Marrying Mr. CEO

1

WARNING: This story contains strong language, depictions of violence, substance abuse, childhood trauma, and suicide, and may not be suitable for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

DAMIEN

Hit.

"This wasn't worth it."

Left hook.

"You're just not worth it, Damien."

Right hook.

"We're not worth it."

I went crazy.

The crowd went crazy. Adrenaline pumped through my veins.

My punches refused to cease. I could feel my opponent's bones breaking; his bloody face made my barely bruised face seem like I was some monster.

The fight coordinator blew the whistle, but I was gone—Damien was gone—Crusher, on the other hand, wasn't quite finished with his now faceless opponent.

I felt strong arms pull me off the body of the guy who seemed to have passed out. I could barely hear myself breathe. The cheers from the crowd were almost deafening.

Baron rushed into the ring, pulling me off the arms of Hell-Gate's men, the man lying unconscious on the ground.

"Y'all wanna die?" he sneered at them, his glare hard as he took one of my arms, raising it in the air.

Ballistic, the crowd went as they roared my name.

I didn't care about any of that. In fact, Lately, I didn't care much about anything.

The fights barely sated my need to let off this steam that never seemed to fade out.

Ignoring the glare Hell-Gate's Coach passed towards me, I shrugged off Barons' hold, getting out of the ring.

I made my way through the back door, down the direction to the locker room, taking off my mask.

Let's set things straight, while my brothers were out there doing God knows what, I was dealing with life a little strangely; at least it would be strange to people around me. The kind of people who surrounded me 98% of the time: rich people, the high class—the 'normal' people.

It started a really long time—the urge—the feeling of dissatisfaction and never ending anger. At first, I thought it was normal, you know, a simple medical problem, where you could pop a pill or two and go about your day, but the pills only made me slow, I never liked going slow.

My mother was the only one I talked to about it, she seemed to understand, ever since the day I had an argument with her and left home for a good four days.

I didn't want to yell, didn't want to show her that I was mad, so my mind thought it would be better to just stay away. That was when I met Baron. He had told me that he left home a lot as a kid, and then he kept me in his gym, saying it wasn't safe to be on the streets.

I liked him.

He made a mean spaghetti.

He could hold himself well in a ring, and it was crazy. During those four days, I watched him train with boys, preparing them for what seemed like an important fight.

Baron had told me to stay in the gym the night they all went out, but I was curious, I wanted to know what fight they had all been talking about. So I snuck up behind them, got in the trunk of the truck and followed them into the underground parking lot of what seemed like a high-profile secret club.