Chapter 48

Owen was biking back home. Because of his wrist injury, he opted to navigate by simply pedalling, his hands on his thighs. The white bandages Masafumi gave were wrapped and progressively healing him. The dull pain had dissipated at this point. Owen assumed if he exerted too much pressure that that wouldn't be the case. Therefore, he had to be careful.

"Haah..." It was the afternoon, slightly sunny, with the sidewalk clear of people. He expected to keep going straight—until he heard a piercing, pained meow echoing from the alleyway ahead. The sound cut through the peaceful atmosphere like a knife causing Owen's eyes to sharpen and his fingers to tense. It was a cry of anguish and suffering, filled with desperation and fear.

Owen slowed his bike and veered towards the source of the distressing sound. As he rounded the corner into the alleyway, his heart sank at the sight before him. Two women from the local college were huddled over a small, defenseless cat. Both faces were twisted into cruel sneers. One of them held the cat by its scruff, while the other brandished a stick, poking it in the stomach and face.

The cat's meows grew louder and more frantic. Its amber eyes were wide with terror, and its brown fur bristled with fear as it struggled against its captors. The red collar on its neck was the most telling, tragic part of it all. This cat had an owner.

Without hesitation, Owen dismounted his bike and strode towards the women. His rational side hit a boiling point. "Excuse me," Owen said, getting them to turn. Their clothes were neat and they wore the local college pin, a tiger. "May I ask what you're doing?"

The two women exchanged glances and smiles. The first woman was almost as tall as him. Her long, brown hair went down her back in a single braid and she carried a purse in her free arm. The other arm held the cat. 

"Why? Want to join in and beat this shitty—"

Yeah, that was enough. He closed the distance between them and slammed a fist into the first woman's cheek. Owen coolly caught the cat in his arms and then kicked the second girl in the stomach. He didn't bother holding back and his singular strikes knocked them out cold.

"They say you can judge a person by how they treat their pet." Owen glared down at the two women. They looked quite ordinary, all things considered. He doubted anyone would believe they were capable of such cruelty. Owen looked down. The cat in his arms was clinging tightly to him. Its amber eyes stared at him, frozen. Waiting. Judging.

Owen slowly put the cat down, taking the time to read the name on its collar. "Tygra, huh?" He put the Havana cat on all fours. Tygra looked up, puzzled. Owen smiled and watched as the cat cautiously observed him. Tygra reeled back, reeled back—and bolted out of the alleyway, brushing against his bicycle tier.

'I hope Tygra finds his owner.'

Owen turned his attention back to the two unconscious women lying on the ground. Owen crossed his arms contemplating calling the police or the ambulance until he heard approaching footsteps. Looking over his shoulder, he saw two figures clad in bright orange jackets. 

"Oi. Those pieces of shits were supposed to owe us."

The Royal Lions. Ugh, at a time like this? The low lives were one thing; clumsy, unprepared, and stupid. These guys were the opposite of that. The first member had a rugged appearance, with a thick beard and piercing grey eyes that sized Owen up. The second member was slightly smaller in stature and no less intimidating. His complexion was dark and his head was shaved. Most importantly, to Owen's surprise, he had a tattoo of a lion's claw on his neck, visible beneath the collar of his jacket. 

Owen turned to fully face them, his expression unreadable as he assessed the situation. 

The Royal Lion member with the beard had been the one to voice his first thoughts. He also approached Owen, eyeing him with suspicion. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded.

This guy wasn't an issue. Aside from his bushy beard, he really wasn't that intimidating. The same courtesy could not be extended for the male with the lion's claw tattoo. Owen recognized the tattoo: it was one of the three stamps of honour given to those that achieved a great victory. The Ferrari family, before they were busted during the Crackdown of '17, were known for hosting the most vicious cage fights in the western hemisphere. Gangsters from all over the Americas came over to watch or participate. Those that won left their mark and earned prize pools in the six figures. Those that didn't recognized they were nothing but commoners in the world of crime.

The influence of the Ferraris was too vast to quantify. Boxing matches, kickboxing, underground MMA; anything and everything that pertained to violence seemed to fall within their jurisdiction. One of the biggest reasons for their downfall was because they overextended their reach. Every year, the Ferraris would host three special tournaments. Those three tournaments single-handedly earned hundreds of millions of dollars and became so renowned that even wannabe gangsters were catching wind of it. It was inevitable that their fall would be caused by their greatest accomplishment.

Because of that greatness, no one dared to imitate the Ferraris and their legendary tournaments ever again. Subsequently, anyone involved in those tournaments was propelled to greatness. Anyone who was stamped with one of the tattoos of victory were gods amongst men.

'Lion claw tattoo...' Owen squinted. 'It's not fake either. That's Ángel's handiwork for sure.' 

The lion claw tattoo signified victory in the thirty man cage match. Held once every two years, it was a cage fight that regularly led to death. An all-or-nothing brawl all based on physicality, martial arts, and most importantly, brutality.

His wrist and chest ached. If it was a one on one, maybe this would have been manageable. But the bandages on both his wrist and chest were suddenly beginning to make themselves known. There were physical injuries and then there were spiritual injuries. One could be ignored with grit and willpower; the other could not. 

"...do I know you?" the bald man asked.

"...I…am a hooker."

"..."

Owen kept his big smile. "These girls wouldn't leave me alone so…"

Silence. The bearded male stared at him. Owen swore he saw his jaw clench. "What did you just say…?"

Well, shit. He was pissed. 'I probably should have come up with a better excuse—'

"Those girls were supposed to buy me a Big Wac at WacDonalds!!!"

He was charging at Owen. The construction worker in question sighed.

'What was it that Ángel always said? They whack someone once and think they can whack 'em all.' 

Truer words had never been spoken.