Chapter 27
CROSS
Lose.
I have to lose.
I have to lose to the guy who got Scar drunk and then drugged her and then forced himself on her.
In her.
I’ve been in her–I was allowed. I was welcomed. I got to hear the sweet noises she made when she was surprised, and turned on, and so fucking willing she was soaked between her legs.
He wasn’t allowed. He hurt her.
And here I am, letting him punch me in the face.
I catch myself on the mat on my hands and knees. The room–this time a basement of some factory–tilts. My vision tunnels, and I swallow hard a few times. I shouldn’t let him hit me in the face anymore, but I literally walked right into that one.
Some part of me just wants this to be over.
Stanley is here.
One of the Webber brothers is here.
They both came into the makeshift dressing room before my fight, one–Stanley–with a pep talk, and the other with some threatening glares.
I guess there’s more money on this fight.
The audience is older, and there’s a bookie set up taking bets.
There are skimpily dressed girls wandering around with drinks.
This is not the sort of place I’ve ever been invited to. This circuit seems more serious. I should know just by the fighting order–the douche nozzle and I are the appetizers. The first fight on a list of six shows.
“Had enough, Lopez?”
I shove myself back to my feet and dodge his foot. If that had connected with my stomach, it would’ve been brutal. I probably would’ve lost my lunch.
He’s still huge, still tough, but it’s instinct to see an opening and go for it. I get in three hits before I remember: lose, god damn it!
He shoves me off him and comes back with a fury. I protect my head, but pain radiates down my arms, my ribs, with every punch. He gets me against the cage, and I just have to fucking wait it out.
My muscles cramp. My body is on the verge of revolting.
And then, he gets me in the side of the head. I don’t know how it happened. My arm dropped for a split second? My shoulder spasmed?
Either way, I see fucking stars. I stumble away, pushing to put space between us and take a few deep breaths, and that’s when I see her.
It’s like my attention is unable to see anything else. It’s her.
I didn’t think she would come… I didn’t tell her about the fight.
How the fuck could I tell her? Hey, I’m a little more in debt than that twenty grand I used to pay off pube face.
Actually, it’s more like fifty because I was supposed to let him kick my ass.
Because I’m an idiot and agreed to throw a fight.
And now I’m throwing another one.
But fuck, she’s right next to the other Webber brother. That bastard brought her here on purpose.
“Had enough?” the monster behind me rasps.
I focus my narrowing vision on him. I probably have two more hits left in me before I’m toast. I’m not sure how I’m still on my feet.
Pure stubbornness, probably.
And then I glance over and see the utter horror on Scarlett’s face.
Anger surges through me, blotting out my pain. I’ve done a good job so far keeping this fight on even footing, when all I wanted was for it to be a massacre. His massacre.
But now, I see red.
I don’t remember what happens next. I move forward, my steps suddenly light. It’s like everything that happened prior to this moment evaporates, leaving me fresh. And pissed.
I go on the attack, striking faster than I ever have before.
And in a matter of seconds, he’s out cold.
…I was not supposed to do that.