Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 86052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Pitbull lets out a growl as he rushes me, trying to get me to the ground, but the move is predictable. It’s the same one he has used in each and every match he has been in. He overpowers his opponent, gets them to the ground, and beats them senseless.
But I’m ready for him. I watch his movements closely and duck out of the way while grabbing his left wrist. Giving it a twist, I land directly behind him with his wrist firmly in my grasp, but come to think of it, it’s the same wrist he crushed of Charli’s . . . Wouldn’t it be a shame if I accidentally shattered it?
His howls of pain only drive me to pull tighter, and I push him into the ropes, hold him there before nailing him in the back of the ribs. Before allowing him a chance to recover, I kick the back of his knee while pushing him to the side. He goes down to the ground with the weight of my body coming down on top of him.
Pitbull struggles under my weight, but now that he’s down, I want this shit over with. Charli’s voice carries over the top of the crowd, or maybe I’m just listening out for it. “Finish him,” she screams.
There’s one thing I know for sure. What my woman wants, she gets.
I release his wrist and grab him by the back of his hair, all too aware that this shit is getting scrappy now. Then just as he did to Charli, I slam his face down against the concrete. I hate the feeling of being so brutal, but in the end, he touched Charli. He slammed her head into the side of a van, twice, then shattered her fucking wrist. Consider it karma.
Pitbull manages to adjust himself beneath me, but all that does is put him on his back.
Bad move, dickhead.
He puts his hands down on the ground, trying to find purchase on the concrete to buck me off. I consider how easily I could get up and shatter his wrist, the same way he’d done to Charli. But I don’t have that nature within me, no matter how badly I want to do it.
Instead, I finish it.
Before he has a chance to get me off him, my fists come down to his ribs and chest in rapid movements. My knuckles protest in pain, but I will them to hold on for a few more seconds.
As his hands move down to protect his ribs from my blows, I shift myself forward and deliver my final punch. With everything I’ve got, I let the fucker have it. I nail him in the temple, and this time, it’s lights out.
The crowd cheers, and an announcement rattles the speakers as some guy comes into the ring and pulls my aching, bloodied hand up toward the ceiling. “Winner by KO. The Widow Maker.”
The crowd continues roaring, but I only have eyes for Charli.
I hate that she witnessed how I nearly just lost myself during that fight, but in the end, I know she will find some sort of peace after seeing him go down.
The guy has hardly let go of my hand before Cole and Luke burst into the ring and tackle me to the ground. Jace and Caden come in close behind them and land right on top of the pile of muscle. “Two hundred fucking grand,” Cole shouts in excitement.
“Hell yeah, motherfucker,” Jace exclaims.
In all the time since Charli’s attack, the money never once entered my mind. But now it’s over, I can’t help the grin that tears over my face.
“Get off me, fuckers,” I demand. “I have a girl to see.”
“Fuck, you’re pussy whipped,” Cole murmurs.
“You would be too if you had a girl like Charli to go home to every night. Too bad all you have is your hand and PornHub,” I say as the boys start getting off me. Luke holds out his hand and helps me to my feet before we start making our way out of the ring.
“Get fucked,” Cole laughs as he knocks my shoulder.
“Dude, he’s fucking right,” Jace scoffs, making the rest of us crack into laughter.
I notice some big guy come into the ring and check on Pitbull with a scowl, realizing that must be his trainer, but I don’t give it a second thought as he hauls the dickhead over his shoulder and struggles to make his way out of the ring. That’s not my problem.
We head out to the fighters’ room, and Cole instantly jumps on the first aid. It hurts as he peels the tape off my bloodied hands, then slathers them in antiseptic cream. He’s almost done when a guy in a suit comes in and delivers a few envelopes filled with my winnings. Clearly just one wasn’t going to do the trick.