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“Wait, what's this?” I whispered, feeling my heart leap to my throat.

He had photographs of the illegal fight he'd found me at all those years ago,

And he'd labelled it with the word leverage underneath.

So I wasn't fucking wrong...



“Welcome to the finals of Underground Boxing,” said the commentator, smiling.

I was in my stance, with my hands balled into fists, ready to take this motherfucker down. I’d been training so long for this moment. Everything I’d worked for after being on the run from Fibonacci led up to this…

“The winner will be declared by killing the other opponent,” the commentator went on. “And the winner will win 100,000 dollars in cash.”

He rolled his eyes.

“No cheating is allowed,” he muttered condescendingly. “No weapons, no steroids, nothing. You are only allowed to use your fists.”

The crowd roared with anticipation.

“Tonight, we have Maya Bradshaw up against Lucius Wilder,” he shrugged. “May the best man or woman win.”

The commentator walked away, and the audience broke into a round of applause. Wasting no time, I punched Lucius hard in the jaw. His jaw swung, as he toppled backwards and lost his balance. I punched him again, so hard that I could hear his jaw snap. And again, and again…

But he wasn’t going to go down so easily. He wasn’t going to go down without a fight. He charged at me, knocking me over to the ground, and clambered on top of me, punching my face repeatedly as one of my teeth knocked out.

But I’d remembered my training. I spat out my blood onto his face, before kicking him hard in the balls, getting on my feet. I knocked him down to the ground, and punched him repeatedly, without stopping for a breath.

I punched him until his breathing became laboured and he struggled for air. I punched him until the wind knocked out of his lungs, and his lungs began to fail him and collapse. I punched him until he was too weak to even punch me back. I punched him until his body began struggling underneath my grip, and he started to fade in and out of unconsciousness.

The same way that Fibonacci used to punish me.

But it wasn’t enough for me. I had to kill him. I had to kill him to be declared the winner.

“You made a mistake coming in this ring tonight, motherfucker,” I murmured, my voice dropping to barely below a whisper. “Thinking that you could beat me.”

I screamed angrily, a blood-curdling scream, as I allowed my blood to boil and heat to pump through my body as my veins pulsed to the surface of my skin. I allowed myself to regain my strength…

Regain it so much to the point that I would be unstoppable.

And then I hurled at him, punching him for all I was worth.

Until he was no longer breathing…

…And there was no longer a pulse.

“And we have our winnerrrrr!” the commentator screamed. “Maya Bradshaw walks away with 100,000 dollars!”

I got up on my feet, spitting on the man’s dead body, before turning on my heel, wiping the sweat from my face with my hand, and then began making my way to the changing rooms, not wanting to stay to chat to the audience.



I found myself clutching my chest in fear, my heartbeat raising rapidly as I relived the torture. Every single brutal moment of my past.

I couldn't let myself get distracted by haunting memories. I needed to stay focused.

All of the evidence he was holding against me about the fights...

I would destroy all of that, too.

I continued searching...

Desperate to find something.

Anything…

In relation to the murders.

Search.

Search.

Search…

…

And that was when I saw it.

A sheet with all of the people who had been murdered on it.

“Found something?” Donte murmured quietly, his voice dropping to barely below a whisper.

“Yep,” I breathed, unable to believe my eyes. “I'm reading over it now.”

On the sheet were the photographs and descriptions of everybody who had been murdered. Philip had marked each of the photographs with the label deceased except from one…

Next to Alfonze Michael's name, he'd written the following…

Alfonze Michael.

I'm holding him as leverage, on 33 Butholm Road.

He's alive, and he's healthy, but he's locked in a house, with no phone line, and no internet.

Nothing.

Nothing except books to read, a radio to listen to, and some food to get him by.

I'm holding him as leverage in case the Sinaloa Cartel kingpin tries to cross me.

I've been covering for him at the Secret Service, covering up his murders, framing Donte Abruzzi for them...

In exchange for the cash he's been giving me. But if worse comes to worse, and the kingpin stops paying me my cash...

I'm gonna hand Alfonze Michael into the police. He'll give his witness testimony on the real man behind all the murders, and the Sinaloa Cartel kingpin will get arrested for crossing me.