The F King: A Bad Boy Romance(109)

“A-Austin… please-”

“Only what’s on the script, bitch,” came Enrico’s voice.

With my jaw clamped shut so tight that I thought my teeth were going to shatter, I turned to face the TV and saw Skylar front and center, sitting in a chair just like the one I was in, with her hands also behind her back. In front of her was one of those stands that people put sheet music on, with some paper on it.

To the right of the screen, I could see part of some guy with a shotgun pointed right at Skylar’s head. Worst of all, I could see the terror on her face, the tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to focus on the writing in front of her.

If they hurt her…

“Austin, th-the Bertolini’s have me. Th-they have a new deal for y-you t-to c-c-”

The shotgun wavered a bit. “Speak up, you worthless cunt!”

Skylar cringed away from the deadly weapon only a foot from her head. “They h-have a new deal for you to c-consider. If you say no they’ll… they’ll kill me. If you t-talk to the police… they’ll kill me. If you can’t do what they say, they’ll k-kill m-me… Austin! Help m-”

“Shut the-”

Gavino paused playback as somebody else entered the frame from the left, knife in hand. Skylar’s eyes were wide with fright, frozen there to haunt me as Gavino sat back in his heavily-burdened chair.

“Austin, I didn’t know…” said Ken.

“What the fuck?” said Gavino. “Get your ass the fuck outta here. Fuckin’ apologizin’.”

Ken looked from Gavino, to me, and then left the room with his head hung low. A disgusted expression flickered across the face of the mafia boss for a moment, aimed in the general direction of the door.

“If you fucking hurt-”

“Shut the fuck up and listen to your orders. I hear you don’t wanna throw the fight tomorrow, so I got good news for you. Now you don’t have to throw the fight, I want you to win.”

My mind was whirling at a million miles a minute, trying to cope with the extremes of anger, desperation and fear that surpassed even my first ten years of life. What the fuck was he saying? After all this shit, they were going to let me fight the way I fucking wanted to?

“That’s right,” Gavino continued. “But here’s the thing, I wanna make it interesting. I want you to win in the first minute of the first round. If you don’t do that, then Renato is going to cut that bitch’s face off, and then blow her brains out all over the wall for your disrespect. Sound like fun? We’ll record the whole thing and make sure to get a bigger screen for you to watch it. Movie night, motherfucker.”

“How do I even know if she’s still alive now?” I asked, feeling my hate for this fat fuck rising up in my throat like poisonous black bile and dribbling out the corners of my mouth.

“You don’t. I could tell you she’s alive and well, here in this very house, but I ain’t fuckin’ wasting my time provin’ it to ya.” Gavino leaned forward again, looking me dead in the eye. “First minute. First round. You understand? Now let’s finish the presentation before you get back to the gym.”

Gavino pointed the remote at the screen and the video sprang back to life.

“-fuck up and stay still, bitch!”

The guy with the knife swatted the music stand out of the way and grabbed Skylar’s hair at the front of her head as he straddled her, bringing the knife down as she struggled. I couldn’t see what was happening, but when her screams went up sharply with pain I was driven out of my mind and started screaming too.

Every muscle strained until I thought they were going to tear. The handcuffs dug into my wrists until I felt trickles of blood, and on screen, I saw Skylar’s face appear under the guy’s arm for a few frames. It, too, was smeared with blood.

A white hot supernova blinded me as I threw every single fucking thing I had into my struggle. With a metallic twang, I heard and felt the bolts on the front-right leg of the chair give way. Rocking back and forth frantically, I felt the others getting loose.

I was going to tear these motherfuckers apart and eat them, I was going to fucking…

Suddenly, everything went black.





Austin





When I regained my senses, I was being helped into Ross’ gym by some of the guys that trained there. Somehow I managed to deflect their questions and convince them that the gym was closed for the day without a fight breaking out or anybody calling the cops.

Once they were gone, I stumbled to the freezer to get a couple gel packs. Then I got myself to the grappling mats, which were about the softest flat surfaces in the building big enough for me to lie down on. The lumps on my head told me that I’d been pistol-whipped at least twice, and the biggest one was probably from the butt of one of those assault rifles.