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On the canvas, a hype man screams and punctuates his excitement with an arsenal of f-bombs. Then a chick in a bikini, who looks like she was paid five bucks to preen around, struts across the stage. Minutes later, River scrambles up the cage, straddling the top. In a powerful somersault, his feet thud onto the mat.
Nice. An uproar rocks my eardrums while I salivate over the “Respect All, Fear None” tattoo branded across his bronzed chest.
“Enjoy yourself. You’re gonna pay later.” Camdyn’s words in my ear ignite the tiny hairs on my spine.
Grinning, I look up at Camdyn. “Sorry, your tatts are creepy.”
He hugs me from behind, grinding his cock against my ass. “You’re gonna pay so bad, Willow.”
I should be afraid for myself. But the terror creeping up my spine changes course to the nice guy in the octagon when his huge ox-like opponent comes out. He lumbers up the cage and jumps in with an earthshaking thud.
My eyes lock onto Tatum. In this precise second, the pretense and bad history between us fade. I feel for her. Underground fights are utter bullshit, not equally matched in the least.
River and the Ox crash into each other. A right hook, which could dislocate a spine, slides across the Ox’s jaw.
Were River’s opponent a one hundred pounds less, the Ox’s thick legs would’ve knotted up. A hook punch lands near River’s jaw. He shakes his head as if the hit packed the power of a new sense: the ability to see dead people. The Ox’s other fist comes barreling toward his opposite eye. River ducks, twists his body, and brings his forearm into his opponents’ side. He grips the Ox by the shoulders, knee slaughtering his gut.
That was unexpected. My attention locks onto River. The giant falls backward with him on top.
The crowd shouts, “Pound him!”
Voice cracking, I scream. And just like when Camdyn’s dick abused my insides and his hands brought me pain, I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m addicted to violence. It devours the tragedy of my shitty life.
