Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“What’s going on? You’ve been…off since the day you got into it with Jordan,” Venom says in a low voice against my ear as if he doesn’t have my head in a brutal choke hold. He wraps his other arm around my ribcage like a fucking python.
“Can’t.” I gotta focus on breaking loose before I pass out.
I squirm and wriggle, enough to get my knees under me. Christ, he’s a heavy fucker. It’s a risk, but I roll him and finally plant my heels, gaining enough leverage to break free.
“Fuck.” I struggle to my knees, gulp some air and tackle him, wrapping my legs around his and pinning him to the mat. “Can’t…talk…about…it.”
I want to tell him what happened. Keeping all the betrayal, despair, and anger locked up is clouding my mind. I want to warn him in some way. But this could be a trap by the show to get me kicked off.
“Garden. Past the pool house. Safe zone.” He breaks free with disturbing ease. I hit the mat with my shoulder and roll to my back.
“Time!” our new coach shouts. Underhill’s a respectable former UFC fighter. A few years into retirement, he remains in top shape. I still haven’t figured out if his appearance was always in the script or if something I did triggered his arrival. Does the show have enough connections to get someone like him as a coach at the last minute?
It doesn’t matter. I need to survive, win, and go home. We still haven’t been matched up according to size and weight. It doesn’t bother me—mostly because I’ve avoided pairing up with Hammer Fists—but some of the smaller guys seem to be struggling. The more embarrassed they get, the more they run their mouths to prove how tough they are. The relentless trash talk seems to be pushing each of us to the edge. Snorting Bull is the worst. What he lacks in height, he’s made up for in bulk. Dude looks like a slab of concrete. He could probably bench press me. But all the bulk makes him slow and his more flexible opponent, Rumbling Thunder, keeps getting the upper hand. Amusing to watch. Annoying to listen to.
“We all have things to work on,” Venom says to Snorting Bull in his usual calm, zen-like tone. “No need to get belligerent.”
The other guys cackle like hyenas. Snorting Bull stomps over the mat, squaring up to Venom, even though his head barely reaches Venom’s neck.
Not wanting to inflame the situation with all the wisecracks I’m dying to let loose, I step back and swallow my jokes.
“Say it again, snake boy.” Snorting Bull bumps his chest into Venom.
I flick my gaze to the ceiling and sigh. I’m starving and want to get lunch, not sit through another man-baby fit. But I need to show everyone that I have Venom’s back. Not that he needs my assistance.
Woolly bumps my arm and plants himself right next to me. “It’s embarrassing for a bunch of grown-ass men to behave this way.”
“And predictable,” I agree.
Even Underhill seems annoyed. He shakes his head and storms out of the gym.
The camera guys swoop closer, pushing most of us out of the way so they can circle Venom and Snorting Bull. How any of this looks “realistic” is beyond me.
“Over here.” Jordan squeezes my shoulders and tries shifting me to the side.
“You touch me again, you’re not gettin’ those hands back,” I warn the producer, stepping to where he’s pointing.
Woolly snickers and moves next to me, shooting Jordan a challenging glare.
Jordan rolls his eyes and moves on to annoying the other contestants. He arranges Deadass and Naptime into a huddle, then the remaining guys into another clump, so we’re all in “teams” watching the drama unfold between Venom and Bull.
Venom shifts his gaze to the cameras and then to me. The corners of his mouth turn down—like this is the last damn thing he wants to deal with. I shake my head slightly and cross my arms over my chest to let him know I’m sticking around and have his back.
That slight moment of distraction is all Bull needs. He charges into Venom, knocking him back a step.
The unprovoked attack seems to flip a switch in Venom. Up until now, I’ve only seen him calm and methodical—even in the cage.
Now, Venom narrows his dark eyes on Bull. “You need to settle the fuck down,” he warns.
Bull postures and puffs up his chest. “The fuck you say, ya big monk?” His left hand flies up as if he’s going to shove or slap Venom.
He’s too slow, though. In a blur, Venom strikes, plucking Bull’s hand out of the air. He grabs Bull’s knuckles, then rotates his hand palm down, trapping Bull’s wrist and bending.
Bull’s knees hit the mat.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” Bull screams as Venom applies what looks like light pressure but must hurt like a motherfucker.