Untamed (192 page)

“Fuck you!” I bellow. “Fuck all of you!”

I wince, stare down at my foot. It’s bubbling blood out of a gunshot wound. I move my foot to the side, see the bullet lodged in the ground, the concrete all around it cracked. It went straight through me.

“That’s a handicap,” Fallon says. “Because you fucking walked out of that fight, the only bloody way I could get that Russian cunt to agree to a rematch – double or nothing – is to handicap you. This is your fault, you stupid American cunt.”

“Fuck you,” I growl. “I swear to God, Fallon, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Listen to yourself, you idiot,” Fallon barks, pointing a finger at me. “You still think there’s a way out of this? If that Anton gets you, he’s under instructions to break you. You embarrassed us back there. You know how many people bet big money on you? You embarrassed me back there by walking out. I vouched for you. In my world, there’s this thing called face.”

“Fuck your face.”

“So if you can’t win, you’ll be broken, Pierce, and we will leave you here to die. We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. There’s no working phones. You will die.”

“Fuck you, you old motherfucker.”

“Well let me tell you something. I’ve got your pretty little thing locked up in the office. If you don’t fight, we…
encourage
you to.” He grins nastily at me. I imagine myself cracking his skull with a rusty pipe.

But I know I’ve got no choice. It fucking kills me that they’ve got Pen, that they’re using her, that it’s my fault she’s in this position.

“You better bandage up my fucking foot, then,” I tell him. “Because I can’t fight if I lose all my blood.”

I look down, and see a puddle of crimson beneath my foot. It hurts like hell, but damn if I’m going to show it.

“Micky,” Fallon says to his goon. “You got some medical training, right?”

“Served in the army as a medic, boss.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Fallon says, clicking his fingers.

Micky leaves and comes back with a first aid bag, and says, “This might hurt a little.”

He lifts my foot. I grit my teeth together, but otherwise don’t show my pain.

“Through-and-through,” he says to himself. “Small fracture of the third metatarsal. Surprisingly, the ligament is still attached, I think. Bullet slipped straight through. Basically a flesh wound.”

“Thanks for the medical,” I growl.

“Boss?” Micky says, turning around.

“What is it?”

“Give him some morphine?”

“No!” I say, pulling his attention back to me. “Don’t give me anything.”

“It’ll hurt when you put pressure on it.”

“Fuck off.”

He grins. “Tough cunt, are ya?”

“Tougher than you.”

“That right?”

“Why don’t you untie me and find out?”

Micky the medic laughs. “Alright, alright. You’ll get your chance to show off soon.”

He pours iodine on my foot, and then begins to bandage it up. I do my best not to show that it hurts, but fuck if it doesn’t burn to hell and back. Fuck if it isn’t a shock to see the orange iodine fall through a
hole
in my foot.

When he’s done, he looks to Fallon, who gives him a nod, and then he cuts my binds. I stand up, test the foot. I can barely put any weight on it.

“I’ll fight that Russian fucker,” I say at Fallon. “On one condition.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making—”

“Fuck you!” I shout. “You put a fucking hole in my foot.”

“And you lost me fifty million dollars! And it might be more if you don’t fucking win tonight.”

“Take it or leave it,” I tell him.

Fallon pauses, considers it. “What condition?”

“Bring Penny out. Let her watch.”

“You
want
her to watch?”

“Damn right I do.”

He grins. “You bloody showoff. Fine.”

“And when I win—”

“
If
you win.”

“She leaves here with me…
unharmed
.”

“That was always part of the agreement.”

“Well you make sure none of your fucking boys get their grubby hands on her.”

I’m breathing quick now, rage-filled at the thought.

“Don’t worry, Pierce. We’re professionals. But you get one thing straight. The only reason we’re here is because you didn’t finish the fight. The only reason, and I mean the
only fucking reason
, that Mogilovich is even considering doing a second round, is because he’s a greedy little fucking bastard, and double-or-nothing on a handicapped fighter was too good to pass up.

“Now, I have to front the extra fifty mil out of
my own pocket
for the little group of partners we’ve got. If you don’t win, you will die. Anton will break your fucking back and leave you here to rot. Nobody will ever find your stinking carcass until it’s nothing but bones after the rats are done with you. They won’t even be able to tell your identity by your dental records because I’ll have Micky here stomp your teeth out of your lifeless fucking mouth, and I will fucking keep them on a necklace, and then I’ll go find your mother, Penny’s father, and whoever the fuck else you have that you care about, and I’ll show them your teeth before I do the same to them. You fucking got that, you fucking cunt?”

I give Fallon a bland look. “Done barking yet?”

Fallon grows flustered. His face goes beet-red. “And your little fucking girlfriend? If you lose, she goes to work for Mogilovich. I’m sure you know what that means.”

I clench my jaw.

He just shrugs. “You reap what you sow. Maybe next time you’ll be a little smarter before crossing somebody like me.”

I spit on the floor, and wipe my nose with a finger. “Where’s the fucking tape?”

He grins, and claps at Micky the medic. He pulls out a roll of tape from his jacket pocket and chucks it at me.

“You got her into this, mate,” Fallon says. “It’s up to you to get her out.”

I start taping up my wrists, making sure they are tight, making sure I minimize all risk to sprain them.

“I’ll get her out,” I say quietly. “And then I’ll fucking break your leg.”

“What’s that, mate?” Fallon says, stepping closer. “Didn’t quite hear you.”

“I’ll… break… your… leg,” I tell him.

“Will you, boy?”

“Bet on it.”

“Come on, mate,” Fallon says, gesturing for me to get up. “It’s time.”

“I need water.”

“You
need
water?”

“You want a good fight?” I growl. “Hydrate me. Give me something salty to eat, and get me something sweet to drink. If you don’t I’ll cramp up. I’ve been sweating all night.”

“Something salty?” he echoes dumbly.

“Water retention!” I bark. “Gradients… Glucose and sodium. Didn’t you go to fucking school?”

“We’re not exactly near a corner shop, Pierce.”

“We came here in a fucking limousine!” I yell. “You dumb fuck, there’s a bar in the limo!”

Fallon grins, and looks at Micky who promptly runs off. He returns with a pack of peanuts, some candy, an energy drink, and a bottle of water.

“Drink the energy drink,” Fallon says.

“Fuck that,” I tell him. “I don’t need caffeine or yohimbine or whatever the fuck is in there messing with my timing.”

“He’s right, boss,” Micky says. “Might not actually be the best idea.”

“But it’s got, what are they called, electrolytes, right?”

“No fucking caffeine!” I shout, glaring at him. He puts up his hands, as if to say, ‘alright’.

I tear open the pack of peanuts and shove them all into my mouth. I suck the salt off them before spitting the peanuts out, one by one, until the last few that I chew up and eat.

“What a waste,” Fallon grumbles.

Next it’s the candy. They’re the cola-bottle type with sugar stuck on the outside. Perfect. I do the same, suck the sugar off, and then take a big gulp of water and swish it around my mouth. It’ll absorb into my blood stream quicker if it’s dissolved in water.

I drain the rest of the bottle, and hope that it’s enough. The salt and sugar should help me keep water in my tissue, rather than my bladder. The water will regulate my body temperature, lubricate my joints, keep me from cramping.

“So where are we?” I ask. “Judging by the drive, and the roads, I’d say we went west.”

“You’ll find out after you win this fight.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith in me, Fallon, and I’m injured. You might just lose twice as much.”

“Well, then I’ll kill you and give your girlfriend to Mogilovich, and we’ll be even.”

“But you still won’t have your money.”

“This isn’t about the money,” Fallon says, and he puts the tips of his fingers together. “I’m like you. I want to win, and I’ll do it one way or another. Whether that means beating Mogilovich, or beating you, I don’t give a shit.”

“You’re pathetic.”

He laughs, winks at me. “So are you, mate. Now let’s go.”