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family, I chose to move away from my home in Cheshire, to escape my father’s thumb and the whimpers of my pathetic mother. According to my cousins, my parents ask about me constantly, my father more so, but I have no respect for him, for what he does or what he stands for. To me, my parents are dead. Harsh? Maybe, but I don’t believe in beating a woman into silence, and that’s what my father does.
    Blinking my eyes to clear the memories, I go about the rest of the work day. Tattooing. It’s my passion and another thing no-one can take away from me.
     
     
     

 

     
    I’ve been training for the last two hours and my muscles are starting to scream at me with pain. My arms feel ready to fall off but I’ve learnt not to quit. Never quit. Quitters are for losers who can’t follow through. They’re the kind of people the MMA circuit would kick to the curb.
    “Beast! Stop, mate, for fuck sake!” Carlos shouts from just past the perimeter of the punching bags. “You have a fight tonight and those arms cannot be fatigued to the point of losing, you understand?”
    My arms hang loosely to my sides and I stand there taking quick breaths as sweat pours over every inch of my skin. Once I feel I have control of my breathing, I turn and face the one man that has the power to shut my ass down. Carlos is the big man, a man not unlike my father. Their long noses and shaped jaws are so similar they could have passed as twins but really, Carlos was three years younger but a shit load smarter. Yeah, this badass mafia boss is my uncle. But to me he’s just another power hungry twat and someone who’s ego is much bigger than mine.
    “I’m aware I have a fight, Uncle. But that’s still four hours away. I can train longer than this and still come out a winner. Why are you suddenly doubting my worth?” My eyes narrow as I study his features which don’t change, he’s the master at not showing his emotions and hiding his thoughts. That where I learnt how to do it. I idolised this man when I was just a boy but as I got older, he got harsher. The love I felt toward him died the moment he laughed as my father beat me ‘til I couldn’t stand anymore. But I’m under his thumb, his rule.
    “I’m not doubting you, son. I just can’t afford for you to lose against Bart Steele tonight.” His smirk says otherwise.
    “You can afford everything in the world, Uncle, so drop the bullshit.” I stare hard at him, and curl my lip back in a snarl. “You can try and push me out but I’m not going anywhere. Your money would dwindle into pennies before you could even blink an eyelid. I don’t give a fuck about what you want because you’re nothing but a Mafia big nose who runs the MMA.”
    I stride past him, bumping my shoulder into his as I go. I fucking hate the man and he knows I do. He always riles me up for his own self-gain. He’s a pathetic twat and if he didn’t have MMA he wouldn’t have anything. Including his twenty-three-year-old wife. You think I’m a prick for the way I treat bitches? You ain’t seen him in action. He’s a fuck lot worse and whole lot more brutal. I never smack a woman around just for fun, I don’t smack them around full stop. He does it because if they don’t give him respect, he’ll beat the respect out of them.
    After I’ve showered and changed, I head over to the restaurant my mother owns. She’s a different person to the one she was when my father was around. Happiness seeps through her pores now and you notice it in every step she takes and every smile she gives. Her attitude before his death was horrible, she was the shell of the person she could have been and I resented her for most of my life because she fed me to the devil. But we’ve finally built a mother/son relationship that I always dreamed about. She’s the only person I’m soft with because she doesn’t deserve any more drama and not more shit from the men in her life. That’s probably why she married a school teacher;