Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 23

They call it The Pit. Fitting, really.

No pretense, no rules worth shit, and no way out once you’re in. The crowd coils around it like snakes...spitting, howling, bloodthirsty bastards packed shoulder to shoulder in a ring of sweat and smoke. It reeks of whiskey and testosterone. Sounds like hell.... feels like home.

Usually, I’m on edge before a fight...antsy, wild, mouth dry and fists itching for the first crack of cartilage. But not tonight. Tonight I’m… grounded. Settled in a way that makes my skin crawl.

And I hate it.

I stretch my neck side to side, muscles popping as I roll my shoulders. The flask’s emptied already, warmth sitting low in my belly like a lazy flame. I should be revving. I should be salivating for broken bones. But I’m not.

All because of him.

Xander Devereaux....

Took one night in Avellino to brand himself into my damn skull. Now he’s in here with me, not even physically, just… in the walls, in my breath. In the way the lights flicker too slow, in how my fists don’t curl tight enough.

I shouldn’t be thinking about him right now. Shouldn’t be picturing that smart mouth. Shouldn’t, but fuck, I do.

I blink and try to shake him loose.

Sam’s to my right, perched on a rusted high stool like some washed-up king of this broken kingdom. Leather vest, white tank stained yellow from old sweat and cheap cigars, silver hair tied back tight. One boot propped up on the railing, jaw clenched around a toothpick like he’s too tired to care but too sharp to miss a damn thing.

He gives me a nod like I’m a dog he’s fed too well.

But he knows. I’m the reason this place isn’t bankrupt. The Pit lives because of me, because when I make others bleed, people pay. The crowd roars suddenly, shouts turning frenzied, animalistic.

Kane's finally decided to show up.

Lughead. Built like a fridge. Thinks he’s clever cause he talks in riddles and walks slow. The type of guy who treats his own name like a brand.

He walks in slow like it’s theater and lifts his arms, soaking up the chaos like a leech.

“Bout time,” I mutter, eyeing him closely. I've never been up against him before, but it's what the people wanted. And Sam pounced on the chance to fatten his pockets. He announces flatly into the mic, “ Welcome back to hell, degenerates! Two men enter, but only one will win. Who will it be? On the left we have the challenger with something to prove, Silas Kane! And facing him is the legend...the undefeated devil you paid to see, Jax O'Connor! "

The cheers drown out the rest. My name echoes off the rusted walls, a guttural chant. It usually gets me off. Tonight, it sounds like a dare. My pulse kicks. I crack my neck again.

“You ready to die slow tonight, boy?” Silas calls out across the ring, his voice thick with drawl.

I eye him up and down. “You can't be both ugly and delusional. Pick one.”

The bell rings.

And I’m already moving. Silas gets the first hit in. Clean. Right across my jaw.

Didn’t see it coming, not because he’s fast, but because my head’s not where it should be. I taste blood, sharp and coppery, and spit red onto the concrete floor. The crowd roars like they’ve been waiting to see me bleed.

Second hit lands in my ribs. I grunt, stumble half a step. I don’t even block the third. Let it crash into my cheekbone like I need to feel it to wake the hell up. Maybe I do. Maybe I deserve worse. Silas smirks, eyes glinting like he thinks he’s got me figured out. “Didn’t think the king bled this easy,” he says, breath hot and cocky.

I drop to one knee, wheezing. My side’s gonna be black and blue by morning. Sam’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp and pissed. “Get your damn head in the game, Jax!”

I close my eyes for half a second. Just long enough to let the fire crawl up my spine. Just long enough to remember it.

And that’s all I need.

Sam yells again, “Jax! Fucking concentrate!”

Silas laughs across from me, shaking out his arms like he’s already won. “ This might be the quickest win under my name,” he taunts, voice high and cackling, like he’s enjoying himself way too much.

I rise slow. My ribs protest, but I like the pain. It’s grounding. It makes things quiet inside for once. I roll my neck until it pops again, stare him dead in the eyes.

"Go ahead, feel proud," I sneer. "It’ll make your fall taste sweeter when I’m done tearing you apart."

Something inside me unlocks.

I let myself think about it again, just for a second. The thing I never let rise. It’s a cold place, but I let it out.

And then I’m moving.

My fist connects with Silas’s jaw, bone meets bone in a kiss of rage. He stumbles, but I don’t give him space. I don’t breathe. I don’t think.

Left hook. Knee to the gut. Elbow to the temple.

He swings wild, catches my shoulder, but I barely feel it. Blood’s in my mouth now and it coats my teeth like rust.

The crowd is louder. Sam is yelling something again, but it’s drowned out.

Silas stumbles back, dazed. He looks surprised. Like he thought I was done.

“You still in there, Kane?” I taunt, he charges but I sidestep and catch him mid-motion, wrapping his arm, twisting. There’s a sickening pop.

He howls, drops to the floor. I drop with him....raining fists, unforgiving. My knuckles split open. There’s blood everywhere. I hear someone shouting, maybe Sam.

Doesn’t matter.

The world narrows to a heartbeat and the sound of bone giving way under my fists.

They drag me off him eventually. Two guys, strong ones, their arms locked under mine. I let them, I don’t fight it. Silas is a heap on the floor. Groaning. Bleeding. Still breathing but barely. I tilt my head as I catch my breath, chest heaving.

He got off easy.

Sam's in my face a second later, beaming with joy. “ Never doubted you for a second! "

“Sure,” I mutter, wiping blood from my face with the back of my hand. “ I'm sure that's not the excitement of counting tonight’s winnings talking. "

I walk away from the ring, every step pulsing with ache. But that calmness is gone....and now that I let myself drown in darkness to win, I desperately need it back.