Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
“Shut the fuck up and get ready to roll.”
Even though I try to keep my eyes off the redhead, my eyes drift over to her again anyway. Tommy follows my gaze, and his smirk gets even slimier.
“Damn. That chick is fine as fuck,” he says.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“I can see why your head’s not in the game right now,” he says. “I gotta be honest, I’m kind of off my own game thinking about all the different ways I’m going to fuck her tonight.”
Putting both of my hands on his chest, I shove him backward, drawing an “ooh” from the crowd. Tommy stops himself before he falls on his ass and bounces on his heels, taps his gloves together, and laughs. The referee steps to the center of the ring and motions us forward. The heat beneath the lights is stifling, and sweat is already rolling down my body as I step to the middle of the ring.
Face to face with Tommy, I hear him talking about the redhead, and as fury burns inside of me, I glare daggers at him. He stares at me with that shitty little smirk on his thin lips.
The referee is giving us our instructions, but I’m not hearing a goddamn word he’s saying. My entire focus is on Tommy right now. He’d done what very few have ever managed to do before—get under my skin—and it’s pissing me off. The crazy thing about it is that I’m getting this pissed off all over a girl I don’t even know. But the thought of Tommy putting his hands on her, the thought of him doing anything with her, fills me with a white-hot rage.
I don’t know why I’m getting so hot over a girl. I don’t know, but she’s got a purity and a sweetness about her that struck me the second I laid eyes on her in the crowd. There’s something about her that I want to protect and save from creeps like Tommy. It’s insane because I have no idea who she is. I don’t even know her fucking name.
All I know is I want to keep pricks like Tommy away from her. All I know is I want her for myself.
The referee sends us to our corners. My eyes search the crowd, quickly finding the redhead in the front row, and my heart lurches. A small smile plays on her full, red lips. A moment later, the bell rings and snaps me back to reality. Turning away from her, I shut out the roar of the crowd, and my vision narrows, so all I see is Tommy coming at me from the other side of the ring. The familiar rush of adrenaline and excitement fills my veins. I love this. I’ve always loved this. Truthfully, fighting is the only thing I’ve ever been good at. And if not for things that were outside my control, who knows how far I could have gone?
Pushing all extraneous thoughts out of my head, I step forward and raise my fists. Tommy and I circle each other for a moment as we start this dance. We probe each other for openings. For weaknesses. The benefit of having sparred with him for so long is that I know most of Tommy’s moves already. I know his weaknesses. He’s not a smart fighter and doesn’t learn to adapt and adjust. He simply relies on speed and strength to overwhelm his opponents. The problem he has right now is that I do learn. I do adapt. And I am way fucking faster and stronger than he is.
“Come on, Grif,” he says. “Let’s do this.”
“Ready when you are, man,” I reply.
Tommy starts off—as he always does—with a low kick that’s meant to distract me from the hook-and-jab combination. Moving swiftly, I block the kick and step inside his guard and, with the crowd roaring in delight, deliver a hard shot to his jaw. Tommy staggers back and looks baffled as to how that happened. I could absolutely end him in seconds if I wanted to. But part of this job—and this is what most fighters won’t tell you—is the entertainment factor. You end it too quickly; people get bored with you. People want to see a fight. They want a struggle. They want violence. And more than anything, they want to see blood.
Tommy gathers himself and, like a shark, begins to circle me again. I circle as well, but I think I’m more like a vulture. Tommy’s dead already; he just doesn’t know it yet, and when the time is right, I’ll swoop in and pick his carcass clean. Tommy storms in, and I let him get a few shots in, let him bloody me up a little bit, simply to give the crowd a little thrill. At the sight of blood, they go fucking wild. They always do. People are about as predictable as Tommy’s fighting style.