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)
At least I’m not crazy.
Anger roughens the coach’s voice. “Ref blew that one.”
Two paramedics with a stretcher rush into the cage. My gaze follows them for a few seconds. Maybe a ride on one of those things wouldn’t be so bad.
“He’s gonna need some painkillers tomorrow,” Bear Trap mutters.
Huh. When’d he get here?
“No painkillers,” I murmur.
I close my eyes and rest my head on Venom’s shoulder. Just for a second.
“Shit. He needs to go to a hospital.” Venom’s worried voice sounds so far away.
Hospital sounds good.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Griff
It’s a long night at the clinic the show has on standby.
After the doctor finishes stitching my eyebrow, takes a few X-rays, and decides I don’t have a concussion or any broken ribs, he says I’m free to go. I’m handed a book’s worth of paperwork on how to treat my various aches and pains, decline a prescription for Vicodin, sign a bunch of papers and hobble outside to a waiting car.
The ride to the house is a blur. I think I passed out. But at some point, I stumble into the big mansion. Silence follows me through the long hallways. Every cell in my body throbs with pain.
This is it. I’m free. I’m finally going home.
I groan as my gaze lands on a concerned Jordan pacing in front of my door.
“What?” I mumble through sore lips and an aching jaw. Every part of my body is a hot needle of pain.
He lifts his head. “Final exit information for you.”
“Now?” I shove the door open and walk directly to the closet.
“It’s late, what are you doing?” he asks, peering around the corner of the closet door.
“Packing my shit.” A wave of dizziness turns my head inside out. I stop and draw a ragged breath. “I want to go home.”
He blinks and stares at the bundle of clothes clutched in my right hand.
“What?” I groan. “I’m not allowed to take this shit home?” I don’t feel like sorting through and separating the clothes I brought with me from the ones the show gave us through different sponsors.
“No, no. It’s all yours. I’ll get you a bigger bag or a suitcase.” He steps back. “You can’t leave until tomorrow morning at the earliest.”
“What?” I drop the backpack and clothes on the floor. “Why not?”
He gestures toward my forehead. “We need to monitor you and arrange transportation.”
“I’m tired of being ‘monitored’ every second of my life.” I also don’t think I can stand on my own two feet much longer. “I just want to go home.”
“Please?” he says simply. “I don’t want to send you home and have you collapse.”
He almost sounds guilty. Why? This is what fighters sign up for. It’s not like I didn’t know serious bodily harm was a predictable consequence of getting in the ring.
“Fine.” I’m too tired and in too much pain to argue with him.
“I need to get you set up with someone to monitor your kidney function over the next few weeks too,” he says, following me into the bedroom. “The other guys did it here since they were sequestered—”
Hell, no. I’m not getting stuck in that hotel. Venom made it sound awful. “I’m going home.”
“Yes, yes,” he hurries to agree. “You still have to return for the reunion show. We won’t have a date until Naptime’s out of surgery.”
I’ve never taken pleasure in injuring an opponent. It’s not like I’m some deranged, blood-thirsty sicko who gets a thrill from hurting people. It’s a fight. We get in the ring, trade blows, and shake hands afterward. Nothing more. Nothing less. The only people I’ve ever held any animosity toward were the ones who forced me into a fight or fought dirty.
But after the sneaky moves Naptime pulled, never mind his general assholery over the last few months, a faint ember of satisfaction smolders in my chest at the thought of him laid up for weeks. Recovering from the beating I gave him. Hope he pictures my fist flying at his face every time he wheezes in a breath.
“Fine.” I stare at him.
“You’ll get half of your winnings tomorrow, plus your KO bonuses.”
“My what?”
“Every time you knocked someone out in the house, you earned an extra five thousand.”
“Well, fuck. If I’d known that, I woulda been knocking out people left and right.”
He grins. “That’s why we don’t tell you. But you knocked out Bull the day you took your joyride.” He skewers me with a scolding stare. “I should subtract five thousand for taking off on the Ninja the way you did.”
“Oh, come on,” I scoff. “Bet that was one of the highlights of the show.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, it got a lot of attention.”
“Anything else? I’d like to take a shower and go to sleep.”
“Uh, yeah. I’ll have some stuff brought up. Painkillers—”
“No. Tylenol or Advil are fine.”
“Okaaaay.” He stares at me. “Well, then…ice packs. Food. Whatever you need.”