Eight

Kian

"You're up next, little bear," she muttered sadly, turning her gaze away.

I locked eyes with my pal, Jaxton, who was standing over by his father, the President of the Roughnecks biker gang. His nickname was Throttle. I didn't ask why. A wide grin stretched across Jaxton's face as he bounded over to me.

"Kian!" he called out, looking happy to see me.

I slid down from the stool, clearing the short distance to greet him. "You suit your hair short like that," he remarked, pointing to my scalped head. "But I don't." He gestured to himself with an indignant scowl. "I look like a boiled egg," he complained.

Jaxton's blond hair used to hang in wavy strands, reaching down to his shoulders. His momma let him grow it long so he could tie it back in a hairband. Just how his dad wore his. Now a mixture of light versus dark was being swept up from around the stools to where it was all pushed into a shaggy pile against the wall.

"Dad says we're gonna be fighting each other in the Cage," Jaxton informed me, his expression downturned into something sorrowful. "I don't wanna fight you, Kian."

My heart hammered at the thought of Jaxton and me going one-on-one in the Cage. Like all boys our own age, we had the occasional scuffle down at the Lake. But this wasn't the same as us goofing around. This was nothing like trying to see who could drag who into the water or which one of us could lift the other over the shoulder, just for kicks.

Once inside the Cage, you had to fight one another to the finish. Sure, Jax and I were only here to train alongside some of the other kids to see who was good enough. It wasn't as if we were expected to compete like those in my dad's league. But still, I was sure that we were expected to hurt one another enough to see who came out on top. Jaxton was my best pal, and I was his. I would rather pull out all my own teeth than willingly land him a right hook. I could tell from the look on his face that the feeling was mutual.

"Maybe they'll just have us sparring." Jax shrugged, hoping for the best.

I nodded gingerly. "Yeah, maybe."

Dad stalked over towards us, pursued closely by Jaxton's dad. The crowd parted wide enough for them to get through without bumping shoulders with anyone.

"Boys, you're up next, " Dad stated, handing us both a gum shield. He jerked his head as a gesture that we should follow him.

Jax and I exchanged a look of apprehension, exhaling nervous breaths before trailing behind them.

The scent of blood and sweat intensified the closer we approached the Cage. Through the rusty herringbone metal, I could make out a hulking figure pacing back and forth like a Caged animal. His body glistened in a sheen of sweat, and with every deep exhale of breath, the muscles in his heaving chest expanded. My eyes were drawn towards the floor of the ring to where an older boy, around seventeen, lay coughing up a mixture of blood, spit, and vomit.

"Clean it up, the kids are up next," Chance bellowed out from where he was standing at the front of the crowd.

Dad placed his hand on the base of my spine as he guided me forward. My legs weakened, quaking as if they were turning to jelly. There was the sound of metal dragging across metal, clanking iron as the gate was unlocked. Two of the women hurried inside to clean up the mess while another teenage fighter hauled the loser upright and helped him to walk out of the Cage and into the washroom. I found myself at the front of a pitiful queue of trembling boys, all looking as if we were lambs lining up for the slaughterhouse.

"Don't look so terrified, boys," Jax's dad chuckled.

Dad's eyes flashed down to mine. "You gotta listen to what Ricochet says. He'll be the one training you boys. You do as he says, you hear?" His deep rumbling voice meant business.

Jax and I seemed to have lost the ability of speech, opting to give a nod in acknowledgment. My tongue stuck to the roof of my dry mouth, shrinking backward as the colossal guy swaggered back the way he came.

"Step on up, boys," he beckoned the both of us forward.

Jaxton flashed his pappa a pleading look, then dropped his gaze with a defeated sigh. "You coming, Kian?" Jax mumbled, holding back so that I went first.

My stomach rolled, socking me in the gut with a fresh blast of nausea. "After you," I muttered in response, flaring my frightened eyes wide.

"Stop your dallying." Jaxton's dad forced us both forward, palming the back of our heads.

As soon as the last kid stepped through the doorway, the gate slammed shut behind us, locking us inside the Cage with the intimidating shifter. He curled his finger, motioning us to come closer.

"You're scared, " he announced, more as a statement of fact. "Good . . . use it."

I took another step closer, drowning in trepidation, half expecting him to land a punch on me the first chance he got.

A warped smirk curved across his lips as if he knew exactly what we were thinking. "Come on, I'm not gonna bite you. My job is to teach you boys the basics, starting from the correct way to position your body. What you saw earlier was an advanced class," he explained, causing my brows to raise.

"You mean the semi-conscious guy across the room?" I questioned without thinking. "He was in the advanced class?" The tone of my voice matched my surprise, which seemed to humor him.

"I'm the master, he was the pupil. He's still got a way to go before he can beat me," he explained in a manner of certainty.

I swallowed, casting Jax a fleeting look. "And what happens when he beats you?" I asked, turning my attention back on the big guy as I delivered my question.

He cocked his head to the side as he answered. "He'll be ready to compete for real. Now quit yapping and fix your gum shields. Now's your chance to show me what you've got. I want to see a strong fighting stance from all of you, or else you'll suffer one hundred push-ups on your knuckles, and that's just for starters," he warned, staring us all down.