“Not tonight.”
His lower lip pushes out when he blows out a breath. “‘Fraid you might lose? We both know you’ve made a pretty penny since you started working with Tommy. You can afford it.”
Maybe so, but… “I’m here to fight. That’s it.”
He rolls his eyes, mutters that I’m a fucking prude with my money, then walks off to the other guys in our group. Probablyto ask them the same thing. The dude can never sit still, and if it wasn’t already noticeable, has a problem with gambling.
Eli ends up winning, and just like Remy suspected, the guy goes down easy. When he’s carted off to the side, I swear I catch a glimpse of familiar brown hair. The perfect shade that I know way too well, but when I glance back over, it’s gone. That quickly, it gets lost in the crowd, and I wonder if my eyes are playing tricks on me.
There’s no way in hell Violet would be here. She doesn’t have a clue that I’m fighting. She’d flip if she found out I took pleasure in beating the shit out of other guys. I can still remember that look that overtook her face when I told her I was into boxing and offered to show her a few moves. It was around the same time she offered to teach me yoga, and I took her up on it.
But she drew the final line in the sand, and surprisingly, she’s been respecting it. Whatever I see, must be some other chick with the same remarkably brown hair as my girl.
It only serves as a reminder of how much I miss her.
The beauty mark under her eye.
Her smile and the way it always softened when I walked into the room.
Her goddamn touch and how it always made me feel alive.
Even more than fighting has.
I guzzle a mouthful of water and listen to the roar of the crowd. I’m up and bring my thoughts of her into the ring with me, but I can’t let her get in my head. She doesn’t belong there.Not anymore.That flicker of hair I saw is just my ego trying to draw me back into more heartache.
I won’t have it.
Not now.
I’m here to entertain. I promised that to Tommy and the crowd when I signed up for this shit, despite the fact that I'm mostly just fighting for myself. The only reason I risked joiningTommy’s group of guys is because it’s the only sure way I won’t get charged with assault. I can’t go out and pick fights for the hell of it. But out here, in the chaos of The Battleground, I can get away with everything but death.
Pushing Violet out of my mind, I settle my feet at my side of the ring. The crowd cheers. I hear my name from people’s mouths. People I don’t even fucking know. Their voices swirl around me. Get in my head. Pretty soon, they’re my only focus. Them, and the mean mug across from me.
My opponent is well-proportioned. Except maybe for his legs. They seem to be a little longer than the rest of him, and albeit, me. Otherwise, he looks just as strong, just as hungry for this match as I am. I rest my hands on my hips. My lungs scream for oxygen. I swear, sometimes when I’m out here, it feels like I stop pulling in air altogether. Like I’m in this upside-down purgatory where I have to hold my breath to make it through.
Maybe it has to do with this anguish inside of me.
Maybe it has to do with maintaining control.
I walk in a circle and look over the guy’s shoulder. Eli is there, standing behind Tommy and Remy. He gives me a nod of encouragement then disappears in the shadows of the crowd. He’s off to sit with his win and absorb all the good things that will come from it.
Praise.
Cash.
Popularity.
A buzzer reaches my ears, indicating that we only have a minute until the match starts. It feels like it lasts three seconds. It doesn’t matter. I’m ready to get this over with. Ready to impale my fists into this fuckboy and cover the hurt that blatantly shows its face every morning.
The fight signal comes next and before either one of us knows it, we’re in the center of the makeshift ring, trying to eat up the inches between us until our fists fly.
I’ve always been adamant about keeping my face protected, and I don’t stray from that now. My fists create the perfect shield to keep him from hitting me. He sends a jab my way, I block it by raising my arm. I swing for him, but he pushes his weight onto his back foot, and I miss.
We’re dancing, and the crowd knows it. Booing comes from every corner. It creeps into my head and adds to my unworthiness. They don’t think I’m good enough tonight. To them, I don’t deserve to be where I am.I’mthe chum.
I do what anyone else would in my position, I lunge forward and hit him with a combination that confuses him. My fists move quickly. One of them connects with his cheek. The crowd erupts with cheers, and I’ve done well, but it isn’t enough. My stomach clenches with the need to do the same thing over again, so I tuck my elbows and rely on my balance as he shuffles around and tries to retaliate.
He swings.
