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“Have you checked the schedule? Angela should have updated the mobile calendar. The children’s hospital dinner benefit is coming up. This is your reminder that the entire family must be present. We have to show a united family front for the voters.”
For the voters. I bring the phone away from my ear to scoff.
Everything she does is for her constituents. It’s the only reason she wants me at this charity event and that dinner, all of these bullshit parties so she can trot out the happy family pony show. Meanwhile, that home-wrecker Damien sleeps in our house and makes Mom breakfast. He stupidly offered m
e coffee this morning and I threatened to dump the fresh pot over his head.
“Connor,” Mom says on the line. I bring the phone back to my ear. “We’re almost there. We’ve worked this hard and all that’s left is the finish line when elections come up. Understood?”
“Roger.” She can’t see, but I give a sharp salute anyway.
Before she can add any other stipulations, I hang up and stomp back through the parked cars to the clearing in the woods. Adrenaline and anger rush through my veins. My breathing has picked up and my vision shrinks around the edges, focused on the ring.
Devlin steps in my path. His expression tightens around his eyes when he takes me in. “You good?”
“My mom,” I say.
It’s all the explanation I need with him. His dark brows hike up and he stands aside. He knows how I get after a call with her. I strip out of my henley and toss it to him.
“Give me your phone, too.”
I hand it over and spot Landry’s friend edging toward me. Pointing at him, I say, “Nah uh, dude. You might run with Landry, but he’s not in charge here.”
The leather jacket punk looks to Holden for confirmation. Landry nods and jerks his head to the ring. His friend picks at random and kicks one of the fighters back into the crowd. Before he’s done, I’m stepping in, mouth pulled in a jagged, wild curve.
I square up with the guy who entered after Student Council was KO’d. He’s bigger than me, bulkier, but he’s tired. He swings and I dodge, smirk stretching wider. A flash of worry crosses my opponent’s face. He backs off a couple of steps, trying to lure me in. I don’t take the obvious bait, instead waiting for him to come at me again. When he does, I pop him in the chin.
A fist comes against my forearm as I block his blow, but I make a mistake in my stance, giving a clean opening for the guy to punch my face. Shit, I don’t even care if I bruise. Maybe I’ll get real lucky and it’ll last long enough to make me look extra good next to Mom for her stupid fucking campaign benefit.
I spit into the dirt and swipe my hand beneath my nose to catch the trickle of blood. It comes away bright red, smeared across my knuckles. A minor blood vessel injury, nothing serious. When I chuckle, the guy backs off again, glancing at Landry.
No one wants to fight crazy. It’s different than angry. Unpredictable. Dangerous.
Come the fuck at me, bro.
I lift a hand and wave him back for more. “Come on, I won’t bite.”
“No biting,” Landry’s surly friend barks.
A sharp laugh punches from my gut. I gesture to Landry’s friend, appealing to my opponent. “See, no biting. It’s in the rules. Let’s fucking go, big guy. Time to dance.”
The match starts back up and I go hard, unleashing everything I’ve got until I can see the fear creeping into my opponent’s wide eyes. We go long enough that every one of his punches result from desperation as the crowd screams and cheers. Their shouts are drowned out by the pounding pulse in my ears.
Sweet oblivion comes when I use my fists to channel the anger out. I’m the kind of fucked up monster that takes enjoyment in making the guy I’m fighting think I might actually kill him with my bare hands. It’s not his fault I’m like this, I don’t even see his face when I throw a punch. Every time I do, I’m right back to that afternoon I caught Mom and Damien and lost it.
My next hit clocks the guy across his red, swollen cheek and he goes down in a slump. Everyone erupts in a deafening ruckus of screams, celebrating another win. Landry stands off to my left at the edge of the clearing, hands propped on his hips. He’s probably pissed I didn’t mention wanting in on tonight, only blackmailed him into a cut of the winnings. If he’d known, he would have made a bigger killing.
I stand over my opponent, panting. He’s out cold. Damn, I wanted that to go longer. I glance up, scanning the crowd for the next challenger.
It takes almost the entire two minute allowance, but as the crowd grows restless, hungry for more brutality, someone else enters the clearing.
My mouth curves wickedly and I square up for the next round.
Six
Thea
Sweat beads along my temples and makes the baby hairs falling from my messy bun curl against my skin, sticking to the back of my neck as I walk Constantine through the neighborhood. Something Beautiful by Tori Kelly plays in my earbuds as we amble along in the uncomfortable afternoon heat, the soulful girl power song helping me forget any self-consciousness for my outfit. It’s too hot out to cover up, so I’m in high waist yoga leggings and a billowy boatneck crop top over a sports bra.
