Page 75 of Brutal
Nate stands just outside the ring, composed. Cain leans against the wall. He’s small yet, still waiting for puberty, but he watches everything with those dodgy gray eyes.
My father steps in front of me. “Don’t think,” he says. “Thinking comes before fear. Fear makes men hesitate.”
I don’t move.
Across from me, the other boy—I don’t know his name, and it doesn’t matter anyway—shifts his weight. He’s bigger than I am, well over six feet and he has more muscle.
My father doesn’t look at him. He looks at me. “Hesitation is where men lose.”
Then he nods at the other kid.
The first hit snaps my head back.
The second drives into my ribs.
Fuck, the pain. I taste blood.
I’m still trying to read my opponent. That’s my mistake. Another hit comes. Then another, harder.
The room tilts for a second.
Nate doesn’t move.
Cain doesn’t move.
Our father watches.
He’s waiting.
I tense up. And I move.
I don’t measure the next blow. I deliver it. Then another. Then another. The other boy stumbles. Falls to one knee. I don’t stop. I don’t slow. I don’t think.
I put him on his back.
And I keep going until?—
“Enough.”
My father’s voice cuts through everything.
I stop.
I’m breathing hard, taste the iron of blood in my mouth. My hands are still curled into fists.
The other boy groans on the concrete floor, blood pouring from his nose.
My father steps into the ring, grabs my chin, and turns my face, inspecting.
“There.” He presses his thumb against my split lip.
I do not wince.
“Now you understand,” he says.
I come back to myself in the car with my hand clenched around the steering wheel.
Weakness.
