The Fighter Read online

  THE FIGHTER

  The Dregs Book 2

  Leslie Georgeson

  Copyright © 2018 Leslie Georgeson

  This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author.

  * * *

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Other Titles by Leslie Georgeson

  About Leslie Georgeson

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  THE FIGHTER

  My dreg name is The Fighter. I’m an expert in mixed martial arts. I had to betray my dreg brothers to protect my child. I’m a traitor now. An outsider. So I keep my distance from them. Hiding in the shadows.

  But I have more important things to worry about than trying to win back their trust. I have a five-year-old kid to take care of now. She scares the hell out of me. I don’t know the slightest thing about kids. I need a nanny to care for my daughter. So I place an ad and hope that someone will reply.

  The woman who responds is not what I expect. She’s young and gorgeous and way out of my league. But she’ll have to do, since I have no one else. I try not to want her. I try to keep my distance. But she is pure temptation. And I’m falling under her spell.

  She doesn’t know that working for me puts her in danger. She doesn’t know who or what I am. And I plan to keep it that way.

  Because the truth could hurt her.

  And so could I.

  PROLOGUE

  Jacob

  We stood in a line, twelve of us. Recent discharges.

  We knew the routine. We’d witnessed it numerous times over the years.

  Stand tall. Accept your award. Be proud of your accomplishments.

  Then prepare to die.

  Except our unit wasn’t going to die. Not if we could help it. Tracker had orchestrated a brilliant escape plan. If we managed to pull this off, we would be the first to escape. The first to survive our own slaughter. The first dregs to be freed into society. Turned loose like wild animals with no master, no one to control us except ourselves.

  There was a reason soldiers were slaughtered after the discharge ceremony. We were as dangerous as wild animals, and just as unpredictable. Even we didn’t know what we might do out in the world on our own, how we might react. All we’d known was our prison here, our life as soldiers for The Company.

  I tuned The General out as he rambled on. He moved down the line, naming each of us and highlighting our special talents and achievements. Blah. Blah. Blah. It wasn’t us he was praising, but himself. The narcissistic asshole loved the sound of his own voice, loved to brag about what he’d done at this facility. Creating the perfect soldier. Yeah, we all knew what that meant. We had all endured his “creating the perfect soldier” process. Many had died. Our unit had been among the few to persevere through all the gruesome trials and tribulations that had been thrust upon us. We were survivors.

  And now that we were no longer useful to The Company, we were dregs.

  Worthless.

  The General finished his speech and a young military woman handed each of us a round gold medal. Ralph and I exchanged glances. As soon as they slaughtered us, they would take the medals back, reserving them for the next group. And the next after that. And so on.

  Gold was heavy. Gold could become a weapon. We were killing machines, after all. We were capable of turning the smallest of things into weapons.

  Weapons that we were now about to use.

  We would have the advantage of surprise. The General would never suspect us of fighting back, of trying to escape our own slaughter. I couldn’t wait to see his face when we enacted our plan. When we fought back. When we escaped. When we killed the bastards who had stolen half of our lives and turned us into monsters. I would kill as many as I could before I went down.

  You’re not going down. You’re getting out of here.

  With that determined thought in my head, I waited while the last of us received our medals. The General smiled, his gaze moving down the line, locking eyes with each of us. “You’ve done well, soldiers. Each of you has made me proud in some way or another. But now your time of service must end.”

  Now your time of service must end.

  That was our cue. That was the last sentence The General always said before the discharges were shot. Ralph tensed next to me.

  The firing squad standing across from us raised their weapons.

  It was now or never.

  I flung my gold medal at the armed soldier standing directly across from me. The medal smacked him right between the eyes. He gasped, blood spurting down his face, and stumbled back, his gun clattering to the ground.

  The other dregs launched their medals as well, hitting the firing squad in various places, mostly in the head or neck.

  Gunshots rang out. People screamed.

  We dropped and ran, darted and attacked, fighting hard for our freedom.

  “Goddammit!” The General yelled over the chaos. “You stupid fools! I can’t let you go! You know that! Stop this insanity right now!”

  Ralph and I fought our way past the firing squad, along with the other ten discharges, taking out as many as we could. More armed guards rushed into the room. And then more. We were outnumbered. There was only one thing I could do in this situation. Only one way we could escape.

  Release the phantom.

 
So I did.

  Silently, swiftly, I whipped around like a tornado, becoming the Phantom of Death my fellow soldiers called me, taking out whoever got in my path, helping to clear the way for the others. Bodies dropped all around me. Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Then we headed for the door, racing for freedom.

  Several more gunshots rang out as more soldiers thundered into the room.

  Monte and Pablo both dropped, serious wounds to their heads instantly taking them out.

  “Fuck,” Gordon growled off to my right as he ran beside Tracker. “Pablo and Monte are down.”

  More gunshots zinged past us.

  Ralph hissed in pain next to me.

  He stumbled.

  And fell.

  No!

  Pain skewered through my leg, my chest, and my neck, his injuries spiraling through me almost as powerfully as if they were my own. Our bond as dreg brothers, as partners, ensured we shared a deep physical, emotional and spiritual connection. I experienced what he felt to some extent, and vice versa.

  But I’d never wanted to feel this.

  Death.

  I dropped next to him, slipping an arm around his waist, as his life ebbed away, blood oozing from numerous bullet wounds. How had I remained unscathed while he’d been plugged full of bullet holes?

  “Hang on, Ralph.” My breath hitched. I swallowed hard. “I got you, partner. I got you.”

  But it was too late.

  Ralph’s head lolled back. “Go,” he slurred. “Save yourself.” His eyes drifted closed. His heartbeat stopped.

  He was gone.

  No, no, no!

  My chest heaved in agony. I tightened my arms around him, unable to let go of his limp body. Unable to accept that he was dead.

  “He’s gone, Jacob! Let him go!” Luke yanked roughly on my arm. “You can’t save him!”

  More gunshots whizzed past, narrowly missing my head.

  I drew in a ragged breath and glanced up, overcome with shock. Ryan snagged my other arm, and between him and Luke, they dragged me away. Leaving Ralph’s body behind.

  Ralph. My partner in war. My best friend for the past twelve years. The only person in this world who truly understood me.

  Dead.

  Gone.

  Forever.

  CHAPTER ONE

  One year later…

  Jacob

  I waited until dark. Then I slipped silently into the open courthouse and up to the bulletin board. Vandals had broken into the building over a month ago, shattering the glass and destroying everything in sight. Graffiti covered the walls everywhere I looked. Some of the profanity chastised the government, other graphic words and drawings were outright racial slurs, and still others condemned Christians or Jews or Muslims or other religions. Augusta had become a hate-filled world of violence. The courthouse and other government buildings had been the first to be vandalized after the gang wars had erupted in the city. People had taken over the bulletin board in the main lobby, using it for their own personal ads. The majority of the ads were for help wanted, others were items for sale or trade. Morality didn’t play a part on this bulletin board. Sex and children were offered for sale as readily as tangible items such as food or clothing.

  Glancing around to make sure I was alone, I removed the folded piece of paper from my shirt pocket and stuck my ad at the top where everyone could see it. It was a simple ad. Five sentences. It had taken me six tries before I finally got the wording the way I liked.

  Live-in nanny needed for 5-yr-old girl. Experience with children required. Must be honest and reliable. Will pay handsomely for the right person. Interested parties meet me at the parking lot of Laney High School at midnight on Friday.

  Some people might balk at the idea of meeting a stranger at midnight, but I refused to show my face during the day. It wasn’t safe. And this would weed out anyone who wasn’t serious about finding a job. I didn’t have the patience to deal with idiots. I needed someone who would stick around and take care of my daughter.

  Last week I had also left similar ads posted on the bulletin board at the grocery store in Eatonton, one at Eatonton’s public library, and one at Eatonton’s local gym, hoping one of the small-town residents would need a job. The time and the meeting place were different in each ad, but always at night, and always in an open parking lot where I would be able to watch whomever showed up and gauge them from a distance before I approached. No one had shown at the meeting places for any of those ads. So, I’d been forced to enter the city of Augusta under cover of darkness and placed this final ad as a last resort.

  This was purely an act of desperation on my part. I would never willingly bring a stranger into my life. But I needed help.

  I slipped away as silently as I’d arrived, keeping to the shadows, blending in with the darkness around me. Becoming the phantom that I’d been named for.

  I rounded a corner, my foot accidentally connecting with a discarded soda can I somehow hadn’t seen. The aluminum banged and clanged as it bounced across the asphalt, then slammed into a large garbage dumpster.

  Shit. The soda can had just announced my presence to anyone nearby. Criminals lurked everywhere on these streets, waiting for hapless victims to walk by.

  I halted, tensing, as my acute senses picked up a threat on the other side of the dumpster. Four different breaths. Four separate heartbeats. The scents of fear and sweat reached my nostrils at the same time that I sensed their ill intent. Four men were hiding behind that dumpster.

  I slowly reached for the knife strapped to the inside of my ankle.

  A normal man would probably flee to safety. But I wasn’t a normal man. I didn’t run from danger. I ran into it.

  The first man came around the dumpster like a whirlwind. He must have drawn the smallest straw. He ran full tilt at me, lifting a crow bar over his head. I easily stepped aside, then turned to face him as he thundered to a stop and spun around, swinging the bar at me. I darted to the left, then the right, while he kept swinging, trying to hit me.

  He let out an angry snarl and swung again. And again. And again. The stench of his fear reached my nostrils. He wanted to kill me so he could prove to his buddies that he could.

  I smirked, letting him wear himself out. I ducked and darted out of the way each time he swung the bar at me, until finally, I decided I’d had enough of this game.

  I slipped my foot out and tripped him.

  With a shout of dismay, he stumbled and fell face first onto the sidewalk. The crow bar launched out of his hand, clanging loudly as it hit the concrete.

  Instantly, a second man careened around the dumpster with a yell. He carried a long, steel bar in his hand. He swung at me as I moved aside. I reached out, wrapping my hand around the end of the steel, and snatched the weapon from him. In a fluid move, I swung back around and slammed the metal into the side of his head. He dropped instantly, blood oozing from the wound and staining the sidewalk. He wasn’t dead yet, but he would be soon.

  The first man regained his feet. He retrieved the fallen crow bar and lunged at me. I turned, yanked the crow bar out of his hand, and plunged my knife into his chest. He hissed, his eyes widening in surprise. I yanked the knife free and shoved him back.

  The final two men barreled around the dumpster. Both had similar weapons, large pieces of steel.

  Did these fools really think they could take me out? I hadn’t even had to turn the phantom loose. These guys were amateurs. Street thugs. No match for me.

  I eyed them as they approached. The first darted forward, swinging the metal at me. I ducked down, then rose up, burying my knife in his neck, then pulled it free.

  He gurgled and stumbled back, clutching his throat, gasping. Then he fell to his knees, sputtering.

  The last man halted, eyeing his dead or dying friends with wide eyes. Then he spun on his heel and fled, apparently deciding I wasn’t worth the effort.

  Wise man.

  I’d just killed three of his buddies. With ease. If he hadn’t r
un, I would have killed him, too.

  I knelt and cleaned my blade off on the man whose neck I’d stuck it in. He was now lying prone on the ground, his heartbeat slowing as he bled out.

  I rose and swiftly disappeared into the night.

  Circulating rumors had left the dregs with the stigma of “bad, dangerous men to be avoided at all costs”. We all had bounties on our heads now. We were all being hunted. So we hid in an underground maze in the woods, only venturing out at night.

  The gang violence in Augusta had increased over the past several days, and the government had sent more troops in to try to get things under control. A few gang members had been arrested, several others killed, but most were still at large, the war continuing on.

  But the gang wars were the least of my worries. My biggest concern right now was finding someone to help me raise my kid. Before I did something to accidentally hurt her.

  I had already secured a quiet place on the outskirts of Eatonton to raise Hazel away from the violence.

  Now all I could do was wait for prospective nannies.

  And see if anyone showed up.

  Because if no one showed…then Hazel was doomed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Anna

  Oh God, why am I still here?

  Rising from my uncomfortable bed on the hard floor near the brick wall, I slowly stretched, groaning at the kink in my neck and the sharp pain that shot down my leg. Today wasn’t the first day I’d wondered if I’d been stupid to stay in Augusta rather than flee to safety like many others had weeks ago.

  I’d been volunteering at a homeless shelter before the gang wars, and for the past month I found myself sleeping at that same homeless shelter with others who’d lost their jobs like me. My car was on its last leg, nearly empty of fuel, and my cellphone and my clothes and other personal items had been stolen a couple of days ago. I now had nothing but the clothes on my back. If I’d been smart, I would have left Augusta, taken what little savings I had, and headed to another town, found a new job, and started fresh elsewhere. But I hadn’t. I’d stayed behind, wanting to help those in need, thinking maybe I could make a difference. My savings was now dwindling down to almost nothing. I would have to find another job soon, or wind up starving and desperate like those I helped care for.