Ciphers, Matt Rogers [a court of thorns and roses ebook free TXT] 📗

about reflexes.’

‘Reaction speed?’

‘Yes.’

‘I picked that up. I’ve never seen anyone make adjustments in real time like you do. If I’m holding a pad a few inches away from where it should be, it’s like you compute it in a millisecond and land the punch or kick in the right place every single time.’

‘Is that why you said I should be a professional fighter?’

Rory nodded. ‘Those abilities would pay dividends in the cage.’

‘But now you understand why I can’t.’

Another nod.

King said, ‘They’ve paid dividends throughout my career. Trust me.’

‘How so?’

‘I should be dead a thousand times over. I’m not.’

Rory said, ‘When are you going to stop?’

‘I tried to stop.’

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing good.’

‘You don’t want to go into it?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘I thought you said—’

‘Certain topics are off-limits.’

‘I can respect that.’

King finished the dregs of beer at the bottom of the glass and folded his giant hands over each other on the tabletop. He sighed and said, ‘Have you ever done anything other than fighting, Rory?’

Rory said, ‘Of course. I’m training you, aren’t I?’

‘But that’s still the business. There’s something raw and primal and animalistic about it. If you were to get a job in retail, it wouldn’t quite have the same … pop. We all like to pretend that we look down on violence, but when you see it up close and personal, it’s something so vastly different to anything else on this planet.’

Rory nodded.

King said, ‘It’s not like you enjoy it, so to speak. But you couldn’t see yourself not being involved with it.’

Another nod.

Rory said, ‘I’ve spent my life as a kickboxer. I couldn’t stop. Even if I wanted to.’

‘Apply the same logic to what I do, and there you have your answer.’

‘You don’t like the violence,’ Rory said. ‘But it’s necessary for you to be part of it. Because you’re good at it and you couldn’t see yourself letting your talents go to waste. I’m sure you’ve helped countless people through your feats. I get it.’

‘So when you burrow down to the core, we’re in the same game after all.’

Rory said, ‘People don’t die in my game. Combat sports is not the real world. It’s artificial. Made up for entertainment. When the ref says stop, you stop. I couldn’t imagine translating my skills to the real world. That’s far too messy.’

‘All the more reason why I can’t quit. Not many people have been conditioned to do what I do. I try not to be arrogant when I say that. Truth is…’

He trailed off, but he could feel Rory’s eyes boring into him.

He’d never told anyone this.

Not Slater.

Not a soul.

Eventually Rory said, ‘What?’

King lifted his gaze. ‘This stays between us. No matter what.’

Rory drained his beer and nodded. It wasn’t just any old nod. It conveyed respect and honour. The word of a professional mixed martial artist was as good a guarantee as anything. They knew too much pain and suffering to be superficial.

King said, ‘I wish I’d never been born with the genetic advantages I have. They make me very adept at not dying, but sometimes I wish it’d all come to an end just for the weight it’d take off my shoulders.’

‘That’s a dangerous thing to say.’

‘I’m not suicidal. Not even close. But this constant momentum weighs on me. I don’t suppress it like Slater does. I just dwell on it. I have a partner in the same business I’m in, and she keeps me sane. But it’s taking a toll. Not being able to stop. Not wanting to stop. Not taking the foot off the gas even for a moment.’

Rory said, ‘It’s not a predicament I’d want to be in.’

‘So do you have the answers you wanted?’

‘I have a million more questions.’

‘Maybe another time. I have a date tonight.’

‘With this mysterious partner of yours?’

‘The one and only.’

‘Who is she?’

‘Her name’s Violetta,’ King said. ‘She’s probably the one who pays you.’

Rory raised an eyebrow. ‘She’s your boss?’

‘She’s my handler.’

‘How’d you two end up together?’

‘Unwisely.’

‘How do you separate work and your personal lives?’

‘It’s difficult.’

‘I won’t pry.’

‘Appreciate it.’

‘Can I ask about Slater?’

King considered it. But ultimately he reached the right conclusion.

‘No,’ he said.

‘Why not?’

‘I get that you’re interested in our world. But it’s all very secretive. I don’t feel comfortable sharing anything about Will Slater without his permission.’

‘He’s like you?’

‘In a way.’

‘How do you differ?’

King clasped his hands together. ‘You and I are sitting here making light conversation over a single drink.’

‘And Slater?’

‘He’s probably up to something a little more … unruly.’

8

No one saw a thing.

The Colt was there, and then it wasn’t.

If the kid had it in plain sight for any longer than a few seconds, someone in the crowd would notice the neon lights flashing off the gunmetal and react accordingly. As soon as enough people realised what was happening, pandemonium would break out.

But none of that happened because Slater stripped the guy of the weapon before anyone was the wiser.

He lunged forward and snatched hold of the kid’s spindly wrist and bent it so hard he nearly broke the ulna and the radius in the same jerk. The guy’s tanned face went pale and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head, and Slater used the sudden change in momentum to wrench the gun out of his grasp like it had never been there at all. Then, in one smooth motion, he tucked it into the back of his own waistband and dropped his leather jacket over it, hiding it from sight in an instant.

All five of the sicarios saw what happened.

None of them reacted.

And Slater understood.

This little shit is out of control, they were thinking. Please teach him a lesson.

Slater darted into range and looped a giant arm over the back of the kid’s neck, draping his hand over the opposite shoulder, like an overly macho hug between two best friends.

He pulled the guy in close and said in his ear, ‘What’s your name?’

The kid stood there, flabbergasted by the turn of events. He tried to look behind him to see where his bodyguards were, but Slater