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"Fuck you," I snap, spinning out of his hold and marching to the other side of the bar where Shelbie and her dad are quietly trying to put the place back together.
"Leave it," I say, loud enough for Dad to hear. "He's gonna pay for all of it. He fucking owes me."
Just before I storm through the doors of the bar, my cell vibrates. I pull it out, desperate to find an address staring back at me so I can feel the pain I need right now.
"Thank fuck," I hiss.
Daz: I've got the perfect guy for you.
I'm in the car with the engine running before Ace and Cole get to me.
"Conner, don't do this," Cole shouts through the window.
"You can either stand there bitching and listening to his empty promises, or you can come with me. The choice is yours, but I'm leaving right now."
I give them two seconds to make a decision, but they hesitate for too long so I slam my foot down on the accelerator and wheelspin out of Joker’s parking lot.
Fuck them. Fuck this.
Fuck. It. All.
It only takes me ten minutes to get to the location for tonight's fight. It's late, but that doesn't mean there aren't cars everywhere when I turn up to the old industrial estate full of dilapidated buildings.
I'm out of my car almost before I have the engine off and jogging toward the entrance.
"Jagger, it's good to see you tonight," someone I don't recognize says, patting me on the shoulder as he lets me inside.
The place is packed, the crowd’s cheers filling the vast space along with the heavy scent of both weed and nicotine.
"Conner, my man," Daz says as I walk up to him. "Once this sorry son of a bitch is put out of his misery," he says, nodding to the ring where there's a guy who's barely standing, "then you're up. You're ready for a fight, right?"
His question gets my blood pumping. Warren's smug fucking face from earlier when he possessively wrapped his arm around my girl fills my mind, and my fists curl.
"I want fucking blood."
"That's the attitude."
It only takes a few more seconds for the guy to go down and a roar to rip through the crowd as the winner celebrates his success.
"You're on, kid," Daz encourages. "I'll get your opponent."
Ripping my shirt off, I drop it on a chair beside one of the security guards along with my cell and car keys.
Cracking my knuckles and flexing my neck, I step into the ring.
A few people shout my name, but I ignore every single one. I don't need them or their encouragement. The adrenaline, the fear, the devastation that's flowing through my veins is enough.
There's a momentary silence that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Looking up, I see everyone staring at something—or someone—over my shoulder.
Sucking in a breath, I spin around and face the man Daz thought would be a good match for me tonight, and a trickle of anticipation races down my spine. He's fucking massive.
I swallow down my nerves and stare him dead in the eyes. He might be bigger than me, but I'm faster. I'd put money on it.
I can take this motherfucker.
If only winning would get my girl back.
The guy wastes no time; the second he's past the crowd he's on me. His fist connects with my jaw and my entire head snaps to the side.
