Was it the fact truth behind his legend was being revealed that made him feel like he was waking from a dream about someone else's life, Alex pondered.
His darling Charlie was 100% behind being his love's personal avenging Angel. The detective was a beautiful vigilante and that was hot. His boo was brutal, efficient and just as good at hiding in plain sight as the ex teen spy was. In the past, he'd never been much of a team player. Now he was going to assemble a weird group to play hard ball. There was no good or bad, everyone just was who they were and how life had shaped them.
He had told no one the real reason The Russian hood had stopped playing when he was eighteen. It had nothing to do with his family intervention and everything to do with taking his mask off. That prick just kept reading people wrong, never poke a sleeping dragon.
There had only been two instances in LA the real Alex had come out to play.
Once at High School, then the other Gringo in his year had the bright idea on bringing a semi automatic into school intent on killing all he thought beneath him.
Had it been just luck that the crazy Russian sophomore, who hated everyone but bullies in particular, had been just out of view then when the ultimate loner Dwight Brun had pulled out his gleaming m16 with a sloppy flourish and almost dropped it straight away, looking like he could barely hold the thing straight? Alex could have stayed out of sight, a witness to murder and mayhem, his foster parents, social worker and shrink had spent hours instilling the need to quell impulsiveness. It wasn't that he gave a shit, cause his last two school placements had worked so well. It wasn't that he lacked empathy for his classmates or the. would be killer, but the bad stance, sloppy technique and total lack of situational awareness got his goat. His silent approach, easy takedown, spinning his opponent around, a Glasgow kiss braking the nose and a knee in the balls venting justified anger meant within seconds the killer's weapon had been broken into its constituent parts and the real killer in the room faced off with a snivelling mess of a wannabe asshat weeping on the floor. "Please, a gun! you brought a fucking gun to school? Are you the bad guy now? Should I been afraid? Pitiful! You're a waste of a bullet." Alex then pulled the guy off the floor. "You should understand one thing, you have my attention, now. You better not cross my path again or I'll play with you for weeks, months maybe even years. Dismembering you piece by piece, flaying skin off an inch at a time as a needles, a knife, pliers, and a hammer can make true art in your suffering. Maybe a car battery and some water boarding thrown in for variety. As, I promise on my mother's grave to make living way worse than dying." The failed antagonist had then pissing himself, breaking the moment of anger and replacing it with disgust. Alex had dropped the would be killer back on the floor. The school security guard stood with only a slightly better stance, just a bit too close for Alex's comfort. The teenager had then wiped his hands on his trousers scathing "you Americans and your right to bear arms. Like Crocodile Dundee I prefer a good knife fight any day." The teen now known as just as Sasha, as he did not answer to the Russian alias, then walked off, late for algebra.
God, his foster parents had been not been impressed, less with the city's attempt to reward their son's complete lack of self-preservation and when their foster son arguing that until the actual dismantling of the weapon, the security guard had been the first to get to safety. Parents and concerned professionals grumbled Sasha appeared to have no fear for his own well-being, which met with 'only if the asshat with a gun is professional, next time I'll just give pointers on proper stance, awareness, tactics and the right way to liquidate stupid teenagers. Making things go boom is way more fun. And there are worse things than dying.' Family sessions had been a riot for then next few months. The young man taking of tactics and how to perform mass murder.
At eighteen, he'd graduated high school with a high enough GED to get into a college, but being tied down for a truck load of debt seemed stupid. The marine recruitment in downtown had got as far as his surname to put two and two together as a former Gunnery Sergeant's damaged adopted son, with a quiet "son, do you actually thing you'd pass the psych exam?" More likely was his former occupation as child trafficked sex worker.
It had been Angel's idea to make a quick buck on the fighting circuit which had made both of them easy money. It started small, in local bars and then word got around and bigger and bigger events. Vegas was going to be big payout for the for the foster brothers. Only Ding decided to stage an intervention.
Alex had scraped together the cash to buy in. So, he might have done some less than legal things. People had lost stuff they could easily replace. No one had gotten hurt and there was no evidence to pin anything on him or his bro. Only rumours had gotten back to his Dad. Lessons learned long ago, meant Alex never took the same route home. Parked in a different spot and always checked marks left that no one had entered his truck or his home unannounced. There were lights on in his tiny one room apartment. Angel always waited from him in his car. He checked his phone. No messages, but it was three hours before Angel was due to pick him up. Then, he climbed the fire escape on the building opposite and had a proper look in.
He smiled and texted his Dad, "You better switch the lights off when you leave. I'll come and talk on Sunday. Don't worry I can handle myself." Ding did not approve of his continued friendship with Angel. It was not like Angel was seriously bad, just a bit of a player. Then again, Alex's idea of bad was skewed, Yassen was a killer but almost OK then so was he. Morally ambiguous compared to straight up no morals what so ever, like Julia Rothman, Grief, Cray, Sayle, etc etc.
The car Angel was driving was sold when they got to Vegas. Alex had already booked a flight home. Hopefully with pockets full of cash. The former spy had no qualms about betting on opponents to win. Here, he was again an unknown, as this was a step up from the local east and central LA fight scene.
The promoter was Roman, the gangster was always a bit too full of himself, but he'd come sniffing after the kid who killed two of his former enemies, with an invite and possibility international fights. Fights were not to the death like Bangkok and the fighting arena was akin to professional wrestling. The eighteen year old was here to put on a show, though barely keeping his skill set fresh. Most opponents no match for a former pupil of Yermalov, who would expect Opponents to be floored or disarmed with three moves or less, but there was no sport in that.
Four rounds in and Walker looked at the young kid playing with his food and immediately went over to his boss to warn him. The old man had smiled "it's good to see Hunter's son again, isn't it Mr Walker. You have earned a promotion as Li On has failed to appraise the risk correctly here".
The American could only acquiesce. Dr Three always exacted a high price for failure, he did not waste resources, but the punishment sometimes broke the offender. The doctor went to place another wager with the Russian, "my chief of security will fight your best next. £5000 for Li On to win." The old man knew their host would put one of the close circle of thugs into fight and had no idea who the boy in winning the past three rounds really was. The Director of SCORPIA was accessing new markets, but preferred to make his host uncomfortable.
Li On killed the opponent with brutal efficiency, with no acquiescence to sportsmanship. Roman liked the fact the old man was enjoying the games, but held back any complaints about loosing an asset. The guest then asked "let's see what the young man who won four bouts can do, umm. That should be entertaining."
The Russian still kept quiet. Fighting was now several leagues above Sasha's level. He placed a large bet on Li On and told Maxim to take Angel back to LA.
The winner of the first four rounds drank water and ate an energy bar in the brief respite, but he was not called. He crept out to see what the problem was for the delay. Alex could not see the spectators in the VIP area, but in the arena a Chinese fighter up against one of Roman's brutal enforcers. Obviously, more was going on here than Angel had told him. The style of the new comer was quick, efficient and deadly. The neck broken of the enforcer with minimal effort. No tell tale signs of Yermalov's instruction, but the guy was an elite soldier or commando.
Alex was then told to fight the new guy. There was no point in hiding his abilities now. The creep sneered. Well he did look like a college kid in his expensive technical clothes with trainers to match and preppy hair cut. With nothing to loose he asked the fight arranger for a cigarette. Li On could not see fear in the teenager's eyes, only weary resignation. The word from the those betting mentioned the kid being the son of a cop. Well fed, spoiled child of capitalists playing in the seedy underworld to spite his upbringing.
There were no words exchanged, as the bell rang. Alex took a defensive stance, easily ducking as the brutal assault started . The words whispered by Yermalov in a past life reminded him, kill or be killed, don't play, don't overanalyse. The guy was unrelenting, but did not expect the kid to hit precisely to cripple then kick for the final blow knocking him unconscious.
Led upstairs, the winner to party but with two others dragging the looser behind as well. Roman had a strange look on his face. Then, Alex recognised the special guest. He immediately dropped to his knees and placed his hands behind his head.
The doctor looked over his body guard, a concussion. Then in Russian, so all in the room could understand, but directed at the kneeling teenager "Thank you for leaving Li On for further instruction. You look well, Alexander." The man then switched to Mandarin. "Fear not, I disagreed with my former colleagues and their short sighted need for revenge rather than to fully exploit your potential. Yassen's assessment was spot on on both your skills and your former abuser's actions. Using you as a mere bait and then burning their best asset."
Silent and accepting of a situation Alex did not move as there was no escape. The doctor appraised his host. The entertainment was to celebrate the conclusion of business, his conversational Russian faultless "the entertainment has been most excellent, but you did not make me aware you had graduate of the last Malagosto class here." The old man continued in an instructing tone, low and calm. "Training teenagers has mixed results, Alexander was trained from early childhood. Mercurial at best but never underestimate this young man. He has quite the kill record and is one to never underestimate or cross. I will talk with him a while, we have much to catch up on."
Dr Three always had the pick of Malagosto graduates, but had not had the pleasure of Alex Rider due to Mrs Rothman's power play. In many ways the failures of his fellow directors had strengthened his position and rates for services were now at a premium.
The large house in the desert had been rented for the duration of negotiations to supply services to Roman Nevikov. The guest due to leave in an hour after the final contract signing. In the large atrium, Sasha Suarez was chained to the ceiling, his toes with the slightest purchase on the ground. After 36 hours of personal instruction, as Li On had been tortured for his failure to access everyone attending the entertainment on Saturday. Alex Rider had brought half of SCORPIA to its knees. A fact that amused Dr Three. The world renowned psychologist had then pointed out faults for Alex to improve on, but he now got to witness how a true psychopath used fear to control.