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)
To our left, there’s another long hallway, leading into the opening to the arena. I stand in the shadows, studying what I can see of the seats and cage. It’s not completely full but people have been crowded into the seats in the immediate area around the cage. With some clever camera work—which I know these guys are more than capable of—they’ll make it look like a packed house.
If the show brought Molly down here to see my final fight, or Remy or Vapor, they would’ve let them come see me backstage, right? Not blindside me when I’m about to go in the cage.
“Where’d they find all these people to come see this?” I ask Venom.
He stares at me for a few beats. “Probably people who work for the company or friends of the execs? Or paid actors. Who knows. It fucking sucks, though. They wouldn’t let me bring Kelly, but they let in all these strangers.”
Whatever hope that Molly, Remy, or any of my friends from home might be in the crowd as some sort of last minute “surprise” by the show dies a quick, painful death.
My disappointment seems to be misinterpreted by Venom. He grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “Hey, you’ve got this. Seriously. You were already good when you came to the house. But you trained like a beast. You were more focused. More driven. And improved the most out of anyone else there.”
My throat’s too tight to respond but I nod vigorously.
All this waiting is fucking with my head.
The opening tones of DMX’s Ruff Ryders’ Anthem pound through the building. What sounds like a cannon explodes. Sparks shoot straight up to the ceiling. Venom squints toward the hallway.
An announcer says a bunch of stuff that just sounds like gibberish from all the way back here.
“Naaaaaptiiiimee!”
“Christ, is that what he picked?” Venom shakes his head. “How does a guy with the ring name Naptime not go with Enter Sandman for his walkout song?”
I chuckle and throw my hood over my head. It has to be close to go time.
“Ruff Ryders always makes me think of the brand of condoms,” Bear Trap shouts. “Which is appropriate since Naptime’s dad definitely shoulda worn a rubber.”
I burst out laughing. “Fuck. Stop making me laugh. I’m trying to focus,” I scold.
Bear Trap grins at me.
Shaking my head, I roll my shoulders and bounce on my feet. My stomach twists with the need to purge my last ten meals.
Christ, I’ve never been this nervous before a fight. Is this what turning pro would be like? Or is it the pressure of all the people watching?
The usual detachment I find in the minutes leading up to stepping into the cage keeps escaping my grasp.
You’ve done this hundreds of times. This is just a bigger audience. That’s it.
The opening riff of the song I chose for tonight pierces the air.
“That’s my cue.” I point to the ceiling and start moving along the path, following Coach Underhill and the camera guys in front of me.
“Excellent choice.” Venom nods in time to Rage Against the Machine’s Fistful of Steel.
“I would’ve pegged you as a Calm Like a Bomb kinda dude, but this works,” Bear Trap adds.
I tap my fists together, then pop them against my cheeks a few times.
Why do I do this again?
I duck my head to avoid the glare of the lights and stare at the black slides on my feet.
One foot after the other.
Music continues to blare from the speakers. It’s not doing anything to pump me up for the fight, though.
“Stare the camera down,” Venom says against my ear.
I lift my gaze and stare into the black lens a few feet ahead of us.
Sparklers go off at the end of the hall. Heat from the arena prickles my exposed skin. We enter the main floor and the stands explode into a frenzy of movement. People lean forward waving their arms and shouting my name. I reach out and brush my fingers against a few outstretched hands.
What are the chances Naptime forfeits the fight and we can all go home?
Probably slim.
I briefly sweep my gaze over the crowd. A sea of unfamiliar faces. Mostly men. A few women. A few kids. Who the hell brings little kids to a cage match?
I flex my fingers testing the limits of the wrap job.
Block. Defend. Block. Strike, strike, strike.
“You know they green-screened a crowd behind us in the matches all season long?” Venom shouts in my ear. “This match won’t be weird and silent like the others were.”
“That’s okay.” It’s nothing but noise I can easily block out. Better than the eerie silence of the earlier matches.
All the ring girls from the house are prowling around the outside of the cage in tiny gold shorts and barely-there tops.
None of them better come over here and bother me.