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He bucks me like I’m in for the wildest nine seconds of my life. Like an alligator being held down, he tries to roll. I lock my feet in, my hooks, and drop his own legs out from under us so I slam us to the floor. He lets out another gust of breath as he hits, which only helps me lock my feet and arms in tighter.
This is it. He’s done.
He thrashes beneath me and throws his head around wildly. He tries to headbutt me, but I tuck my head into his shoulder and turn my face toward the crowd. Like a boa constrictor, each time he bucks, my hold gets tighter.
My heart pounds with imminent victory.
“Hold it!” Aiden screams from the other side of the fence. “Don’t let go. Tap motherfucker, tap!”
I hold on – he’ll tap soon. He’ll tap out or he’ll pass out. Both options are fine with me.
I focus my gaze over Aiden’s shoulder and find my fucking zen. Hold it. Don’t let him go. Squeeze.
Tap, motherfucker. Tap.
Sweat trickles into my eyes and plays games with me.
I blink.
I blink again.
Ben? Izzy’s ex, Ben? The fucker who touches what’s mine, then dumps her like three-week-old garbage?
Ben’s head pops up in the crowd, and when his eyes lock with mine, he smirks and ducks back into oblivion. I spin and crane my neck to look in the direction he went; the direction I left Izzy by the gate.
Then in slow motion, Venicila’s dark, thick, Sly Stallone, curly ass hair races for my face and collapses my nose.
He got his payback.
Motherfucker.
