“Not Wilde.Foley. Look at the guy.”
Hart tilts his head to the side. “He looks like a demon.”
“Exactly.”
“I didn’t say that was a good thing.”
The buzzer sounds, and Hudson’s fists form in his lap. “Wilde’s going to kick his ass.”
And once they get started, I don’t know how Hudson can be so confident.
This is madness.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
ZIGGY
Ishould be watching the match. They move so quickly, but especially when it’s Wilde and Foley fighting. These two are like lightning strikes colliding, and somehow, they take the hits and stay standing. They’re fast and all strength. The type of fight that has you on the edge of your seat.
But my gaze is fixed on Kennedy. On his expressions. Trying to read how he really feels about Wilde’s End.
He’s been here months now, but all he knows is the isolation of Old End. The quiet of my mine. The labyrinth of the trees, and the casual warmth of the Cutty.
He doesn’t know how deep Wilde’s End goes. This is my world, my community, the people I’ve given a huge part of my life to. Like with my home, I want Kennedy to feel the same attachment I do. I want him to appreciate it for what it is.
Because Wilde’s End isn’t anything like the places we’re from.
“Oh, shit.” He winces at whatever just happened.
I don’t understand the problem. They’re both up there because they want to be, and they both know what they’re risking. I’ve seen people walk away bleeding, broken, and even one guy who couldn’t stop throwing up on himself. It’s a brutal sport, and no one who competes is interested in taking it easy.
Kennedy groans and turns to me. “I’m not sure I can watch. I keep waiting for Wilde to break something.”
“He might. He might not. They’re as close to evenly matched as it gets. Foley might even be slightly better.”
He flicks a look back toward where they’re fighting. “Is it always like this?”
Yes.
“How do you keep up? They’re moving too fast for me.”
There’s a special skill in surviving these matches but also making them watchable. And entertaining. Foley and Wilde have perfected how to do it all. It’s why theirs always draw the biggest wagers. Wilde earns enough from one fight to get the town through the next month, and it’s thanks to him that we never go without what we need.
Well, and Rooney, Lynx, and everyone else who chips in. But he lubricates that bridge between what the outside world has and what we need.
Kennedy flinches again.
“Don’t like it?” I murmur, voice softer than before. I’m braced for him to tell me how much he hates it, but bewildered lines fill his forehead.
“It’s interesting. I just … it’s very violent.”
It is, but it’s an important part of our lives out here. “Living a life like we do out here isn’t easy.”
“Yeah, but they’re purposely making it harder.”
“I know you won’t understand this, Kenny,” Hart says from my other side, “but sometimes people just need to beat the shit out of something.”
