Criminal Passion

9

As Marlon talks, I can’t take my eyes off the ring. Don. It’s as if his aura is one of pure hatred. As if he really is a caged animal, thirsty for destruction. It’s all so sick, and yet, I can’t look away.

“Welcome back to the blood ring,” a voice echoes over the microphone. “The esteemed, the beast, the biting threat, the current undefeated champion, Don: The Pitbull!”

Two women in bikinis climb into the ring and start to remove the chains and muzzle. The red marks on his arms look painful. Don stands up, wearing only black shorts. His imposing posture lives up to the madness of the people inside. The women caress his body. It’s theatrical. A performance that excites the animals inside and, apparently, Camile too.

“Oh my God,” she comments. “That’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life.”

The announcer introduces the fight. The men around the arena roar as if they are hungry for violence. The dim lights reflect on the blood spilled on the floor. It’s as if time stops. Each blow struck, each kick and punch is like a note of a primitive, disordered song. They don’t even wear gloves. The more pain the other person feels, the more insane Don gets. It seems to be his fuel.

“Guys, aren’t they going to stop?” I ask, stunned.

“It only ends when one of them blacks out,” Marlon replies.

“Blacks out?”

“There are no rules, babe. The fight goes on until the other person is unconscious. That is, if they’re lucky.”

With a quick move, the opponent lands a powerful punch to Don’s chin. The impact is so strong that he staggers backward, losing his balance. There’s a moment of deafening silence, as if this is something surprising to everyone.

Then Don lunges forward. It’s as if the rage in his eyes shakes the ring and plants the seed of fear on the opponent’s face. The guy falters as Don delivers a sequence of merciless blows, cornering him against the cage's bars.

One, two, three, four.

Punches so strong that each hit feels like it’s landing in the pit of my stomach. The impact of the last punch is overwhelming, and the opponent finally falls to the ground, unconscious. I hope he’s lucky.

My heart beats in my throat, and I wait for someone to say the man is alive. Meanwhile, the crowd explodes with screams and applause, acknowledging the impressive knockout. The announcer gets in the ring and celebrates Don as the victor, with his scarlet hand held in triumph.

No one seems to have the same concern as me. Everyone just wants to worship Don Santoro as if he were a god. But, to me, bathed in his rival's blood, with those dark eyes, he looks more like the devil.

I see two men dragging the other guy’s body out of the ring. The dim lights reflect the trail of blood left on the mat. It's as if time stops as I turn my gaze back to Don. It’s not possible... this time, he's staring at me. The shock runs through me like a bullet to the chest.

Even though I’m here because of him and saw him first, in some terrifying way, amidst the darkness, I feel that it was he who found me. I take a step back. Then another and another. Don continues to watch me like a hungry hunter who can't lose his only prey. I don't break eye contact either. It's safer to see the tragedy coming at you than to be caught by surprise.

“Whoa, careful.” It’s Marlon who holds my waist. This makes me turn my attention to his face. He laughs when I almost knock over his beer bottle. I guess my expression is slightly terrified, because he furrows his eyebrows and holds me by the elbows with some concern.

“Are you okay?” His hands are still on me.

I open my mouth to answer, but an isolated shouting starts. Sounds of breaking glass. Toppling tables. Men swearing. A fight. The crowd gets agitated. They start to rush past me, impatient, pushing me to get out of the way.

“We have to go,” Marlon shouts, pulling me with him. “Hold on to your friend.”

I grab Camile’s wrist and drag her with me. The commotion intensifies, and I’m pushed hard by the men. I get such a strong elbow to the back that I end up letting go of her and Marlon's hands to twist in pain. It’s a second, just one second, and I lose her.

“Camile!” I yell, looking back, but all I see are blurred faces running. My eyes are watery from the pain of the blow, and as I try to go against the tide, they hit my chest, my shoulders, my stomach.

“Camile!” I try to balance myself, but I’m pushed again, harder. I stagger backward and almost fall, but firm hands grab me again.

“If you fall, they’ll run you over,” Marlon warns, and then he grabs me. He literally wraps his arms around my waist and carries me like a doll.

“Let me go!” I struggle violently, but he is much stronger than I am and continues to drag me through the ducts. Screams and fast footsteps fill my ears. The darkness starts to drive me crazy. I see nothing but blurs. Small beams of light through the holes in the sewer. I'm scratching and trying to bite the man who is holding me until the moment the confusion seems to have been left behind, and he finally places me against a cold wall, pressing his body against mine. His palm covers my mouth and muffles my screams, and my heart pounds with fear of what might happen.

“Stop screaming, dammit!” he roars. “Listen, I'm going to let you go, but on one condition: you can't run away like a maniac! It's dangerous!”

I stop struggling. My breathing remains uneven. And when he finally moves away, I push him with all my might.

“Don’t you ever put your hands on me again, you son of a b***h,” I snarl at him.

Even in the dark, I can see his angry face.

“I didn’t want to drag you like that, but staying there was suicide.”

I ignore him and feel for my cell phone. Holy s**t. I had tucked it into my waistband, and now it’s gone. It either fell during the commotion or was stolen.

“I lost my cell phone,” my voice comes out shaky. “I lost the f*****g cell phone! I can’t believe it!”

“Use mine.”

He holds out his unlocked iPhone to me, and I don't hesitate. Luckily, I know Camile’s number by heart. But when I call, it goes straight to voicemail. I try two, three, four times. I call my own cell phone, and it’s also turned off.

“f**k!” I curse, frustrated. “It’s not ringing!”

“Listen, I’ll go back there and look for your friend, but you need to stay here. Quiet.

“No. Take me with you.”

“I can’t, girl. After the fights, there’s always a commotion. Taking you back is throwing you into hell. I need you to stay here, hidden. If someone shows up, you run. Understand?”

He waits for an answer. He seems worried. I don’t know if it’s worse to be with this guy I barely know or alone in this dark sewer. And where could I hide? Only if I dug a f*****g hole in the ground and hid in it. But I need him to find Camile. It gives me chills just to imagine the possibilities.

“Keep my phone, the password is 1405,” he says. “If anything happens, you can use it as a flashlight and run as fast as you can.”

I just nod, squeezing the device in my hands. As soon as he turns his back and disappears, fear washes over me. I hear footsteps. Voices. Shouts. All far away, but audible enough to terrify me. I wait. Five. Ten minutes. I stare at the iPhone screen.

“f**k it.”

I decide to dial 911. I’ll call the police. I don't trust this guy. My best friend is lost in an underground tunnel full of perverts and criminals. I’m not going to sit here waiting for a stranger to save us both.

The signal down here is crap. Only one tiny tower bar resists. Still, I feel relieved when I hear:

“911, what’s your emergency?”

My voice gets caught in my throat when I hear footsteps in my direction. It’s too fast. Four men approach me. I freeze.

“Good evening, little blonde,” one of them says to me. The lecherous tone gives me chills. The woman on the line says something, but the sound is so distorted that I can't understand.

“The little kitty can’t talk?” another guy taunts me.

“My boyfriend is coming back.” It's all I can think of, but my voice is so shaky that they laugh at me.

“Your boyfriend must be an i***t. Who leaves a brat like you alone in a hole like this?”

I lean against the concrete wall as they form a barrier. One of them rests his arm at the height of my face and gets closer, smelling my hair.

“Don’t touch me,” I scold, my voice choked.

“Or what?” he challenges me.

His eyes lock on mine. My order seems to amuse him. His fingers slide to the first buttons of my shirt and open one of them. Panic sets in. I hold my phone tight, ready to fight.

“Take your hands off her.”

He turns around quickly, looking for the source of the deep voice that cuts through the air.

“And who’s the asshole that’s going to make me?” He laughs mockingly, but one of his friends keeps shaking his head, giving him a warning look.

“It’s the Pitbull, man,” he warns, his voice filled with fear.

“Do-Don…?” the man chokes.

The atmosphere in the tunnel changes drastically. Still close to me, he puffs out his chest and gives me a hesitant look. His posture is very different from seconds ago. Then he starts to move away, as if my words had no effect compared to the power that Don’s presence carries.

“We didn’t know she was…” The guy’s voice fades into the air, and he clears his throat. “We’re leaving.”

The four men’s eyes fix on the imposing figure emerging from the shadows. We can all see him better from this angle. Don’s icy, relentless gaze seems to penetrate the souls of these men. He is still covered in blood. On his hands, on his face, on his exposed abdomen.

“You know the way out.” His expression exudes contempt and power, a silent warning that he is not to be challenged.

The men nod several times and run away, cautious, with their tails between their legs. I let out the breath I was holding in my lungs, my heart pounding in my chest. My breathing quickens as the fighter gets closer. I can feel his heat warming my skin without even touching it. He’s not happy with my presence at all, because his eyes pierce mine, intense and deep. I would even say… furious.

“Louise,” he says my name as if I were a curse.

“Hi, Don,” I whisper his, as if he were my salvation.