I can deal with all of them.
I wander through the house, parting the sheets of plastic and heading through the kitchen to the back door.
The padlocks are still in place, drilled into the thick wood door. The windows let in light through the bars I drilled into the outside yesterday morning.
Even if my little minx thinks she can escape me, she’s going to find out she can’t.
I sigh and run my fingers over the lock. “I wish I didn’t have to do this.”
It’s the only way, though. The only way to keep her safe. To make sure that she can’t leave me.
New York is such a big and dangerous city.
But she’s never going to know that there are monsters lingering in plain sight. She hasn’t seen them like I have. She hasn’t followed them, watching the way they watch her.
She’s oblivious, my poor minx, but I’m going to fix that.
As I pull the sheet back into place, the roll of knives on the counter catches my attention. I cross the room to it, unrolling the black leather and spreading it along the counter.
Everything needs to be perfect when I come for her.
My little minx needs to see the time and care I’ve put into arranging our home.
And soon, she will.
Tyson bounces backand forth on his feet, shaking out his arms as the men currently in the ring beat the hell out of each other. “This is it, first fight of the month. Are you ready to win a fuck ton of money?”
I wrap my hands and shrug. “Don’t think there’s much I need the money for, anymore. Jade finally agreed to go out with me, but due to the fuck ass schedule the boss has me running, there’s not a whole lot I can do about any of it.”
“Damn.” Tyson reaches for his bottle of water and takes a long sip. “Here you are finally stopping the antisocial bullshit, and now you have to be here fighting. Think she’s going to be pissed about you not setting up a time with her?”
“I did, but I told her it would have to be flexible. I need a couple days after a fight to heal up.”
One of the trainers comes over and helps me with my gloves, pulling them on.
I stretch a bit, taking a deep breath.
The man in the ring hits the ground. Blood pours from what I assume is a broken nose, but it has to be far from the first he had. There’s no way his nose can get any more crooked.
I head for the ring, hanging just outside where the crowd is down a long hallway. Even if it is underground and we bounce from one abandoned warehouse to another, there is something about the showmanship of the fight that everyone seems to love.
“And now, for the fighter you’ve all been waiting for, Ezra Reyes!”
The crowd roars, and even from the end of the hallway there are people visible, shooting to their feet, their arms in the air as they shout.
This is the part of the fight I hate the most. The damn crowd work. I would rather get out there, beat the hell out of the guy in front of me, and then continue on with my day.
Instead, I jog out of the hall, jumping around, pumping my fists in the air, trying to get the crowd as loud as possible. It helps to get in the other person’s head before the fight begins, to have them worrying about what your next move will be instead of what their move should be.
I step up into the ring and hop inside, refusing to shake the guy’s hand and instead punching him in the face.
He stumbles back, his gloves flying up in front of his face. “You stupid fucker. You’re going to get the shit beat out of you for that.”
Circling him, I smirk, feinting to the left, tossing a low hook to see what he does.
He leans back a little, putting most of his weight on his right leg.
No surprise there, most fighters rely on their dominant side.
