Mirage_ A Dark Retelling (The Veiled Love Duet) - C.M. Radcliff Page 0,1

young age, and it became a vital part of survival.

I was a fire station drop off baby. Whoever my mother was decided she didn’t want me and dropped me off, still covered in her blood. I never knew her or any blood relatives. And if they were out there somewhere, they never came looking for me.

As an infant, I was thrown straight into the system. Most couples that are trying to adopt want a baby. Babies come with nothing but biological flaws. They’re still innocent and pure, untouched by the toxic world they were born into. New parents can form and shape them however they want.

Biologically, I was flawed, and I never fit into the mold of the perfect son that every parent wanted. The family that took me in never adopted me. They gave up on me the moment that their older son had to get stitches because of me. They saw me bash him in the head with a glass vase, but what they didn’t see was the torture he’d been putting me through since I was an infant.

He constantly tormented me, and I finally stood up for myself. At the ripe age of four years old, I landed on my ass, back in the system.

After them, I bounced to and from houses, families and school districts all with the reputation of being a shithead kid. One with an attitude and an anger problem.

They weren’t entirely wrong, so I went with it. If they were going to give me that label, then I was going to live up to their expectations. And when I was thrown into the shittiest group homes in Miami, I used that to my advantage.

The group home taught me everything I needed to know. I grew up in the gutter of Miami and I learned quickly that the street mentality isn’t like the rest of the world. That’s where I learned what I needed to survive, to make it to the top.

And I did.

Staying on top is harder than getting there. I took one misstep in that ring and it was game over… I lost everything.

I was one of the top illegal fighters in the country and I ended up in a coma because of a brain injury.

Flexing my hand, I make a fist and feel the nerves light up through my fingers.

A wonderful side effect of surviving a deadly blow to the head.

As soon as I was cleared by the doctor, I got back in the ring and I’ve been steadily making my way back up the food chain. Society doesn’t accept the moral code and ethics that I live by, so I stay in the shadows until it’s time to fight.

Now, I’m back in the gutter, but maybe it’s where I belong. This city made me who I am today.

Miami is a breeding ground for the vicious monsters that prowl the streets late at night. It’s the city where criminals are born, but they hide in the shadows when the sun rises across the horizon.

They aren’t the ones to be feared though, not when the daylight hides the vilest creatures of them all. They are the criminals that don’t get caught and they’re a whole different animal.

♦♦♦

Leaving the bloody mess on the floor of the ring, I duck between the ropes and step down onto the concrete ground. Blood drips from my battered knuckles as I walk down the aisle, passing the rows of spectators and slip through the back door.

The vast locker room is empty when I step inside. Whoever owns the property put a great deal of time and money into the design of the arena. The entire building is intricately detailed and tailored for the crowd that it hosts.

Even though we’re all expendable when it really comes down to it, most of us are well taken care of. The locker room is one of the perks that comes with fucking with the wealthy and their dirty money.

We have our own space to wind down and clean up afterward. Although we don’t mingle after the fight unless we’re invited, there’s still a strict code for having a clean appearance leaving here.

It’s a private and exclusive event and the last thing that the owners want is to be tipped off by the police. I follow their code and abide by their rules for the pure sake of fighting. I couldn’t give a shit about the logistics. The only thing that matters is the money and the fight.

Grabbing my street clothes from