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)
Putting my truck in park and cutting the engine, I head around back just as Cole instructed, and I find him with Luke by the back entrance, talking with a few other guys. They spot me and do the introductions. Apparently, the guys are also trainers who are here with some of the other fighters. They look at me with appreciation, but I honestly don’t care. I’m here to do a job and get paid.
I nod in acknowledgment, and Cole gets the hint that I’m ready to get the show on the road. He walks through the entrance with me and instantly pulls me up on my bullshit. “Would it kill you to be nice?” he questions. “I’ve known those guys for over ten years. They couldn’t stop talking about your takedown last week.”
My mind flicks back to my epic win last Thursday, and I have to grin. I had taken the guy down in under a minute. It was the quickest and easiest twelve grand I’ve ever made. Cole loved my performance, but he did request that I at least put on a decent show if it’s going to be an easy takedown. The bigwigs here like their entertainment. After all, a good show brings in a good audience.
“I’m not here to make friends,” I tell him as he leads me through the back rooms of the old club. The place is lit up with big industrial lights and power cords running all over the place. I step over an overfilled power strip that screams fire hazard and continue on my way.
“Clearly,” Cole grunts as we enter a large room filled with punching bags. All the other fighters and trainers fill the room, some warming up, while others have their trainers wrapping their knuckles.
I find the schedule pinned to the back of the door, and I search for my name. I pull out my phone and quickly check the time. “Looks like I’m up against some kid called Crusher,” I tell Cole, wondering if this asshole got to choose his name or was lumbered with it in the same way I was.
He nods his head as he looks over my shoulder at the schedule. “There are three ahead of you, so I’d say you’ve got about forty minutes until go time.” I nod, and we go find someplace to get ready.
Jace shows up halfway through my warm-up and gives me a string of advice, but really all he wanted to do was tell us about some chick he is meeting up with after the fight.
It’s been at least half an hour when Cole instructs me to sit my ass down and begins preparing me for my fight. I search the room as he wraps my hands, trying to figure out which one of these guys is my opponent, but I come up blank. So instead, I ask Jace what he knows, and as if on cue, he rattles off every detail he can possibly remember about Crusher. Within minutes, I’ve got my whole game plan figured out.
Twenty minutes later, I stride out of the ring, fifteen thousand dollars richer and without a single scratch or bruise on my body. Turns out, the guy wasn’t much of a crusher after all.
With a few more fights left in the night, I grab a beer with Cole and Jace and check out the rest of the competition. I try to relax, but I’m so fucking exhausted, I bail after ten minutes.
Climbing back in my truck, I have to crank the music to keep from falling asleep. Mixing fight night with game night is hard work, especially after a day filled with a morning run, an on-ice training session, and my session at Rebels Advocate. My body yearns for a break, and the fact that it’s creeping into the weekend has me on cloud nine. Though I don’t know how much sleep I’ll get, not with Charli around. She’s a fucking she-devil, always ready for more.
I’m a few blocks away from Micky’s when I pass an ATM under a street light and decide to stop. There’s nothing I hate more than having a shitload of cash on me. It makes me feel like a walking target. I pull over and leave the ignition running as I quickly deposit the cash into my bank account.
The moment I’m done, a feeling of relief settles over me, knowing I’m one step closer to my future. I’m heading back to my truck when a beat-up car screeches to a halt, blocking me from my truck. There’s something familiar about it, but I don’t get a chance to figure it out before four guys are coming at me.
Letting out a sigh, I prepare to kick their asses, wishing they could have tried this shit when I wasn’t feeling so fucking tired. But hell, if they insist on coming after an MMA fighter, then that’s their problem. They’ll be the ones suffering the consequences.