Tracking Charlie’s every move, Aaron spotted his opening and took it. Charlie dropped his guard as he started to tire. The end of the round was seconds away, and his mind was clearly already there, focus slipping.
Aaron snapped a hand out and landed a right uppercut on Charlie’s jaw. Pain exploded in his hand, reverberating up his arm as he connected with bone, but it was worth it for the way Charlie staggered back as his legs gave out. He fell to the floor, catching himself as the ref signalled the end of the round.
Turning away, Aaron walked over to his bottle of water and towel. His hand throbbed. Stopping his body from doing something as instinctual as healing took superhuman effort, and Aaron struggled to ignore the foreign scents surrounding him as he breathed in and out, calming his racing heart.
He may have got into boxing to keep an eye on Harry, but the thrill of the fight had grown on him, capturing his wolf’s attention. He could have just joined him as a spectator, but no. Even though he couldn’t let go fully, there was no denying how much Aaron enjoyed the physicality of it all.
Harry wasn’t the only one drawn here week after week.
The ref signalled the next round was about to start and walked over to Charlie to give him a quick once-over. Satisfied he wasn’t about to keel over, round two began.
Aaron’s punch had done some visible damage—split Charlie’s lip. A smear of blood streaked his chin and the back of his taped hand where he’d wiped it away.
Charlie lasted another round, mainly by dodging Aaron’s punches and dancing out of the way. He didn’t try many attacks of his own, much to the displeasure of the crowd.
But the blows Aaron landed in that round had taken their toll. When they came out for the third round, the sharpness had disappeared from Charlie’s movements, every step that little bit slower, his reaction time a fraction of what it had been.
A stab of guilt pricked at Aaron’s conscience, but he ignored it. He hadn’t used anywhere near his full strength, pulling that punch before any real damage could be done. Everyone who came into a ring like this one knew what the consequences might be.
The seconds ticked by, and Aaron allowed Charlie to land a few punches, sucking in a breath when Charlie connected solidly with his ribs. Pain radiated through his side, made him want to howl with rage. But he shook it off, instead paying close attention to the way Charlie shielded his right side.
Time to end this.
Aaron was tired—always a recipe for disaster.
He shot forward, catching Charlie off guard, and landed a quick one-two to his stomach, winding him and dropping him to his knees.
Easing back, Aaron bounced on his feet as the ref began the count.
Charlie got up at nine.
Aaron hadn’t expected him to stay down that time, and as soon as he was on his feet, Aaron was back at him. A jab to the kidneys, which Charlie blocked, but it left him wide open for the follow-up punch, and down he went again—folding to the floor like his strings had been cut.
Aaron knew it was over despite the slowest ten count ever, and so did the two guys trying valiantly to get Charlie back on his feet again. His jelly-like legs refused to support him, and the ref had no choice but to announce Aaron as the winner.
He grabbed Aaron’s hand and thrust it into the air to a rousing cheer from the crowd. The odd boo sounded here and there, probably from those who’d been stupid enough to bet against him.
Again, he got the feeling someone was watching him. As he took his congratulations, he kept an eye out, but it was too difficult to pick anyone out in the throng.
It had to be Smith. No one else unsettled Aaron to that extent, and a shiver ran down his spine at the thought.
He might be a shifter with enhanced strength, speed, and senses, but boxing aside, Aaron would never willingly hurt anyone. Not unless they provoked him.
Mr Smith, though—Aaron rolled his eyes at the ridiculous name—by all accounts, had no such qualms. Aaron had never spoken to him face-to-face, but he’d heard the rumours like everyone else. Some were no doubt exaggerated, but too many of them suggested horrible crimes against those who betrayed him or got in his way for them not to hold at least a grain of truth.
He needed to have another chat with Harry. Maybe it was time for them both to quit this place, and maybe this time Harry would listen.
Since Aaron’s was the last fight of the night, the crowd dispersed in dribs and drabs. Aaron walked over to where Charlie still sat on the floor, arms resting on his knees, but looking much better than he had a few minutes ago.
Holding his hand out, Aaron waited for Charlie to shake it before adding, “Good fight.”
“Yeah, right.” Charlie peered up at him. “You put me on my arse in three rounds, you bastard.”
Aaron shrugged and cracked his neck. “I was feeling it tonight, that’s all.”
“Like every other bloody night.” His gaze dropped to the tattoo on Aaron’s chest, a wry smile appearing. “Guess I should’ve expected it with a nickname like that.” He turned and spat on the floor, a mixture of blood and saliva, then pointed at Aaron’s cheek. “At least I got you once.”
Reaching up, Aaron ran a hand over the side of his face. The skin was tender to the touch, and his fingers came away bloody. “Guess you did.” He helped Charlie to his feet, then bumped his fist. “See you around.”
