Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
“Get your fucking shit together!” he rumbled. “The fuck is wrong with you? You know she’s dead because of you, right!? She never wanted you. You drove her to that shit. Soon your Grandma will be dead! All dead and you couldn’t do shit to save them! You know where you belong. Here. Under my fucking roof. Stupid fucking boy.” Flex marched forward but I immediately swung for his face.
He ducked. He was quick. I could give him that.
The anger made my skin damp.
My teeth bit into the mouthpiece, almost cutting through the plastic.
A growl was ready to be unleashed, building in my throat.
I was pumped up in the worst way possible.
“Fuck you!” I bit back, and I started to charge him, head bowed, body locked, but Wildcard came for me, gripping my arm and jerking me in the opposite direction. I seethed, fists locked, eyes focused on my mother’s piece of shit sperm donor.
“You and me,” I said as the crowd started chanting for me. “You and me will happen, you fucking bitch.”
Flex chuckled as Wildcard towed me away with all his might. When we were out by the cage entrance, he gripped my shoulders, eyes intense as he glared at me.
“You gotta stop letting him do that shit to you! That’s the wrong way to fight!”
“Nah,” I said, rolling my neck, listening to the crackling of my bones, the beautiful chants of my name. Doom! Doom! Doom! “Fuck that. It’s the fucking right thing to do. I know exactly what the fuck I’m fighting for.”
“You fight because you love it, Doom. Not because that motherfucker wants you angry!”
“Isn’t that what this is about? Anger? We’re pissed off, Wildcard. None of this shit should be about happiness.”
He shook his head, but I caught the hint of delight that swept across his lips. “Just get the fuck in there before I beat my anger into you,” he muttered, pushing me forward.
I put on a cocky grin for him, but I was still pissed. Still ready. My opponent stood a few feet to the left of me, a red-haired motherfucker, purposely showing his gums, the hammer tattooed on the top row.
He grimaced when I looked at him. I tossed the hood of my robe back, glaring directly at him before walking up to the mats. We could settle this beef in the cage.
They all thought they could scare me.
If anything, they should’ve been fucking shaking in their shorts. But that’s what made this a thrill, seeing them come so prepared, but then dropping their asses, landing on top of them, and spotting that fear in their eyes as I punched or elbowed until I went blind with rage.
The crowd went wild when they saw me, shouting for me. I fucking loved it, pumping my fist in the air, soaking up the motivations.
Grit stepped into the cage and I sized him up with thin eyes and a ticking jaw.
The ref stepped to the middle, stating the rules. They were simple, really: “There are no rules.”
I loved hearing those words. I loved not having rules. I loved not having a fucking limit until their fucking faces were butchered red beneath my fists. Grit growled as the ref told us to bump fists.
I looked him straight in the eye, almost laughing because he had no idea what was coming. We didn’t bump fists. I didn’t give a fuck. I needed to get this shit over with, take back all those worthless bets that were put up against me.
Ref said fight, and as soon as he backed away, Grit rushed me, slamming me to the ground. I landed on my back, partially losing air. He thought he had me. He was wrong.
He tried pinning me down, bringing his elbow back in preparation for a jab, but I swooped my arm around his waist and flipped him over.
This was too fucking easy.
I was on top of him, ready to demolish… but I wasn’t ready just yet. I needed to give this crowd a show, right? I needed them to really wonder about their bets. So I hopped up, sparing that fucker.
He got up with a hiss, coming for me, fists up at his face. He swung at me, I moved right and as he jerked back, I rushed him this time, the crook of my arm closing around his throat and dropping him to the ground. We both landed with a heavy thud, one that made the Pit quake.
Some people hollered, demanding Grit to get up, get out of my grip. The others chanted for me, telling me to kill the fucker. If only I could.
I didn’t let up. The bastard was choking, and a smile snaked across my lips. Still too easy, but I wasn’t letting up this time. I refused to show him any mercy. Mercy was for pussies.