In Debt

Zephyra's POV

I watched as the black car disappeared down the road, a slow exhale slipping past my lips. My hands found the pockets of my hoodie, fingers curling into the fabric like that would somehow ground me, but my mind was still running in circles.

Astraea.

The name stuck in my head, and I couldn't shake it off. She wasn't like anyone I'd ever met. Something about her was just... different, and I couldn't figure out why.

Maybe it was the way she carried herself—like nothing and no one could touch her. Or maybe it was the fact that she had taken down Vira—Vira—with a single punch.

The moment kept replaying in my mind. The sharp crack of impact. The way that oversized brute of a fighter crumpled like her body had just given up. One second, she was standing tall, full of that usual arrogance, and the next? Nothing but dead weight hitting the pavement.

I won't lie—it was satisfying.

I was still pissed that I'd lost to Vira earlier, but at least someone had finally knocked her down from that pedestal she'd been strutting around on for weeks.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I turned away, heading back toward the now-empty lot where the fight had gone down. The crowd had already dispersed, leaving behind the usual post-brawl mess—discarded wrappers, cigarette butts, and crushed beer cans. Same scene, different night.

I walked toward the corner where I'd stashed my bag, crouching down to grab it when I heard footsteps approaching behind me. I didn't even need to turn around.

Just great.

With a frustrated sigh, I slung my bag over my shoulder and slowly stood up. "Let me guess," I muttered, already knowing where this was going. "You guys waited for the crowd to clear so you could come shake me down?"

I turned to face them, already bracing myself.

Two men. One short, wiry, and as smug as ever. The other, broad-shouldered and built like a damn wall.

Marlo and Callum.

Marlo was the talker, the one who ran these fights—both street and underground. He decided who fought who, and more importantly, who got paid. He was also sleazy as hell, always looking for a way to squeeze more cash out of the desperate fighters dumb enough to be part of his operation.

And Callum? He was worse. He didn't say much, but he didn't need to. He handled the fighters, the bets, and most importantly, the debts. If Marlo was the mouthpiece, Callum was the enforcer, the one who made sure no one forgot what they owed.

Marlo grinned, arms crossed, as he looked me over like I was nothing more than easy prey.

"You lost again tonight, Zephyra," he said, his voice thick with fake sympathy. "And you know what that means, don't you?"

I rolled my eyes, already exhausted by this conversation. "Gee, let me think," I deadpanned. "Could it mean that I still owe you money?"

Marlo snapped his fingers like I'd just won a game show. "Bingo! And since you walked away with nothing, there's no deduction from your debt. Funny how that works, huh?"

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag, my jaw clenching. "Yeah. Hilarious."

Callum finally spoke, his deep voice steady, almost calm. "You've been at this for months, Storm," he said, stepping forward slightly. "And you're still nowhere close to clearing what you owe."

A bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it. "Gee, I wonder why that is," I shot back, throwing my hands up. "Could it be because you keep throwing me into fights with people twice my size? Sometimes three times? Like, oh, I don't know… Vira?"

Marlo didn't even blink. His smirk just deepened, like my frustration was entertaining to him.

"You know how this works, Zephyra," he said, voice lazy, like he was already bored of this conversation. "You don't get to choose your fights."

"No," I snapped, "but you sure as hell get to rig them."

Marlo pressed a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. "Rigged? Now that's just cruel. I thought you liked a challenge."

I sucked in a slow breath, forcing myself to stay calm even though every single muscle in my body was screaming to do something. To throw a punch, to shove him back, to wipe that smug grin off his face.

But I knew better.

Instead, I kept my voice steady. Low. "You're screwing me over," I said, barely restraining my anger. "You set me up to lose so I never clear my debt. That way, I stay stuck here. Under your thumb."

Marlo's smirk widened, and the glint in his eyes told me exactly what I already knew—he enjoyed this. He liked watching me squirm, knowing I had no way out.

He clapped his hands together like I'd just told the best joke of the night. "Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!"

My fists curled so tight my nails bit into my palms, sharp enough to leave little crescents in my skin.

Callum exhaled, stepping between us before I did something reckless—something I couldn't take back. "Look," he said, voice steady, almost reasonable. "You want out of this? Then win. You win; you make money. You lose; you get nothing. That's the deal."

I shook my head, frustration simmering beneath my skin. "I can't win when you keep throwing me against people like Vira."

Marlo shrugged, completely unfazed. "Not my problem, sweetheart."

That was it. That was the part that made my blood boil.

I was so damn tired. Tired of fighting, tired of losing, tired of being stuck in this endless cycle of debt and control, with no real way out.

Callum had already started walking away, and Marlo gave me one last smirk before turning to leave, but just before he did, he glanced over his shoulder, tossing one final jab my way.

"Your next fight's in three days," he said, like he was doing me a favor. "I'd advise you to work harder, Zephyra. Maybe put an end to this sad little losing streak of yours."

I clenched my jaw, refusing to react. I already knew what was coming next.

"No one's betting on you anymore, you know." His smirk widened. "People are tired of losing their money, and they're definitely not moved by your pretty face anymore."

That one stung. More than it should have.

I folded my arms, grip tightening around my skin. "Again, if you want me to win so badly, maybe quit setting me up with veteran fighters three times my size."

Marlo just rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Just accept that you suck instead of blaming it on size."

I sucked in a sharp breath, forcing myself to stay calm, even though every nerve in my body was screaming at me to hit him.

Then he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

"Look, Zephyra," he said, amused. "If fighting isn't your thing anymore, there's another easy way out."

I knew I wasn't going to like what came next.

"Take my advice and become a hooker."

The words hit me like a slap, and I sucked in a breath, but Marlo wasn't done. His smirk deepened, his eyes trailing over me in a way that made my skin crawl.

"With your face and that body of yours?" He let out a low chuckle. "You'd have that debt paid off in a week or two. Maybe even less if you quit being stubborn and finally embraced your true calling."

That was it.

I saw red.

My body moved before my mind could catch up. I lunged, shoving him hard enough that he actually had to step back to keep his balance.

"You piece of—"

Marlo laughed, putting his hands up like I was some angry kitten throwing a tantrum. "Easy there, sweetheart." His grin was infuriating. "I'm just giving you options."

I was shaking. From anger, from frustration, and from the sheer helplessness of it all. I wanted to hit him. Wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face, but I knew better.

I'd done it once before, and I still had the bruises to remind me why that was a bad idea.

So instead, I turned on my heel and stormed off, fists clenched, nails digging into my palms.

I could still hear him chuckling behind me.

Three days. Three days until my next fight.

Three days to prove to everyone—including myself—that I wasn't a joke.