The day I’d lost my pinky finger.
I don’t think she’s sleeping around anymore. She’s claimed the three of us, and no matter how much she wants to ruin our lives, I don’t think she’s given up on us.
“Great,” I say.
This will be a good fight. This will be what I’m craving.
I hope.
“Reaper? Oh, shit, maybe I should have bet on him instead…” Gabby catches my glare and winks. “No hard feelings, River. He’s been here longer than you, though.”
Reaper rolls his shoulders. “Let’s get this over with, so I can fight some real competition.”
He’s trying to get a rise out of me, but I’m not going to let him.
I’m already worked up enough.
“Let’s go,” I tell him, heading toward the cage.
There’s no real ref here, no one to stand close and make sure every blow is legal. It’s all free and brutal in a way boxing isn’t.
I get into a defensive stance, watching him.
Is he the type to attack fast, throwing punches before he thinks I can handle it? Or will he be slow and measured, testing my defenses first?
It doesn’t matter. I’m too ready to fight to get the measure of him before I launch into my first attack.
Reaper grunts and absorbs the blow like it’s nothing. He’s larger than me, at least ten pounds heavier. There’s no way we’d be in the same weight class if this was a legitimate boxing match.
Good thing this isn’t legit.
Reaper rams his body into mine, and I stumble backward into the iron mesh of the cage. Before he can punch me, I duck away. I kick him in the shin as I go, and I hear Reaper hiss, but he doesn’t go down.
He launches another punch at me. I take it to my stomach, but I grip his hair and yank it hard to get him off me.
Reaper snarls and tries to wrestle me to the ground, but I pull harder and he lets go enough for me to break free.
“Fucking pussy methods,” Reaper growls.
“No rules,” I counter, before lunging forward for another attack.
The crowd gets louder as we fight, cries ofReaper!andRiver!coming in regular cadences.
Only as we move, I get this nagging feeling in the back of my mind.
His fighting style feels familiar. Not because of his training, or because of the street fights. Something about how he moves.
A punch that clips me in the ear.
A growled, “Fuck.”
My eyes widen.
“You,” I hiss. “You were there that night.”
Reaper wipes his brow. “What night?”
“The night—” It’s not going to mean anything to him, even though it means everything to me.
