Stepping out of the mass of stinking bodies, Ramona motioned for Cesare to follow as she led the way through the crowd. Eyes widened and faces paled, people jerking back in spastic displays of atavistic fear as they took in the hulking beast of shadowed death stalking next to Cesare. It was one thing to see it from a distance, but a revelation to see it close and moving toward you.

Scenes of the fight flashed through Cesare’s consciousness with brutal clarity. He’d maimed those boys. Gone farther than he had to and enjoyed every tortured second. Even if he couldn’t hear the screams, he’d seen the agonized terror on their faces. What kind of person liked to cripple boys? Because what he’d done wasn’t fighting. It was the deliberate butchering of boys whose only crime was facing him.

The wolf broke through those thoughts, its naked malice driving the loathsome thoughts back with casual cruelty. It didn’t care that he’d gloried in hurting children. A wolf fights and kills, for thrill and meat, the twin needs twisting into a scarlet monster, unblackened by moralities corrupting touch. They gorge themselves on the grace of the hunt and their prey bleeding out without paying in flesh to the plastic gods of good. These things were beyond the violating touch of humanity and its diseased rules, they existed in a place sacred in a way owned by the wild.

Ramona walked into the Governor’s office, Rocky holding the door for her. Lurid scenes of violence and agony played across the blade thin man’s face, an endless parade of technicolor slaughter from the screens playing out the nights fights. “I see you’ve added another fighter to your stable, Ramona.” One monitor replayed the end of Cesare’s fight with Chris, a boy reduced to meat by a child made of scars. “And just in time too.”

“Chris will be up in no time. The ribs and nose will take time to heal, but he’ll be back,” Ramona said quietly, the words filling the room with conviction. “But we’re not here to talk about Chris.”

The Governor walked to the mirrored windows, looking out at the smelly dregs of society. “No, we’re not here to talk about Chris. But please, give him my wishes on a speedy recovery.”

“I will, and thank you.” Ramona looked over at Cesare, eyes resting on his mangled face before turning back to the Governor. “I want double the money for the wins. And I want that doubled for going through all of them.”

“Done,” the Governor said without pause. Turning, he threw two heavy envelopes onto the tinted glass of the table. Ramona looked between the envelopes and the Governor, anger twisting with happiness in her eyes. She’d bid before she knew the value of the merchandise and gotten taken like a chump. Who knew how high the Governor would’ve gone if she’d pressed.

The Governor smiled, teeth blazing white in the darkly lit room, a shark’s satisfaction glinting along his pearly maw. “When you walked back into the middle of the cage after that first fight, the bets spiked, local and international.” Shaking his head, the man kept his cold, black eyes on Cesare. “We use the Slap and Tickle and the Cock Fight to warm up the in-house crowd, get them into the action and laying green on the table. But that’s small change. The real money is in the live streams. Most of our customers don’t tune in until the main events, but they tuned in for you. The live chats filled with screen shots of your fights, questions bouncing back and forth on who you are, and when you’ll fight next.”

Ramona stepped to the table, tossing the bigger envelope to Cesare before taking her own. “I want him to fight in Chris’s place next week.” Thumbing through her money, Ramona stilled at the Governor's words.

“Even for Chris it was early, and he’s older than Caine,” Ramona said, speculative eyes moving to Cesare, holding for a moment before she shook her head. “No, he’s not ready for the Dog Fights, and a week isn’t enough time to get him there. I won't see him ruined so you can make a quick buck.”

“He tore through three fighters, Chris being one of them. I think that shows he has a chance. We give him the week to heal and schedule the fight for Saturday.” The shark’s eyes never lifted from Ramona.

Shaking her head, Ramona stepped back. “You know that doesn’t mean shit. Tonight, he fought three guys who were going in blind. A huge advantage, and one he won’t have again. Caine might have beaten Chris, but that doesn’t make him better. We don’t know his skill set. I’m not putting him in there until I know he has a chance.” The two of them locked eyes.

“You know you could ask me?” They looked at him in surprise, seeming to have forgotten he was even there. Disgust welled up in him, turgid and viscous, smelling of human waste and abandonment. To the Governor, he was a slab of meat for people to bet on, utterly disposable. Ramona was a vulture, cutting strips of flesh from his bones, bleeding him out until he was a husk of what he was. Once he wasn’t worth the blade it took to flense meat from ivory, when he was gutted and the viscera pulled from its empty cavity, she’d walk with only her tinkling laughter staining the air. Neither cared what he wanted, only what they could use him for.

The Governor leaned forward, tenting his fingers on the tinted glass table. “We had a fight planned for Chris next weekend. It was going to be the big event on Saturday. I think you should take his place.”

“What he’s not saying is the fight was supposed to be Chris’s entry into the Dog Fights. It was controversial, with Chris a few months short of eighteen. The Dog Fights are meant to be twenty-one and older. How old are you, Caine?” Ramona asked.

“Fifteen.” The Governors eyes didn’t flicker at the word. It was just one more fact to entice viewers, the betting would be insane.

Ramona’s eyes widened. “No, not just no, but fuck to hells no.” Stepping toward him, she stopped as the wolf locked onto her. It didn’t matter the reason; the wolf didn’t like anyone close to Cesare. Eyeing the animal, Ramona slid a careful step back. “No one's jumped into the Dog Fights at that age. Hell, he might be the youngest to make it into the Cock Fight.” She flashed angry eyes at the Governor. “Pull up an image of Hog.”

Dark eyes rested on Ramona for a time before he gave her a nod of agreement. “Pull up his last fight.” The order was executed with a skittering click of keys, insectile beauty in sterile space.

A cage flashed into being on a monitor, a massive man entering side wise through the opening. Only a tad under seven feet, the man was at least four hundred and fifty pounds of human waste. The image stilled, showing off Hog's raw humanity, the vast expanse of muscle and temper, scars and hardened flesh. Ramona’s quiet voice fell into the silence. “The Hog is a big ass sonofabitch. They keep him around as a gatekeeper for the Dog Fights. If you can stand toe to toe with him, then you’re in. If he destroys you, you’re not ready.”

Never pulling his eyes off The Hog, Cesare let her words flow around him without comment. Plans unfurled in his mind as he dissected the man. The Hog was a big man, most of it looking like fat, but Cesare didn’t let that fool him. A fat man will put you on your ass in a fight while you’re busy smirking. It takes a lot of power to move that much weight, and once it gets moving, it's a semi-truck plowing through everything in its path.

The fat would insulate the man from most strikes. Like shooting a grizzly with a Glock 9, failure in thought and deed. If Cesare was stronger, he might cut through, but he wasn’t. Even focusing strikes on legs and arms wouldn’t help much as they were wrapped in fat. That left two options. Head or joints, both would be hard places to target, and require a precision Cesare didn’t own.

It would be a challenge, forcing him to grow as a fighter. He had to get used to fighting the unstoppable. This man mimicked a monster’s power to shrug off hits that would kill a regular man, making it perfect for Cesare.

“I’ll take it.” The words broke the stare down between Ramona and the Governor.

“Good. We were going to pay Chris six grand if he won, but I’ll double it for you.” The Governor’s teeth reflected blue in the light from the monitors. “I think that concludes our business. I won’t keep you any longer, I know how anxious you are to check in on Chris.” He was already turning around by the end, his words reaching back for them.

Stepping out of the office and its air conditioning, the heat of the crowd smothered them in a blanket of damp heat thick with the smell of unwashed bodies. The mad roaring of the crowd reverberated from walls in shock waves of insanity.

Stalking off, Ramona cut her way through the crowd with judicious use of elbows. Shaking his head, Cesare hesitated before following behind her. He had more money than he’d ever held before, but that didn’t mean he had a place to go. That was the thing about being homeless, it wasn’t just money, it was having no one. It wasn’t long before he caught her backward look. She might not show it, but she was keeping an eye on her latest cow.

Ramona lead him through the crazed mob and to an office door the twin of the Governors. Jerking the ratty door open, Ramona stormed into the room. Cesare looked the room over from the threshold, taking note of the exit door against the far wall.

It was a stripped-down triage center with army cots marching across the room in rigid rows. A table weighed down with disposable medical equipment took up one wall. Fighters dotted the room, on their backs, sitting down, cradling broken bones and ruptured flesh. These were the men that didn't walk away. A symphony of agony saturated the air, moans, groans, and quickly cut off screams, each coursing through the air like gorging sharks on the decomposing body of a whale.

Even with the noise, everyone looked up when Cesare stepped into the room. He met the eyes of the lost, from the bums who’d been stomped, to the grizzled veterans who hadn’t been as tough as they’d thought. None of them were even half as bad off as the three cots that held Cesare’s creations. Those three were reshaped into grotesque works of art, living offerings to the gods of carnage.

Men went silent as Cesare walked down the clear-cut aisle, his name dropping from lips like poison. While the wolf had them pulling back, it was Cesare they couldn’t tear their eyes off. Fear and awe held them, young and old, they watched as Cesare walked across the room.

Chris had his arms raised as a man in green scrubs taped his ribs. Ramona sat on the cot next to them as the medic finished wrapping his chest. “There doesn’t seem to be any internal bleeding, but I can’t tell how many are broken.” Gripping Chris’s head, the medic's stubby fingers probed the swelling. Groans of pain whistled through Chris’s gritted teeth at the rough handling.

Dipping into his bag, the man pulled out a scalpel. “I need to check the eyes and see if your retinas have detached. I’m going to cut into the swelling and drain it.” Without waiting for Chris to agree, the man clamped the fighter's face in place with hands turned leathery by time and scarred by bad choices. The knife made a quick incision along the eye. Dabbing at the blood with a stained rag, the man pried the eyes open with blood-stained fingers.

Moaning, Chris reached blindly for Ramona. Meeting him halfway, she held his hand as the medic worked. Her face tightened as she watched the medic, a blind fighter was dead to her, rotting meat fit for dogs.

Sighing, the man let Chris go, stepping back and cleaning his scalpel on the pants of his army green scrubs. “I don’t see any permanent damage, but that swellings bad. If he still can’t see tomorrow, take him to a hospital and get it looked at.” The words were spoken as the man turned to another cot, already dismissing Chris and his pain.

Helping Chris up, Ramona set her shoulder under his, supporting the big fighter. “Thanks. I’ll get him to the hospital for the ribs and have his face looked at.”

Already immersed in looking over another fighter, the medic didn’t show any sign he’d heard. Struggling under Chris’s weight, Ramona gamely pushed open the exit door, metal slamming closed behind Cesare with a ring of finality. The dark beauty of the night ripped the sweaty heat of the fights from them with cold hands. Icy fingers grasped across their bodies, chilling flesh and turning sweat slick skin into a clammy skim stinking of humanity's diseased needs.

Parked next to the stairs, the SUV was a shiny shadow within the deeper darkness. Either Ramona had guessed Chris would lose, or she was the careful type. Chris laid his hand on the rail, taking some of the weight off Ramona. “Just like old times, huh?” Split lips mangled the words, turning them wet and sloppy.

“You lost. It happens, don’t make it seem like the end of the world. It’s not the first time someone handed you your ass and it won’t be the last. You’ll come back from this,” Ramona said.

She got the passenger door open with one hand, the rest of her body supporting the broken boy who’d been a fighter. Chris was blind and maimed, moaning and groaning as wounds hit the merciless steel of the car. Even with her help, it was a while before Chris was slumped into the seat.

Closing the door with a sigh, Ramona let her head rest on the SUV as she took a slow, steadying breath. Turning, she flashed Cesare a smile. “Going to be a long night. I’ll put down the back seat for you and the wolf.”

Making her way to the back of the SUV, she laid the seat down flat. Even with the added space, there was no way the wolf would fit, and that’s not adding Cesare. Amusement sparkled through the bond as the wolf leapt into the back seat. Reality reshaped around it, flowing like quicksilver released from bonds. The space didn’t change, but neither did the wolf, instead a paradox birthed itself into the world.

Taking his spot beside the wolf, Cesare closed the back door. He wondered what other people saw before dismissing the thought. People were past experts at deluding themselves. Jealous of their petty realities, hungering for validation of their sacred ignorance, they defended zealously the lies they told themselves. They hate anything that challenges their truth, any information that puts the forked tongue to their worship of their infantile godhood’s.

Tires squealed as Ramona hit the gas, headlights driving the night back with unrelenting, cancerous force. She hit the corners at high speed, uncaring of the steel containers standing inches from the SUV. As soon as they cleared the barbed fence, the SUV surged forward, velocity pushing against Cesare’s chest. She curved onto the freeway, dropping into the city and sliding onto backroads with easy familiarity.

Cindy’s truck had rattled and boomed as it trundled down the street, its indomitable character a stronger reality than its steel shell. The SUV was stripped of anything resembling character, flying in a quiet so deep Cesare could hear the muffled moans Chris released at each sharp turn.

Parking next to a building in the heart of Portland, Ramona threw on her flashers and turned to Chris. “I’m only going to be a minute, then its straight to the hospital.” She was out and coming around the back before the bleeding fighter could get out more than a cut off whimper.

Pulling open the back, she kept the door between her and the wolf as it leapt in an arc of wild beauty out of the SUV. Not waiting for Cesare, Ramona was at the door to the building as his feet hit asphalt.

The lights inside were dimmed for night, leaving the lobby in the lonely twilight that infects a place built for people when the people have left. Painted the default color the world over, the walls were the neutral beige disliked by everyone, but was too boring to hate. It was better to mean nothing than offend, it wasn’t anger that drove the world, but fear of it. Arranged along a simple square, sofas and chairs formed a small waiting area off to the right.

A petite woman in a uniform stood behind a desk, the mass of wood drawing the eye from the neutral meaningless of the room. Already handing over a key card to Ramona, she stopped as she caught sight of the wolf. Freezing in place, her voice squeaked out. “Wait … you can’t bring that in here.”

Snatching the key out of the woman’s hand, Ramona bared her teeth in a smile. “He’s with me.”

The woman wilted under Ramona’s uncompromising eyes. “I’ll have to tell the manager when he gets on duty.” Even in the silent room, the soft words barely ruffled the air.

Shrugging with unconcern, Ramona was already making for the elevators without a backward glance. She stopped as the doors slowly opened, looking from the elevator to Cesare and the wolf. “Fuck me.” Tossing the key to Cesare, she got into the elevator. “Take the stairs, it’s the 8th floor. I’ll meet you there.” With that, the elevator doors closed on Ramona.

Cesare grinned at the concierge behind the desk. “Umm, where are the stairs.” The woman glared back before looking down at her computer. She'd been intimidated by Ramona, but Cesare was just a street kid with a mangled face.

Sighing, Cesare looked around until he spotted the exit sign. Without a word, he darted for the stairs with the wolf hot and heavy at his side. Exultation filled the bond as the wolf raced up behind him, it was a wild pleasure at the simple joy of the run. Hitting the stairs hard, Cesare was on the third landing when the wolf leapt over him with breathtaking grace, a flash of triumph spiking through the bond on taking the lead.

Opening the exit door for the 8th floor, Cesare spotted Ramona standing next to a room down the hall. Grinning from the run, Cesare loped down the hall. “Your room is across from mine. Usually I insist on connecting doors, but since you were a surprise, you’ll just have to do without my personal attention.”

It wasn’t much, just a bed with a small TV and a bathroom. But the bed looked clean with soft pillows at its head, and that was more than he’d had last night. Add in a shower Cesare could use anytime he wanted, and this was a slice of heaven. A surge of pleasure ran through the bond as the wolf found the bathroom didn’t stink of bleach.

Ramona laid the key on a small stand by the bed. “I have to make sure Chris is okay, but before I leave, I want you to know a few things.” Cesare laid his duffel on the bed as he faced her. “You did good tonight. I’m not sure about fighting Hog, but it’s your choice, and I’ll back your play. I’m happy to have you as part of the team.”

“Even if I fucked up your boy toy?” Cesare asked.

Grimacing, she resisted the urge to look away. “Yeah, you fucked him up, and it’s going to be weeks before he recovers, and in that time, he’s not making me money. But it’s part of the game, and we knew that. That doesn’t lessen your win.” She looked at him for a time, searching his face before nodding and leaving.

Walking toward the bathroom, Cesare passed the wolf as it laid out on the bed, tracking him with feral eyes. Stripping down, Cesare tossed his clothes onto the bathroom floor. He wanted to see how badly the fighters had worked him over, and then he needed a hot shower and wash away the stink of the fights.

The first thing to check was the disemboweling scar. The last thing he needed was his guts to fall out in the cage. He’d been checking it daily, but it didn’t look worse for the pounding he was putting it through. Probing the wound, his fingernail plucked at the stitches, measuring the twinges of pain. Despite the fights, the scar felt as healed as it would ever get.

His hands moved over the black bruises crisscrossing his stomach and chest. Pushing along the yellow edges, Cesare felt them out, needing to know how deep they went. Surface bruises were just pain, but if they went into muscle, they’d restrict his movements, break the flow of his dance, and leave openings for others to exploit. Grunting in pain at his own examination, a rush of satisfaction filled him. Most of them were surface with a few penetrating to the muscle.

He smiled into the mirror as his eyes ran over his face, the swelling wasn’t bad. He could still see, and that was what mattered. Being ugly was a kind of freedom. He never worried about his hair or face, and he always knew people saw him for who he was.

The shower left him pink and sweating, smelling of soap and floral shampoo. Cesare slipped into bed with a sigh of pleasure at the feel of the high thread count sheets caressing across leathered skin. There was no need to hide his scars with long shirts and sweat pants when he had the room to himself. Tonight, he could be himself, scars and all.

Laying in the dark, Cesare turned on his side, suddenly lost in the wolfs ancient eyes. Laying down across from him, its face was only inches away. Staring into the wolfs eyes, the emotions flowing through the bond were too primordial for understanding. It didn’t matter if he understood, didn’t matter that they were so different nothing could ever bridge the distance between them.

The wolf had stood by his side. Guarded his meager possessions while he fought and bleed. Cheered him when the world thought he’d fail and walked beside him when everything had fallen away as little more than tinsel and rotting meat. His words were a poor way to repay that, but they were all he had. “Thank you.”