Chapter Forty-Two #2
The noise from the main room hushes, and someone gives 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 the fuck?
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 as much as JJ does. This was a setup.
Though the rules are given, I can’t 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’s 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 buzzes 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.
If I can connect with his jaw one last time, I’ll knock him out and this’ll all be over.
With all the strength in my legs, I swing with every inch of power I have, successfully connecting with his face.
Mickey stumbles, then falls to the ground.
The room erupts in cheers as I look toward them, lifting my fists in the air.
The ref makes the call, announcing that I’m the winner.
I’m covered in blood, my body is sore as fuck, but at least I’m not the one on the ground. Most guys in these underground fights would keep going, making sure the guy is as close to death as possible, but I’m not looking to do that.
Tyler calls my name, and when I look at him, he points at something behind me. The room is too loud, and I can’t make out what he’s saying. The next moment, white-hot pain rips through my body.
It happens so fast. I glance down and see Mickey twisting a knife into my thigh, and I lose my balance, the paralyzing ache bringing me to my knees.
Tyler rushes toward me, keeping me upright and from face planting the ground.
He’s talking, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
Gunshots ring through the room and everyone scatters.
I look down at my leg and the blood pooling around me.
It’s on my hands and shorts. Tyler takes off his shirt and rips it in half before wrapping it tightly above my wound.
He struggles to get me up and out of the ring.
“That won’t stop the bleeding for long. You need to go to the hospital,” he says, nearly dragging me down the long hallway.
He holds onto me, keeping my arm wrapped around his neck as his arm tightly holds onto my waist. Every few seconds, I lose consciousness, too light-headed to focus as the pain blinds me.
“Tyler,” I say, but I don’t know if any words come out. I can’t see. I can only hear loud noises, people screaming, then nothing.