Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Duke spares a glance over his shoulder when we walk in. He’s in his corner, surrounded by Carter and the rest of his most loyal lackeys. I get a few slaps on the back. Guys I’ve never met telling me I’ve got this. They’re pulling for me. It has an inauspicious air of defeat about it and I don’t know why.
“Hey.” Fenn shakes my shoulders. “Whatever that look is, get rid of it.”
I stifle a sigh. “I didn’t think so many people would show up.”
“Are you kidding?” Silas hands me a sports drink, as if electrolytes are going to make this difference. “This is the biggest thing to happen to Sandover since that time the European history teacher was arrested for espionage.”
“You’re their champion.” Lawson offers me a bump of cocaine, which I know in his own way is helping.
I decline.
Grinning, Lawson grabs the drink out of my hand, puts a flask under my lips instead, and dumps a burning gulp of tequila down my throat. “Trust me. You don’t want to feel what’s about to happen.”
“It’s now or never, new kid.” Duke yanks off his shirt and saunters into the center of the room where the crowd parts for him. “Let’s dance.”
“Oh, good. For a second there I worried this might get violent.”
“That mouth can’t save you now.” He’s too excited about this, sporting a self-assured grin as he waits for me on the dirty concrete slab. “Step up or get out.”
Fenn all but shoves me forward with a last good luck. I never really liked pep talks anyway. They sound like loser talk.
“Last man standing,” Duke tells me. “The fight doesn’t end until one of us doesn’t get up.”
“I’m familiar with the concept,” I say dryly. “Are we going to talk all night? I didn’t bring my sleeping bag.”
He snorts and shakes his head. “We could’ve been friends, Shaw.”
“I don’t think so.”
He shrugs at me and takes a step back. We each assume a fighting stance, and when someone yells “Fight!” we both come out swinging.
Duke must land the first blow because almost immediately there are sirens blaring in my ears. My vision narrows. The first several seconds become a blur and I’m not fighting so much as reacting, operating on full self-preservation mode.
The guy hits hard. I’d somehow forgotten how unpleasant that right hook is, but now it all comes rushing back to me. Even still, I get in plenty of my own shots. A few that stagger him, one that busts open a cut on his cheek.
Fuck. Yes.
I want this, I realize.
I want to win this fucking thing.
As adrenaline surges through my veins, I come at him hard, giving him everything I have. I won’t let Duke drive me out of Sandover. I won’t give up Sloane.
I won’t give up, period.
I get in another jarring blow that makes his head jerk backward, eliciting a cheer from the crowd. But Duke’s been at this a long time and he can take a punch. And he’s even better at throwing one. My gut feels like ground beef and one eye is nearly swollen shut when he comes over the top with a cross that I walk right into.
Wind knocked right out of me, I feel my face skid on the floor. Dead leaves plastered in blood stick to the side of my face. I spit gobs of red at the crowd’s feet. Hear their groans and shouts. I try to scramble, but Duke’s on top of me and I’ve got nowhere to go.
I brace myself. Because this is where he bounces my skull off the concrete, and I wake up a week later in the hospital having to learn my colors again.
But the finishing blow doesn’t come.
Breathing hard and dripping sweat in my eyes, Duke leans over me, hissing at my ear with my shirt bunched in his fist. “There’s an order to things. And it’ll always be this way. Losers lose. I’ll tell Sloane you said goodbye.”
It’s her name in his mouth that makes this fun. I cough, finding my voice.
“Six hundred thirty-two thousand four hundred eighty-six dollars,” I tell him with a bloody, toothy smile.
Duke flinches. His dirt-smeared face hovers inches from mine. “What the fuck is that?”
“The exact balance of the bank account where you’ve been stashing all your racket funds.” I tongue the open cut on my lip that’s still swollen and wet with fresh blood. “Or it was. Now it’s in mine. As of about an hour ago.”
“Bullshit. You fuck with my money—”
Duke rears back to put his fist through my face, but in his rage he’s distracted. I manage to muster enough strength for one last burst of energy and use my legs to flip his body over mine, laying him out on his back. We both quickly climb to our feet and he lunges for me. I see his uppercut coming and circle away to his weak side, then throw my jab. I feel the crack in my hand when it connects with his jaw. The whole crowd reacts to the sound of bone on bone. A stunned Duke staggers backward as bodies make way. Then his eyes roll back into his skull and he goes down.