“Oh, so you want to get yanked by it? You want to be choked with it? You know how crazy these guys are, and you’ll look ridiculous wearing that.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“Why?” Shawn asks, his voice rising. He pinches the bridge of his nose, fed up. “If it were a tank top, then sure. But you know what people will think if you walk in there in a baggy T-shirt.”
Does he know what they’ll think when they see me topless for the first time in forever?
I set the half-eaten burger down, and before I can decide against it, I tug my shirt over my head. Tossing it on the ground, I stand up, putting my arms out wide to give Shawn a full view.
“What will people think when they see this?”
Shawn’s narrowed eyes soften, but go wide at the same time. Unable to look at the shock on his face anymore, I turn to the mirror.
I miss the old me. The me with the athletic build and a near six-pack. Who everyone used to see fighting in the ring, going out on missions, and leading people who were twice my age. The one they’re all expecting.
It’s clear personality-wise, I may never be the same, but did my physique have to suffer too?
Shawn can’t help but gawk. He’s never been good at masking his emotions. “What the fuck happened?”
“I stopped giving a fuck.”
He frowns sympathetically. “I knew you were going through it, but… damn.”
“Thanks, Shawn,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I drop my head into my hands. I can always count on him to cheer me up.
Seconds later, a comforting hand lands on my back. “Don’t beat yourself up, man. You haven’t changed much, you just… caught me off guard. You can build that muscle back later, but it’s not important right now.”
I shrug. “Not everyone will have that thought.”
He grabs my shoulders, forcing my hands away from my face and making me look at him. “Make them have that thought.”
That wasn’t an award-winning pep talk, but it’ll have to do.
The stench of sweat and blood fills the humid air of the arena, where the crowd’s cheers welcome me as I jog into the ring. My heart pounds, and I fear a dizzy spell, yet I hold my unclothed chest high as I move. Confidence is my only friend here.
I unlock the gate, step onto the court, and meet the ref. To be honest, he’s barely a ref because he doesn’t monitor the fight much at all. Since the only frowned-upon activity in this illegal club is the use of a weapon, he just watches. The man is a glorified spectator.
My opponent arrives moments later. He’s my height, but double my age, all muscle and brawn. I’ve never fought him before. On the plus side, there is no way he’s holding on to some petty grudge from years ago, but on the downside, I have no clue how he fights. And for my first time back in the arena, I have to win.
He sizes me up with what I’d describe as pity. “Damn. You sure you’re up for this, kid?”
Before I can respond, the referee introduces us. Without a microphone, he has to shout at the top of his lungs. “Today we have Victor Plaster versus Kingsley Beaumont!”
The crowd roars, and Victor’s brows raise. “You’re Kingsley Beaumont?”
Instead of answering, I glare at him as I crack my neck.
“I don’t fucking believe it,” he laughs incredulously, still eyeing me. “I’ve heard a lot about you, and you do not seem like what they’ve cracked you up to be.”
“Yeah? Well, I’ve heard nothing about you.”
His gaze darkens. “You will after this.”
The ref throws his hands up, and the match starts. It’s like a dance, us circling each other, waiting for the other to start the fight.
Victor’s fist flies at me, and I dodge it and take a swing of my own. My fist connects with his gut, sending a sharp pain through my hand as if I had struck solid steel. I cradle my hand in awe, and in that vulnerable moment, Victor manages to land a forceful blow to both my jaw and my stomach.
I stumble but catch my balance before I’m on the floor. Lunging at him, I try to pull him into a headlock, and he struggles against me, but I only tighten my grip. I’m crushing him and pulling him down, maybe suffocating him, but I don’t let up.
