Chapter Two-Hundred and Forty-Two

Phoebe watched in horror as John took hit after hit to his already battered body, biting her lip until she tasted blood. She knew that John had to be feeling tremendous amounts of pain, the blood flowing from his nose and a split lip were sure signs of it, but he acted as if he never felt it. Even when he took hits to the kidneys and stomach he never flinched or let up on his opponent. "John!" She cried as a new wound opened on his cheekbone, watching as red life flowed from his skin.

John ignored her, aware that not only his life but hers as well, depended on him winning. He faked a left hook, sweeping his leg under the brute and pinning him before he could blink.

The bell rang, signaling that the match was over. "Chico Demonio wins again!" Cheered the MC, lifting John's arm above his head.

John's body shook his exhaustion, his world starting to fade in and out until he was led out of the ring and was taken to the back room, where he proceeded to collapse onto a pile of sweat and blood-soaked towels. He attempted to recover without anyone seeing him, the pain so great that he felt as if he were halfway dead before Phoebe's hands brought him some comfort and helped him to drink the water he desperately needed. "Thank you…" He rasped, his throat parched from the dry air of the Mexican desert being forced in and out of his lungs.

Chance whined at the door to the garage, laying her head on her paws as she waited for her master to come home.

Clarissa patted her on the back, offering one of her favorite snacks —a piece of jerky from John's snack stash— to her. "Come on, Queenie. Dad won't be home for a while." She sighed as the Pit Bull refused the treat, biting her lip as she sat on the grass beside the dog. "I miss him too."

Beverly snuck into John's tiny room, a bowl of chicken broth in her hands. She knelt beside him, gently nudging him awake and offering a spoonful to him. "Here, you need to keep your strength up."

He waited for a moment, as if he didn't quite have his wits about him yet. "Did Phoebe eat?" He asked, waiting for a nod before he took the food. "Thank you." He took the nutrients in slowly, letting his stomach adjust to being full again after days of emptiness.

Beverly smiled, able to see that the fight from his father's side was still shining in his eyes. "Let that Cherokee show, show them that you're not going to lay down and take this." She touched his swollen cheek, looking into those eyes that seemed to always change color. "Fight them."

He took another spoon of broth, exhausted from the fights. "If I fight back, they'll kill you and Phoebe." He noticed that they'd been trying to use Phoebe as a tool on him, keeping her away until he obeyed their commands and letting him see her for a few moments as a reward. "I can't let them do that."

Jessica glared at Claire as she walked the halls of the school, trying to hide her own fear for John's safety. She'd seen the scars on his legs and a few on his hips when she'd attempted to bribe him to be with her, and she knew that his father was a cruel man.

Thomas read over everything he could find on Jacob and Beverly, even going deep into John's own criminal files despite the fact he knew he wouldn't like what was inside. "Linked to murder?" He read over the lines again, looking at the image of the victim's sliced feet and the other wounds on his body. "Kaylie Rebecka!" He called remembering how she'd talked about the man who'd tried to rape her.

Kaylie opened the door to his office, looking at the files. "Yeah?"

Thomas pointed to the man in the case files. "Is this the man who tried to rape you?"

She nodded, looking at the word 'murder' on the paper. "Yeah…" She remembered John, his hands clamped like jaws around the guy's neck, his knife flashing as he'd sliced his feet. "John did the shit on his feet and the bruises around his neck are from him, but he was still alive when he took me home."

John rocked himself on the floor of his room, hugging himself tight and squeezing his eyes shut against the memory. "Not real… it's not real… you, you're… okay…" He jumped to his feet as the strong scent of cooking grease and fried liver and onions. "Fuck off Ben…" He snapped, as the door was closed behind the cook.

"How the hell did you know it was me?" He asked, closing his fingers over the vial of holy water in his hand.

"I can smell you." John stated, circling around Ben and baring his teeth. "Like liver and onions, mixed with overdue oil in a fryer."

Ben made a cross with his fingers over his head shoulders and heart. "You're one fucked up kid…" He hissed, his eyes drifting down to the black and blue marks on the kid's ribs and sides.

"Leave." John ordered, slinking closer to the pedophile as his eyes changed to absolute black.

Ben rushed from the room, an odd feeling settling over him as the kid looked at him.