Swords and Satin

Aries The underground arena was buzzing. The air stank of sweat, blood, and adrenaline. The crowd was a mix of grizzled veterans, college kids looking for a thrill, and shady dealers who thrived in the shadows. In the center of it all, I stood in the ring, fists aching, my knuckles raw, and my heart pounding in my chest like a war drum. I wiped a streak of blood from my brow, my opponent groaning on the ground beneath me. The ref didn’t even get to count to ten. The guy was out cold. The crowd erupted, and I barely heard any of it. I glanced over to see Cole screaming, wild-eyed, shirt half off, like the lunatic he was. He was losing his mind, jumping around as if he’d won the fight himself. “That’s my guy! That’s my fuckin’ guy!” Cole yelled, banging on the railings. I gave him a tired smirk, my body aching from the fight. My muscles screamed with every breath, every movement, but there was a savage satisfaction in the pain. Cole barreled toward me as I stepped out of the ring. “Bro, that was insane! You broke that dude in half!” He slapped my back so hard it sent a fresh wave of pain shooting through my shoulder. But before I could say a word, a few guys in dark suits slipped through the crowd, moving with a quiet efficiency that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Cole’s grin faded the second they closed in on us. "Hey, what the f**k—" I started, but they were on us before I could react. One of them grabbed my arm, another had Cole, and we were being pulled toward the back exit, fast. I twisted, trying to break free, but these guys weren’t your average street thugs. They had training. And worse, I knew exactly who sent them. "f*****g hell," I muttered, teeth clenched. Cole was struggling, cursing, but it didn’t matter. These guys weren’t here for a fight. They were here on orders. We were dragged outside, stuffed into a black car, and in minutes, we were back at my place. My father’s place. The mayor of f*****g Athens. Atlas Donovan— a man obsessed with power, reputation, and keeping the family image spotless. The second we were hauled inside, I saw him. Standing in the middle of the grand foyer, his hands behind his back, jaw tight. He looked like he was ready to explode. “You’ve gotta be shitting me,” I muttered under my breath, but my father’s glare told me to shut the hell up before I made things worse. Cole was standing awkwardly to the side, his earlier bravado completely gone as he sensed the storm brewing. Dad’s voice was cold, clipped, and dangerous. “Aries.” I didn’t bother replying. I just stared back, defiant. “What the hell were you thinking?” he growled, his voice low but vibrating with rage. “An underground fight? Again? How many times do I have to tell you? This—" he gestured around the mansion, “—all of this is your legacy. Our legacy. And you’re pissing it away.” “I don’t give a f**k about your legacy,” I snapped, my fists still clenched. “I didn’t ask for any of this.” “Watch your mouth.” His voice dropped even lower, if that was possible. “You think you can keep doing this? Dragging our name through the mud like some street dog?” His eyes narrowed. “If you ever step foot in another one of those fights again, Aries, I’ll make sure you regret it. Do you understand?” I bit the inside of my cheek, keeping my mouth shut because I knew if I said anything, it would only make it worse. Dad stared me down for a few more seconds before turning to his guards. “Get him cleaned up. I don’t care how many times it takes, he’s going to learn.” As he stalked out of the room, I heard him mutter under his breath, "f*****g disgrace." One of the guards stepped toward me, a first-aid kit in hand, but I shoved him away. “I’m fine,” I snarled, swatting the kit out of his grip. I didn’t need any help, especially not from one of my father’s lapdogs. The guy backed off, clearly not wanting to push it. Cole, still standing there like a deer caught in headlights, finally snapped back to reality. He grabbed the first-aid kit from the floor and stepped up. “Fine, let me do it, you stubborn bastard.” I glared at him. “I said I’m—” “You’re f*****g not,” he cut me off, pulling out the ointment. “Look at you, man. You look like you’ve been through a meat grinder. No one at the university’s gonna want to look at your face if you show up looking like roadkill.” I snorted, the tension loosening just a bit. “Please. Even if I looked dead, they’d still lose their shit.” Cole laughed as he dabbed ointment on my busted cheekbone. “Yeah, yeah. Pretty boy’s gotta keep his fans happy, right?” “f**k off,” I muttered, but there was a hint of a grin on my face now. He smirked, shaking his head. “Your dad, man. That guy’s intense.” “Don’t remind me.” As Cole kept patching me up, I tried to ignore the anger simmering under my skin. But the truth was, no matter how much I hated it, my father wasn’t going to back off. And this fight? It wasn’t just in the ring anymore. It was in my own damn house.