My eyes stay on the ring as I nod once.
“And his opponent… Flynn Brady.”
Another wave of cheers, louder now. Bets fly across the floor. The scent of sweat, blood, and money thick in the air.
They’ve seen me fight before. They know I don’t hold back.
“We want a clean fight, gentlemen,” the referee says, trying to sound firm. “Follow the rules, or I’ll stop the match.”
His eyes land on me.
Yeah. He knows who the problem is here.
The bell rings.
No hesitation. I step forward, slow and steady, boots on the bloodstained mat, eyes fixed on the bastard standing across from me.
He’s massive. Broad as a fucking truck. Veins thick down his arms, tattoo twitching with each breath. He’s bouncing on his feet like a dog itching to bite.
Good. I hope he tries.
We circle. The crowd fades. So does Kaden. So does the rain still dripping from my hair. All I see is movement. Weight. Weak points.
The first blow lands hard in my ribs. I let it.
Pain flares, deep and focused. Exactly what I need.
He swings again. A jab to my side. I absorb it. Then another left hook this time. My jaw snaps to the side, and blood blooms inside my cheek. I taste it. Copper and fury.
Still, I don’t hit back. Not yet.
I just watch.
He’s got strength, sure, but he’s impatient. He’s expecting a brawl, not a reckoning. My hands stay low, loose, like I’m not taking him seriously. It rattles him.
Another punch comes wild. I duck. Let it skim past.
I move.
A clean, brutal elbow to his throat drops him half a step. Before he can recover, my knee slams into his gut. He grunts, arms faltering, and that’s when I let go.
Fists blur. One to his temple. One to his mouth. His lip splits open, and blood sprays across my knuckles. He stumbles, but I don’t stop.
My body crashes into his, and we hit the mat. I’m on top, hands wrapped in the collar of his shirt as I slam his head into the ground once, twice, three times.
The crowd roars. The referee shouts something I don’t hear.
He tries to swing, barely. I catch his wrist and twist it until his scream cuts the air.
My fist drives into his face again.
And again.
And again.
This isn’t about the fight anymore. This is about her. The way she lied. The way she moaned in the dark. The fucking blood. The silence. The voicemail she didn’t answer.
It all pours out through my fists.
