𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

27 || A Fair Fight

Beach Weather - Sex, Drug, Etc

Italics dialogue mean they're speaking in Russian bc I'm too lazy to translate

𝔚𝔚𝔚
Adrik

"Sleduyushchiy."
(Russian| Next)

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

It gets so quiet, the dials on the grandfather clock across the room echo throughout. It's nothing but a faint hum in a room bristling with stillness.

There's beauty in silence, desirability in its tranquility.

It's arguably the only source of beauty that I'd been gifted in this life, aside from the discovery of books, that is.

I sought it out whenever I could. Yet there were moments in my day to day life that required anything but.

Chaos, violence, and order.

It was a given in my position. I hadn't gotten here by soaking in silence and immersing myself in the knowledge offered through publication.

I fought to get to the top. Metaphorically and literally.

The man on the floor can't seem to hold it in any longer when he chokes up a pint of blood onto the mat, right next to his opponents feet.

It takes fifty five seconds for him to get up and limp towards the other losers while the ones still healthy enough to stand begin to replace the mats and prepare for the next fight. 

Despite the bruises lining his cheeks, Dima stands undefeated amongst all of the others.

Two opponents remain and I glance towards them, expectantly.

A blonde woman steps forward and dips her head. "Forgive me, Adriko. I cannot fight with a broken nose."

This time the silence that follows her statement isn't one I find comfort in. It's one q filled with scrutiny.

I don't care if she had two broken limbs, she was still expected to fight and train like all the others. I hadn't built an army through letting my subordinates lounge around a mansion, eat all my food and get passes whenever they pleased.

They trained and fought. Everyday. No exceptions.

Yet for reasons unknown to man, my mind strays to her nose, while another sort of suspicion prickles my brain. "How?"

She looks up, surprised.

Yet I don't waste my time in indulging her curiosity with a verbal explanation. I do however, glance down at the stitches lining the bridge of her nose, while my mind strays to yet another nose injury I'd seen within the last forty eight hours.

Granted The Devil's nose wasn't as hideously bruised and swollen as this one's. But none the less, a coincidence.

I didn't believe in coincidences.