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)
His opponent had less muscle mass, but he was tall and had broad shoulders. He had no tattoos, but I could tell he had many piercings from the holes in his face, dotted along his lips, nose, chin, and even his forehead. He was just as ugly.
“Isn’t this great?!” Kylie screamed at me.
She was ecstatic. I guess I could see why. She loved crowds like this, nights like this. She loved fights and football games on Friday nights. If there was a fight at school, she’d be the first one running while dragging me along. To put it simply, she loved being entertained.
“Sure,” I said, pretending to be just as thrilled.
She bounced on her toes. She didn’t care if I was bored or having fun. She’d snuck a bottle of her mom’s wine and drank it on the way here. I was designated driver, and kinda pissed that my friend was having more fun than I was and the fights hadn’t even started yet. I was sure if I’d had at least a glass I would be a little more excited.
“LET’S GET THIS SHIT STARTED!” The voice in the mic shouted. I looked for the voice. I couldn’t find him below, so I looked up at the railing above. It was empty up there too—well, not completely.
Drake’s dad was up there.
He had his arms crossed tightly across his broad chest. His brows were stitched, lips pressed. He looked angry, and, not gonna lie, he reminded me of Flint Lockwood’s dad from Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs.
I snickered at the thought, pulling my line of sight away from him and focusing on the cage again. The ref was talking to the fighters, dropping rules.
And then, before I could blink twice, the ref backed away and the fight started. It was so brutal to watch, but worse to hear. The crunch of bones, the grunts and growls. I felt like I was watching a Spartan movie, watching muscular men fight to the death.
I shut my eyes, not wanting to see what Dripper was going to do to his opponent next. He had him by the throat, squeezing tight with one hand, the other crushing his face. I wanted to cry for Repulsive Pierced Face. He had to have been in agony, yet his face was still calm, like he’d gotten this sort of punishment plenty of times before.
Seriously. What the fuck?
“Holy shit!” Kylie screamed, and I popped my eyes open again just as she started cheering for Dripper. She was really enjoying this.
I’d say three minutes passed before RPF got one final punch to the face and then flopped, out cold. The crowd roared for Dripper, and with that same smug grin on his lips, Dripper hopped up, rushing for the cage. His thick fingers curled around the wire, and rattling it, he shouted “Yeah, bitch! I’m the fucking champ! I’m the fucking champ! Fuck all you haters!”
The clink of metal made my ears ring.
The ref finally got Dripper to get off the mat and out of the cage. The people that were there for RPF sullenly helped him off the mat, pep-talking him even though he looked completely immobilized. Blood dripped out of his mouth, his bruised, swollen face almost unrecognizable.
I watched as they carried RPF out, descending a few steps, and it was as they passed that I saw Drake. He stood at the mouth of the gate, shoulders hunched, jaw locked.
He seemed angrier than ever. I saw Oscar grip Drake’s shoulders and say something to him. Oscar was boosting him. Oscar laughed after Drake said something and then he shoved Drake towards the stairs.
Drake came up, way too relaxed for my liking. Then again, who cared what I liked? His large shoulders rolled back, and he took a look at his crowd—I say his because everyone knew he owned this place—and then he lifted a fist in the air, encouraging them to keep shouting.
A large guy walked onto the mat. I don’t think Drake noticed him going to the corner. It took several seconds for him to drop his arms and step back, sizing up to his opponent.
He must have been the guy those two drunks were talking about. He had a hammer-shaped head. It was odd. And he was ugly, but he was huge —all muscles and tattoos. He was a nightmare in my eyes, someone that wouldn’t save a soul, let alone save himself.
“SEE, WE DON’T NEED A FUCKING ANNOUNCEMENT FOR THIS! THIS IS WHAT THE FUCK WE’RE HERE FOR! WE ALL KNOW WHO THAT MOTHAFUCKA IS ON THAT STAGE! NO INTRODUCTIONS NECESSARY! LETS GIVE IT UP FOR MOTHERFUCKING DOOOMMMSSDAAAYYY!!!”
If I thought the crowd was crazy before…they were insane now. The crowd behind me had thickened. Before, people were collected in groups, but now they were all up front, trying to get firsthand view. They could take my spot for all I cared.