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“Bare-knuckle boxing. Gotta love it.” I grunt, and the sarcasm isn’t lost on him.
“Street fighting at its finest.” He takes my hands and securely wraps my knuckles and wrists. While he’s doing so, he coaches me. “Don’t take your eyes off him. Be swift on your feet. Look for the opportunity of weakness. Every person will let down their guard at some point, and that’s when you pounce. You’re ready for this.”
“I am ready. I have so much fucking pent-up aggression I might knock the guy out with the first punch.”
Tyler chuckles. “Good. Do that, and the fight will be over.”
The noise from the main room hushes, and I hear someone give a ten-minute warning. I swallow hard, then take my time stretching and warming up, giving Tyler a few good practice hooks.
“Ready?” he finally asks, handing me my mouth guard. I give him a single nod. The blood rushes through my body, and I can almost hear my pulse in my ears. Looking around the room, I see hundreds of pairs of eyes on me as I step into the ring and take off my shirt. I look over my shoulder at Tyler as the crowd bursts into a roar of applause. He gives me a thumbs-up as my confidence continues to climb. I keep my body moving, not wanting my muscles to go cold as the guy over the loudspeaker continues.
“And his opponent…Mickey DeFranco.”
I drop my hands to my side as the room goes eerily quiet. “DeFranco?” I mouth to Tyler, who’s shaking his head as his jaw twitches. Victoria’s lover. The father to her children. What in the actual fuck? What has JJ done? I wonder if this is what Tyler found out and wanted to tell me.
The guy comes into the ring, glaring at me like he wants blood, and I’m sure he does. This isn’t just a random fight, no, DeFranco wants me dead just as much as JJ does. This was a setup.
Fuck. Me.
Though the rules are given, I can’t seem to focus on anything other than the bastard who’s standing a few feet away, glaring at me. Mickey is my height with dark brown hair and eyes as black as night. His muscles look as if they’ll break right through his skin, and I have a feeling he’s not going to be following any of the rules that are read to us. He doesn’t even have his hands taped, but I’m sure he’s been fighting on the streets since he was a kid.
Moments later, a woman comes out in a bikini holding a sign that says “Round 1.” I shove my mouth guard in and inhale a deep breath. This is it. Everything I’ve trained for over the past month. I need to stay focused, pay attention, and do everything Tyler and Dice taught me.
A loud bell rings, and Mickey clumsily rushes toward me. Quickly, I step to the side and swing my fist into his jaw with all of my strength. He grunts, as if I’d woken him up, and relentlessly throws punches at me. Although I block him at first, my arms waver, and one connects with my nose, and I stumble before grounding my feet. Blood drips down my chest, which is the wake-up call I need. Anger courses through my veins, and it’s as if he flicked on a switch, and I see red at this motherfucker.
I focus on the techniques I’ve learned, doing my best to block and hit while staying on my feet. Mickey’s good, even when he looks high and drunk as fuck, but that only means he won’t feel any pain and will keep going. He gets a good punch in my ribs, but I throw a better one to his face, making him step back, blinking furiously. We’re both sharp and strong, defending and tossing out hits until the bell rings after each round.
His vendetta won’t give him the strength to end me. Not tonight.
Each time I feel pain, I become more animalistic and violent. There’s no playing nice. Mickey DeFranco and JJ want me dead, but I’m walking out of here alive. My face is sore and bloody as hell, but I push through the pain and focus on taking him down indefinitely. The crowd is loud, cheering and shouting with every blow we make. It’s annoying, but I don’t let it distract me. I manage to get him on the ground, and as my knee goes into his stomach, I picture Maddie in my mind, which helps me put more power behind each strike. Somehow, he gets me off him long enough to gain his composure.
Each round is three minutes, but they feel like an eternity. My body is buzzing as we start the fourth round—a bonus since no winner has been determined yet—but I’m ready for this to be over. It’s more than obvious that Mickey’s getting tired as I stare him down. His mouth and nose are busted, and I can see his jaw’s swelling as well. He spits out blood, then growls before rushing me.
