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His angry eyes bore into mine. Back in the day, what I just said would have been an empty threat. Daz and I were tight. He delivered me what I needed when shit got to be too much, and I brought in more money than any other fighter. It was a win-win. But since we moved, he has no idea how to take me, what I'm capable of, and whether my threats are real.
"You wouldn't be so stupid."
"Want to try me?" I ask, stepping up to him, my bare, sweaty chest bumping into his.
Daz was one of the best back in the day. If this were a year or so ago, I have no doubt he'd take me down. But that was then. Now he's had one too many concussions and a wife and kid at home.
"Fine. But if you get yourself killed, I want it noted that this wasn't my fucking idea." He looks at Levi and Jay, who have walked over to see what's going on.
"Dude, you can't let him go again," Levi says, concern lacing his voice.
"Fucking watch me," I seethe, walking away in the hope of finding a drink.
"You want to try to stop him, be my guest," I hear Daz mutter as I get farther away. I don't give a shit what he thinks. I need this. I need the focus, the pain, the distraction.
I find myself a bottle of vodka and tip it back.
I don't feel the burn.
Fuck, I don't feel anything.
The minutes tick by as the alcohol starts to take effect. I don't drink enough to hinder my fighting but enough to fire me up. I have no idea who Daz is going to pair me up with next. I don't really give a shit, but I need to be ready.
It's another thirty minutes or so before I'm called back into the ring. I'm still pumped and ready, and as I stand there waiting to see who my opponent is, I ignore both Levi and Jay who are standing behind me, trying to convince me to give it up and go home.
I shake my head and block their voices out.
No one here understands.
Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Kenny laid out beneath me with my fingers wrapped around her throat, my fingertips digging into her hips. Only in a heartbeat, everything flips in my head and she isn’t willing, and I'm not me. Instead, she's struggling, and I'm that fucking monster, Warren.
Anger swirls through me, my fists curling as I imagine what I'm going to do to him when he finally crawls out of the hole he's hiding in.
My shoulders tense as I imagine snapping that motherfucker's neck like it's nothing more than a twig.
No man should ever force themselves on a woman. But my girl? My Kenny?
No. No, fucking way.
The crowd starts to get louder, and when I drag my eyes up from the concrete at my feet, I find a guy I recognize from my time in the ring before we left the Heights. I've never fought him before, and for one very good reason. He's fucking huge.
He steps forward, snarling at me as he approaches.
"You think you're good enough, boy?" he taunts.
I shake my head. He can try to intimidate me as much as he likes, but he doesn't have the images inside his head that I do.
"Try me," I spit as Daz steps toward us.
Movement on the edge of the crowd catches my eye for some reason, and I momentarily look up. A shiver of awareness trickles down my spine and I eagerly search for the head I thought I just saw.
He's here. That motherfucker is here.
I'm still searching for another glimpse of him while starting to think I'm imagining it when Daz starts the fight.
I only realize he's done so when a fist lands in my face.
Stumbling back, I collide with some of the crowd who happily push me back into the firing line.
