Sweet Hatred-Chapter 311: Fight

KAEL

The driver slowed in front of the boxing gym, a squat brick building tucked between two cafés, loud with the thud of fists hitting bags even from outside. Niko turned in his seat.

"You’ve had a few calls from Sarah."

"Ignore them." My voice was flat. Final. He nodded, didn’t push, and slipped out when I gestured for him to leave me.

It was my second day in Spain and I hadn’t slept for more than an hour at a time. No work. No calls. No father breathing down my neck. That was the plan for the next fifteen days here in Spain or so. I had shut it all out. All that was left was the noise in my head and the ache in my chest. The only thing that seemed to drown it out...barely...was working my body until it broke. So I came here, to this gym owned by an old underling of mine.

"Colonel Roman," a gravelly voice greeted as I stepped inside. I looked up to see Mateo Vargas...once my sharpest soldier, until a bomb tore off his left leg in the same camp that swallowed Ivan. He leaned on his prosthetic with ease now, scars puckering the side of his face.

"You look worse than me," he added dryly.

"Maybe I am."

He smirked but didn’t press. Instead, he jerked his chin toward the ring. "Got someone for you. Kid’s name’s Alejandro Cruz. Local champion, some international titles. I told him who you are...what you’ve done...and he still wants a piece of you. Overconfident bastard."

Good. Perfect. Exactly what I needed.

I peeled off my coat, didn’t even bother with a warm up and handed it to one of Mateo’s boys, and climbed into the ring. Alejandro was already there...tall, broad, brimming with cocky energy. He grinned at me like I was just another old man trying to relive his youth.

The procedures were automatic, gloves strapped tight, mouthguard pushed in, headgear checked and adjusted. Mateo in the center, reminding us of the rules neither of us cared about.

"Touch gloves," Mateo ordered.

Alejandro smacked his fists against mine, his smirk lingering. "Don’t go easy, viejo."

I should have been focused on him. On the fight. But the unease crawled up my spine, sharp and sudden, like a warning I couldn’t shake. Not about this kid. About... her. Aria’s face flashed through me again, that hollow look in her eyes when I told her it was over. The echo of her voice asking if I’d replaced her.

I clenched my jaw, tried to shut it down. This was supposed to be my distraction. My punishment.

Mateo raised his hand between us.

"Fight."

The bell rang. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

Alejandro came at me fast...young legs, fast arms, cocky grin splitting his face. I caught the first jab, blocked the second, but the third slipped through, snapping my head to the side. The crowd of men around the ring whooped and hollered.

I stayed on defense, arms tight, letting him throw his weight into me. Every swing he landed rattled me, but it wasn’t his fists that had me off balance...it was her. Aria. Her eyes, wide and wet when I told her she was nothing but convenient. The sound of her voice when she asked if I’d replaced her. The silence that followed.

My chest constricted. For a second I wasn’t in the ring...I was back in that office, watching her fold in on herself. And it left me open. Alejandro’s glove cracked against my ribs, hard enough to knock the air out of me.

"You need a break, viejo?" he sneered, circling, shoulders loose with confidence. "Or you want me to finish this quick?"

I spat blood into my mouthguard and grinned. "No need."

And then I tore into him.

The moment I shoved Aria’s face out of my head, the fight came back to me. Alejandro stepped in for a hook, and I slipped inside it, driving my fist up into his ribs. The satisfying crack sent him stumbling. I followed with a brutal cross to his jaw, snapping his head back.

The gym roared.

Alejandro’s grin faltered, but he came swinging, wild now. I ducked one, ate another, let the sting fuel me. Every punch I threw wasn’t for him...it was for the ghosts clawing inside me. For Ivan. For Sarah. For Aria’s voice echoing was I nothing but a distraction?

I slammed a glove into his gut. He folded forward. Uppercut to his chin. His head snapped back with a spray of spit. He staggered into the ropes, tried to shake it off, but I didn’t give him space.

One-two to the ribs. Another to the temple. My fists were a rhythm of grief, every strike a desperate attempt to bleed the poison out of me.

Alejandro tried to clinch, but I shoved him off, pounded into him again. His guard dropped. That was all I needed.

A brutal right hook connected with his jaw, the crack audible even over the shouting. He went down hard, writhing on the canvas, groaning as he curled in on himself.

The whistle blew. Mateo stepped in, waving me back. "Fight’s over!"

But I was already stepping away, chest heaving, gloves dripping sweat. The crowd clapped, cheered, but it was just noise. White noise.

I looked down at Alejandro, wriggling in pain, and felt nothing. No satisfaction. No pride. Not even relief.

Just her. Always her. Aria’s face burned in my mind, the way she looked when I walked away. And underneath it all, that gnawing unease in my gut only grew sharper.

Like something had already gone wrong.

Like she was in danger.

I didn’t even bother showering after the match. I just pulled the wraps tighter around my fists and went back to work. An hour on the speed bag until my shoulders screamed, then rope climbing...hand over hand, dragging my weight up and down the coarse line until my palms split. Sweat poured into my eyes, but I welcomed the sting. Anything to keep my thoughts off Aria.

Because if I called for a report on her movements and Sylas’s name showed up... I’d lose it. I’d rather claw my lungs out than picture her near him again. So I forced my body into submission, muscle against rope, until every nerve burned.