The fighter an annual ga.., p.1
The Fighter: An Annual Game Night Darkverse Romance, page 1
The Fighter
An Annual Game Night DARKverse Romance
The Annual Game Night - Season 1
K. B. Mitchell
Copyright © 2023 by K. B. Mitchell & FireHive Media
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Preface
1. Asher
2. Asher
3. Sasha
4. Asher
5. Sasha
6. Sasha
7. Sasha
8. Asher
9. Asher
10. Asher
11. Asher
12. Sasha
ANNUAL GAME NIGHT
Attention: This is a message from the Universal Governance Council ABO Security and Surveillance Division.
Channel is set to Alpha only. Any others reading this message are in violation of Alpha Ordinance 32, otherwise known as the “Elite Information Access Act”
Missive: Game Night
The UGC acting in accordance with the verdict cast forth from the ABOSSD has declared a trial. The unrest amongst the Alpha Elites has been brought to the attention of the governing body. As a result you will be granted one night in which your cerebral monitors will be turned off. This will allow you to experience all the emotions, drives, and aggressions of an Alpha. You are free to act on these impulses as your aggression center will no longer be short-circuited, inhibiting your actions.
This freedom will last for a period of fourteen (14) hours from 7:00 pm Eastern Sector Time on Oct. 31st until 9:00 am Eastern Sector Time on Nov. 1st
Chapter 1
Asher
The acrid stench of sweat and blood burned my nostrils as I slammed my fists into the punching bag. It folded under the force of my strikes and a fine dust filled the air.
On the streets above the fighting pits society moved in an endless cycle of routine. Alphas and Omegas turning the wheels of the new world—twenty years after the war that had created this new society it was easy to forget what had brought us to this place.
Like every city, the corrupt underbelly lay hidden beneath a veneer of wealth and decadence, but I knew the truth. Here, in this dark corner of Sector 5, human life was nothing more than a commodity to be bought, sold, and discarded at will.
One of the trainers sidled close, watching my every move. "Got another fight tonight," he said, his voice dripping with perverse admiration.
I ignored him, my jaw clenched and mind focused on the task at hand. Every night is a fight for my life. I needed to be sharp.
"Asher," he hissed. "Word is that you're being watched."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I didn't look away from the bag and my fists thudded into it with methodical precision.
"Nothing," he said as he came closer. "Just want you to be on your toes. Lots of money riding on this next fight."
What the fuck did I care? I never saw any of that money.
The bag folded again, dust filling the air as I slammed it with all my strength.
"What's your secret," the trainer hissed, undaunted by my focus. "How do you do it without... without setting off your chip?"
His tone was conspiratorial, as though I was holding out on him.
There were only a few alphas who fought on this circuit with me... The inhibitor chip was a constant threat.
Let the rage take over, the chip shuts you off.
Splat.
Face down on the mat so you can get stomped into oblivion by your opponent.
Not me. I never gave in.
"You heard about Darian, right?" the trainer continued as though I'd acknowledged him. "He bailed on a fight right in the middle of kicking this Beta's ass—the chip knocked him right out and the Beta beat him to a fucking pulp right there in the middle of the ring."
The trainer chuckled, a wet sound that made me cringe.
My fists hit the bag.
Rhythmic.
Focused.
Undaunted.
What the fuck did I care.
"Hey— get away from my fighter!" My trainer's voice echoed in the room over the sound of my punches. "Fuck outta here—you know the rules!"
"Yeah, yeah," the other man muttered as he moved away. "Think about it, Asher—you all have a weakness."
"Get the fuck out of here," my trainer yelled. He slapped his hand against my bare shoulder. "Don't you listen to him," he said. "That asshole has been walking around pretending he's king shit because his Omega won a match." He snorted. "Craziest thing I ever saw, that Omega went feral, took them all by surprise. He won a lot of money that night."
"I'm not fighting any Omegas," I snarled.
Bax laughed. "Of course you're not. You're a champion. You're not fighting the dregs anymore."
"He said I'm being watched," I said as I caught the swinging punching bag and stopped it in midair. "Who the fuck is watching me."
Bax spat on the ground and winked at me. "Everyone's watching you, Asher. You're an enigma. An alpha who can kill without blacking out—you're not supposed to be able to do that. Everyone wants to know your secret."
"No secret," I muttered.
"Yeah, yeah, that's the story," he said. "That's what keeps the money coming in, ain't it?"
I glared at Bax. He'd been my trainer for a few years now, but he was also my jailer... and my tormenter.
"Are you ready?"
A short nod.
I was always ready.
Bax grinned at me and pointed to the doors that would lead me to the arena. "They're waiting for you."
I followed Bax through the heavy metal doors, my muscles tensed in anticipation of the violence to come. The cold air of the arena was cold on the sweat that bathed my chest and shoulders.
The air thundered with the cheers and screams of the crowd. The floor under my feet rumbled with their excitement.
I could feel their eyes on me, tracking my every move, their lust for brutality palpable in the thick air.
The inhibitor chip embedded in my spine was a constant threat. They'd implanted it in me when they'd found me wandering the streets after the war.
It was supposed to restrain my primal tendencies and keep my rage in check.
But I did have a secret.
I'd mastered the art of controlling my heartbeat, my breathing, and every ounce of rage within me. It had taken years of fighting against it. Testing its limits.
Now I was the one in charge.
The violence didn't touch me. The stench of death didn't faze me. It meant nothing to me.
The other Alphas were slaves to the technology embedded in their bodies. Held prisoner by their true natures.
Not me.
I entered the arena, my senses assaulted by the cacophony of jeers, taunts, and frenzied betting.
Bax wrapped my hands in heavy black tape as he told me about my opponent. But I wasn't listening.
My knuckles ached, but the pain only served to sharpen my focus. I knew that every single punch I threw would be the hardest one that the Beta had ever taken. Each one more brutal than the last. Each one laser focused on its mark.
"Hey, Fury!" a fellow fighter called out from across the dimly lit room, his voice dripping with false camaraderie. "You ready to rip that bastard's spine out?"
I hated it when they called me that.
Fury.
What the fuck kind of nickname was that?
These Alphas didn't know what fury was.
"Damn straight," Bax answered for me.
My eyes narrowed as I envisioned my opponent writhing on the ground, choking on his own blood. I couldn't wait to feel the rush of power that always surged through me when I stood over another broken body.
"Five minutes, Black Corner," a gravelly voice announced from the doorway. The fight coordinator, a bald, brutish man with a face like a bulldog, eyed me with grudging respect. He knew better than to get too close.
"We don't need five," Bax called back with a grin before he turned back to me. "Do we?"
"No," I growled. I straightened up and rolled my shoulders back to loosen the tight muscles. My heartbeat was steady in my chest, a constant drumbeat urging me towards the violence that awaited me in the cage.
Bax pushed the doors open and the deafening roar of the bloodthirsty crowd washed over me as I strode out of the prep room.
The air reeked of sweat, cheap alcohol, and the metallic tang of blood—a heady mixture that never failed to send shivers down my spine and make my cock twitch.
"Kill the fucker!" someone screamed from the stands, their words lost in the cacophony of cheers and taunts.
I stepped into the cage and locked eyes with my opponent. The Beta was a hulking mass of muscle and rage. They weren't chipped like the Alphas, it made them think they had an advantage.
Their rage made them sloppy.
The cage door slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing through my skull like thunder.
"Black Corner!"
"Gold Corner!"
My opponent stalked to his side of the ring and threw himself against the ropes. He glared at me, his chest heaving. He was branded—the best fighters all were—the scar was bright against his skin.
The ma
Live. Die. Win.
It didn't matter.
All that mattered was cash in hand.
"Are you ready—" Bax was behind me. "He's tall, but you're taller— He won his last match on a technicality, the other fighter slipped in some blood—"
"I don't give a fuck," I growled.
The instant the bell rang out, I launched myself at my adversary. My fists collided with his torso with brutal force. The impact sent shockwaves up my arms as the Beta grunted. I reveled in the pain and let it fuel me as I drove my fist deep into his gut and then reared back to smash my elbow into his face.
His nose broke with a crunch that made the crowd scream with bloodlust.
"Is that all you got, you fucking pussy?" he spat. Blood streamed down the Beta's chin and dripped onto the stained canvas beneath our feet. His attempt to taunt me only served to push me to inflict even more damage.
The adrenaline coursing through my veins heightened my senses, and I found myself moving with a swiftness and precision that was nothing short of lethal. Each blow I landed on my opponent was calculated and executed with the accuracy of a seasoned predator, leaving him staggering and disoriented.
"Is that all you got?" I taunted, ducking under his clumsy swing and landing a devastating uppercut to his jaw. The impact reverberated up my arm, but the thrill of watching him reel back in pain only served to fuel my desire for dominance.
"Fuck you!" he spat, lunging at me with renewed determination. But his fury was no match for my agility and cunning.
I sidestepped his attack easily and seized the opportunity to deliver a crushing kick to his ribs. The satisfying crunch of bone beneath my foot sent shivers down my spine, a wicked pleasure coursed through me.
This was what I'd been made for.
The Beta roared with rage as his blood spattered the canvas and I couldn't help but smile. He'd given away his only strength and given in to his anger.
His charges were clumsy and unfocused and I dodged out of the way without much effort.
I was playing with him now.
It wasn't anger that fueled me, but something darker and more complex: an insatiable lust for power and control, intertwined with an erotic hunger that left me ravenous for blood and conquest.
"Take a good look, motherfucker," I snarled as I grabbed his head and slammed my knee into his face. The satisfying crunch of bone as his jaw broke sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through me.
The Beta's eyes rolled back in his head as he crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him. I stood over him, slick with sweat, but still in control. My heart rate was steady and even. For a moment, I allowed myself to bask in the primal satisfaction of asserting my dominance.
"Finish him!" someone in the crowd howled, their voice barely audible over the din. It could have been Bax—I wondered vaguely how much money he would win tonight.
"Your funeral," I whispered as I raised my foot and brought my heel down hard on the groaning Beta's neck.
The sickening snap of bones echoed through the arena, and a chorus of cheers erupted around me. In that moment, I was invincible—a god among men.
And I felt nothing.
With Bax pushing me onward, I retreated to the dimly lit confines of the pit's locker rooms. The heavy metal doors barely kept out the screams and thundering stomp of the crowd in the concrete stands above us.
The stench of sweat and blood was heavy in the air and the remnants of the Beta's blood had dried to a crust on my fists.
My knuckles throbbed with a satisfying ache—a testament to the pain I'd doled out in the cage.
"They're gonna want to test you again," Bax said as he unwrapped the tape from my knuckles. I flexed my hands as he ripped it away and nodded grimly.
"I know."
"Every time you kill one of those useless fighters you make them second guess those chips," he continued.
I didn't say anything.
They'd tested me too many times already, but I'd never flinched when they inserted a needle into my spine and hooked me up to their goddamned machines and monitors.
It was always the same answer.
No anomalies.
Heart rate: Steady.
Pupils: Normal.
Brain activity: Normal.
Pheromone levels: Normal.
"There's someone who wants to meet you," Bax said as he pushed my throbbing hands into the ice bath that had been prepared for me.
"Oh?"
"An investor," he said. There was a greedy glint in his eye. "You're overdue for a sponsor."
"No one is putting a fucking brand on me," I said. "I like our arrangement."
Bax held up his hands. "Far be it from me to argue, but you have to want more than this, right?"
"Why would I," I said flatly. "I don't have to do anything but win. You take care of everything else."
"I think you're gonna want to hear what this guy has to say," Bax said. "Besides, he has some questions for you."
I raised an eyebrow. "Questions?"
Bax shrugged. "The usual. He wants to know what makes you do it."
"Makes me what?" I spat out in annoyance.
"You know—they always want to know the reasons why," Bax said. He tossed a towel at me. It fell over my shoulder and Bax grinned. "Get in the shower. He's waiting."
I glared at him and pulled my hands out of the ice baths. They still throbbed, but for different reasons. I walked into the showers, ignoring the rest of the men in the enclosed space around me.
Betas and Omegas, waiting for their own turn in the cage.
They all looked equal parts bloodthirsty and terrified as they spoke to each other in soft voices as if they were already plotting their next moves, already scheming about how they might kill the other men who stood around them.
A surge of anger burned through me that they should be so self-assured when there was no guarantee that any of them would make it through more than a few matches without injury or death.
Fools. All of them.
None of us got out of here alive or unchanged.
Chapter 2
Asher
Bax was making me wait.
I tried not to pace, but I didn't want to be here any longer than I had to.
I stood up as footsteps echoed in the hallway.
But it wasn't just Bax who entered the locker room. He was flanked by four men wearing dark riot gear. They walked with purpose, and an intent that I didn't like.
"Just relax, Asher," Bax said. "It's protocol."
"Protocol— Hey!"
Two of the guards grabbed hold of my arms. Their grip was tight and rough, and it felt like they wanted me to struggle. A third man slapped heavy cuffs onto my wrists and the fourth wrapped a chain around my waist and secured the cuffs to it.
"What the fuck, Bax," I snarled.
"I told you, it's protocol," he said apologetically.
"Fuck you," I said through gritted teeth as the guards jerked me forward.
The men handling me weren't gentle, their grip bruising and unforgiving as they forced me out of the room.
I was marched through the locker room and down a narrow hallway that twisted and turned and robbed me of any sense of where I was.
They pushed me up a flight of steep stairs and the roar of the arena assaulted my ears as we walked.
We were above the crowds now.
The polished concrete under my feet was suddenly replaced by a lush scarlet carpet bordered in gold and black filigree patterns.
Classy.
Bax darted ahead of us and pushed open a set of ornate double doors.
A thick scent of expensive cigars filled the air, and hushed whispers echoed throughout the space.
"Ah, Mr. Baxter," a voice drawled from across the room, instantly drawing my attention to a lavish table where a man in an expensive suit sat, his head wreathed in pale blue cigar smoke. "You've brought our guest."
