CHICAGO BULLOCK: LOVE & PAIN

One

Chicago kicked the boxing patch on Ryan's hand three times. Ryan winced, as he jerked his hand back when Chicago went in for another kick.

"Damn! Chicago, I think you're way beyond my league now. Can you have mercy on my wrist?" Ryan whined, massaging his wrist.

Chicago sighed, feeling so much adrenaline but Ryan was just not it anymore.

"I'm starting to wonder, who is training who here?" Ryan chuckled, removing the patches. "Perhaps, you need a new trainer. Spiralling with you ain't fun no more. Last week I left with a fat ass bruise on my ribs," he complained, brushing his blonde hair off his forehead revealing his playful blue eyes.

Chicago sighed again, removing his own boxing gloves. Ryan was right, he was below Chicago's stance now. But Chicago didn't know where to start finding a new trainer.

"I need to run an errand. I'll walk you out," he gruffed out as he leads the way out of his dark gym.

Ryan did not object as he grabbed his hoodie off the bench and his gym bag following Chicago out.

"There is this guy who trains street fighters, and he is really good. I can talk to him and perhaps he might help you out with improving your stamina," Ryan said as they reached the door.

Chicago hummed, yanking the door open and stepping aside for Ryan to pass through.

"I'd appreciate that," he grumbled, before they both exchanged curt nods.

Chicago headed to his room and right into his bathroom. He pulled his sweatpants off and black boxers before stepping into the shower, allowing the cold water to spray his body. When he was in prison he used to shower with cold water because it always reminded him, he was still alive and would keep his guard up. Even after his release, he still showers with cold water. It was a norm now.

Once he was done showering and has applied lotion, he pulled on black jeans, and a black sweater. He grabbed black Timberlands and pulled them on after wearing a pair of black socks. He headed to the drawer and grabbed a pair of black gloves, pulling them on, and then yanked a black scarf on.

With so much assurity, he headed to the drawer on his nightstand beside his bed, and grabbed a black box out. He pressed in the code and gently opened the box on top of his bed, his eyes glowing bright as he watched the different blades shimmer in the box.

He pulled out a wrist patch and strapped it on his wrist before selecting the sharpest blade of them all, and slipped it in the patch and then covered it nicely with his sweater. He closed the box and placed it back into the drawer.

Stroking out of his room, he grabbed his phone and car keys off the counter before leaving his apartment. He decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator today.

The cold air of Brooklyn washed over his face as soon as he stepped out of the building. He slid into his new black Mustang, and drove off with one destination in mind. The subway. One glance at the watch in his car, he was pleased to see he was right on schedule. He parked across the road, before going down the steps that lead to the train station.

He pulled out his box of cigarettes, slipping one out before shoving the box back in his pants and pulled a lighter out from his other pocket. His smoking habit have gotten serious during his time in jail. He leaned against the wall, and enjoyed the bitter taste the cigarette filled his mouth with, calming his nerves down, as he watched the man that played his guitar at the subway everyday.

He pulled his phone out and checked the time, seeing it flick to 5:27 pm. He sighed shoving his phone back in his pocket before tossing his finished cigarette on the ground, and stomped on it with his shoe. He fished for his wallet and pulled out a fifty dollar bill, and tossed it into the guitar man's plastic container. The man smiled only recieving a curt nod from Chicago as he went back to the steps he descended from eleven minutes ago.

His eyes laid on the guy stuffed in an olive green jacket and blue jeans. His dark brown hair covered by an ugly black and white bennie. His hands were shoved into the jacket he wore, as his hazel eyes stared forward, climbing down the stairs. Chicago sleekly pulled his blade out under his sweater, and as he climbed the stairs he slit the man's balls, not stopping for a second as he continued to climb up the stairs.

The man's eyes widen as he took another step down before falling face down, eliciting so many screams. Chicago crossed the road, leaving a mayhem behind him. He got into his car and drove off the scene heading to a local bar.

"The ghost!" The bartender joked as he always does whenever Chicago came to the bar.

Chicago flashed a tiny smile sitting on a stool as Daniel the bartender pours him a shot of scotch as it was what Chicago always ordered when he came here.

With a drink in hand, Chicago turned to the couple that danced amongst a small crowd. A band was playing on stage, as a couple of gentleman smoked cigars and gambled their last cents on one table. Chicago watched as the lady's red dress flair out as she twirled around in her man's arms. Her hips swaying side to side to the rythem of the band's music.

Chicago's eyes lifted until they settled on her pretty round face. Her black braids riding down to her waist. A lovely smile plastered on her face as she looked at the gentleman in her arms with so much fondness. Chicago kept staring at her, even as they occasionally disappeared behind other figures.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Daniel's voice pulled Chicago out of his intruding stare. He glanced at the bartender as he watched the couple dance with a wide grin on his face, while holding a glass and a cloth in his hands.

"Some man are lucky. They get to dance with angels," he said, his voice tinted with envy before he sighed and moved to the other end of the bar.

Chicago turned his head back to the couple. The man's hands were now on the woman's hips as the song was now a slow jam. But her smile never left her face. She reminded Chicago of his own mother. Beautiful as an angel, seduced men till dawn, and a smile that made flowers bloom. Her dance moves were so smooth, they pulled married men away from their wives.

His jaw clenched and his eyes darkened as he watched the couple for a few more seconds. He gulped down his drink and slammed the glass on the counter. He fished out his wallet and pulled a hundred dollar bill and slammed it on the counter also before leaving the bar.

He took a deep breath allowing the cold breeze to fan his face. He hated it when memories of his mother resurfaced. Why couldn't she be normal?

Chicago huffed as he headed to his car, this time driving back to his apartment. It was almost seven when he got there.

He changed into his black sweatpants and black simple t-shirt. He grabbed a pack of chips from the cupboard and a bottle of water from the fridge. Ensuring that the lights were dim, he threw himself on the couch, ripping his pack of chips open as he put on a movie.

He was half way through the movie, the clock going to nine when a knock came to his door. Chicago frowned, slowing down his chewing as he strained his ears, hearing another knock come again and again and again.

Chicago was agitated as he paused his movie, and strides to the door, yanking his t-shirt down. With a deep frown on his face he yanked the door open, only for his frown to fall and shock took over. It was merely a second after he opened the door when a fist connect to his jaw, making his face turn to the side as he covered his jaw with his hand.