, and another, and another. Something in my fist cracks and pain slices up my arm but I couldn't care less. I welcome the pain. That's what I'm here for after all. I'm people's emotional punching bag.

Fucking Jake. Fucking Aya. Fucking Joshua. Fucking dad. Fucking Lucky.

Everyone fucking shut me out. Shit went down for them and they couldn't handle it and they shut me out. Shit went down for me too. Some stupid motherfucker has me under his thumb on top of everything. No one anyone cares. I didn't fucking shut anyone out. I took on the role of man of the house barely a year into puberty, but did I ever complain?! I never once fucking complained. I never once shut people out, I never fucking lashed out at anyone. I kept every fucking bit of my pain to myself. I had to keep my shit together. I didn't have a fucking choice. I still don't. Fuck them. Fuck everyone. Fuck my dad. Fuck everyone. No one fucking gets it. Shit hits the fan and everyone shuts me out. I'm used and thrown away. No better than a fucking napkin, or a piece of shitty toilet paper. No one fucking cares.

Hands suddenly grasp my underarms, a voice whispering in my ear, "Five and five and five, Alpha. You're killing him. Fucking breathe, Damon."

Nick. Nick cares. Sonja cares.

My vision clears and my opponent appears beneath me. I almost freak when I see him. He's knocked out cold, blood all over his face, down his neck.

I breathe in for five seconds, as instructed.

Amaya cares. She does, I know she does. She can't not. Not after everything we've done and talked about together.

I let that breath go for five seconds.

Not after what she said to me this afternoon.

"Again," Nick whispers, gripping my underarms tighter. I breathe in for five seconds, the cold air tingling my nose.

Aya can't not care. We were secretly dating years ago. I vividly remember that Jake would fall asleep and I'd sneak over to her room. When I wasn't already there I'd sneak in through her window at night and then out again before anyone else woke the next morning.

Another five seconds having passed, I let the breath out for yet another five.

I remember the first time that we actually became intimate together. I remember her being upset, I remember my lips on her stomach and her hands on my shoulders, in my hair . . And then Jake noticed my absence and I rushed back to his room. I went back to her not long later, pleasantly surprised to find her pleasuring herself.

"Now, smile. Let's get out of here. One night won't kill you," Nick mutters, hoisting me up to my feet. I simply nod, my mind clear and calm again. When he lets me go I shout out my victory, throwing my arms in the air. Glad for my mask, too ashamed to actually look happy about what I just did. It's easier to pretend, to fake it. Shouting and applause erupt throughout the room and I reach up with a hand, letting some of the other fighters pull me out of the pit. As they let me go to then grab Nick, I can't help but notice the ripped apart, bloody bandages around my hands and wrists. The pain in my fist begins to throb as I flex my hands, grunting at the pain it brings. I don't dare look at my opponent, not wanting to properly see what I've just done, and too ashamed to apologize if he's awake.

Amaya Humphreys

My world comes to a halt when I see who some of the fighters pull out of the pit. It can't be him, it can't be. He seemed so normal, so warm and homey. I've known him my whole life. He can't be this person. I almost want to shout out into the crowd for him to look at me, or in my direction. I just need to see. I need to know.

As if hearing my thoughts, he turns to face my direction. It's enough. It's Damon. I could pick those bright green eyes out of a line-up. Damon is Bullet. The famous jaw-breaking maniac that Don threatens us with. Even Jake has mentioned him before, and Joshua. I can't believe this. I don't want to believe it. He used to be so quiet, so nice, and compassionate. He loathed violence. What happened to my Damon?

As he goes about laughing and high-fiving people I notice the color he's wearing. The blue . . . bloody bandages, the bloody blue bandana around his face, the blue ribbon in his hair, and the blue ban tattooed around his bicep. Do the fates hate me? As he looks over my way again, he looks like he's searching for something. I know I can't let him see me. He'd ask me the same question. What happened to his Kitten? So, I turn and get the hell out of there as fast as my legs will take me.

He's suddenly everywhere. He's in every aspect of my life. Where has he come from so suddenly? I don't stay to think about it. I don't even let Amber know I'm leaving, I just go.

*_*_*_*

Stopping a good few feet from the front door, I look at every window and see no lights. Before opening the door, I press my ear against it, not hearing anything either. Lily's arms tighten around my neck, scared of what may come when we walk in the door. As quietly as I can, I open it. They rarely lock it. Inside, it's almost pitch black but after my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can see most things. I keep light on my feet as I make my way up the stairs, zig-zagging to avoid all the creaky points. I successfully make it to our bedroom and shut the door before setting Lily down, my back barking in pain. I think the coast is clear until I hear a creak in the hall. Lily and I both freeze. Was it just the house settling? Another creak. Someone is awake.

"Tree, now," I instruct Lily.

Quickly and quietly she hauls the window open and clumsily climbs onto the ledge, closing the window. Once it's closed she's a ghost in the wind, however, I swing the curtains closed for good measure.

Maxwell slams open my bedroom door growling, "Where have you been?!"

I don't answer. No matter what I say he won't believe me. The outcome will remain the same. He steps forward and I step back. Forward-back, forward-back, forward-back.

"Why so quiet all the time?" No answer. "Where is the beautiful Lily?"

I spit at him, "Away from you, you coward." He's always been easier to distract and rile up than Jake has. His fist makes contact with my cheek and my teeth go through my lip, drawing blood. I'd forgotten how much being struck in the face hurts. He generally avoids hitting me where anyone will see. It causes me to fall back onto the mattress I didn't even realize was behind me. Within an instant he's on top of me, forcing me onto my back. Tears well and I can't stop them from escaping. I'm a coward.

"Please," I plead with him, to which he grips my jaw. Everything hurts, everywhere aches. I'm bleeding and bruising from places I didn't know it was possible. I want it to end. I want to go out on my own terms. No his, not Jake's, not Don's. Mine.

Maxwell smirks at me, leaning back enough to unbuckle his belt. He uses it to tie my wrists together above my head.

"Please," I beg him once more. His fist comes down on my stomach and my throat throbs as I scream, feeling a pop. He grips my hips hard and lowers his body between my legs. His tongue flicks against my pussy the second my clothes are off. His tongue licks and his mouth sucks. Even with my mind hating every minute of it, my stomach clenches. Once he has me silent and shaking beneath him, panting he rams his fingers into me. He crashes his mouth to mine, his breath as vile as he is. It rams into my mouth as he continues. But he doesn't kiss me long and I'm screaming when he bites my breast, drawing blood. Then he's pulling away entirely, taking his member into his hand and guiding it into me.

It seems like eons of crying and coughing, his laughter and moaning before he finishes inside me. He laughs, staring into my face, his eyes wide enough to make him appear insane.

"You like that? Does it feel good knowing I fucked your mom with the same cock?" My tears roll faster as I try desperately to shut out his words. Whoever came up with the saying that sticks and stones hurt more, had never been through hell.

"Your mom liked it rough. She was a fucking freak. Wanting me to tie her up like my slave. I bet you like that too, huh? You'd love my cock in your ass too, wouldn't you? And Jake with us. Oh yes, I like the sound of that." He shouts out for Jake and the boy is in the room almost as if he'd teleported. When he sees what's doing on, his boxers are shimmying down his thighs. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying so hard to block out the feeling of them both inside me. It's just a bodily function, I continuously remind myself. It's a natural bodily function to reach completion. Even multiple times.