“What do you want me to do? My hands are tied.” Hound shook his head, looking to Otis for some type of guidance. Otis glanced through this phone, rapidly skimming over a document.
“I’m trying to see about any indication of fairness, but I think they fucking out matched me on this one.” He leaned his head back, the nerves rattling him. “I knew I should have re-read this a second time.”
“What do you mean?” I glared at him.
“Meaning there isn’t any specific detail that I could argue if this went into court or something. We all agreed on a ‘fighter of our choosing’, what we didn’t realize that their choosing didn’t have to match ours.”
“The contract is open for interpretation is what you’re fucking telling me.”
Minutes were ticking by, and the more we stood around fighting over the fact that we weren’t careful with wording, the less time I had to get back to a mental space that was ready to fight.
“That fucker could take me out with his foot if he wanted to stomp on me,” I said.
“That won’t happen,” Hound Dog promised.
I turned to face him. “How the fuck do you know? Your ass ain’t going into the ring with the giant that could kill a village.”
Stray looked back at me and then back to Otis and Hound Dog. “I think the man’s brain is scrambled.”
I was about to scramble something else.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, wishing that some fresh hell would get me out of this.
Just fight the monster. Fight like you were made to do it.
“Whatever, I’m just ready to get this fight over with,” I said with an exhausted breath.
If they were trying to rattle me, they certainly accomplished it. With any fight, you could train or run every scenario that played in your head, but nothing would prepare you until you stepped foot into the ring and took one hit. It takes one hit to throw you into fight or flight mode, to alter the plans and attacks you had envisioned. It takes one moment to look at your opponent and know whether you were walking out of the ring alive and victorious or a failure and on a stretcher.
You put everything at risk when you enter into that ring. It’s not about performing for others, it’s about your own victory of the war brewing inside you.
“Guess it’s time to run drills then?” Stray asked, slapping his hands against my back.
“Gentlemen.” A sly voice pulled our focus.
In a sharp black suit, the man didn’t belong in a place like ours, Franklin Abbott stood with outstretched arms, feeling like there was a party and he was the man of the hour. I rolled my eyes, wanting to put him through a wall… again.
“Mr. Shooter, you’re looking in peak shape. Got that fire burning in your veins?” he said. His charm didn’t work on me, I could see right through his mask. Inside was a man that was scared to disappoint and reap the consequences. He attempted to have complete control, but his facade would only go so far.
“You want to light a match and find out?” I spat.
He held up his hands. “I’m good, think you need to save that for the ring.”
“If you have something to say, then fucking say it. Otherwise, I’m not interested.” I started to charge, but Otis held me back.
“That’s the fighting spirit,” he bellowed, placing his hands in his pockets. “I just hope that by the end of the night, there are no hard feelings.”
I growled, about to launch myself at him, when Hound Dog stepped in my path. “Mr. Abbott, I suggest you walk the other way. Shortly, your business in my city will be over and I would hate to send you home with an unrecognizable face. You’re already cheating your way in this fight, and we don’t take kindly to cheaters.”
Time was ticking by. I needed to get ready, I needed my girl in my arms, and I started to get worried. I checked my phone, checking the time and knowing that she would have already arrived by now.
He clicked his tongue. “My, my, are you insinuating that we would cheat?” His grin turned viscous, "Sometimes you have to fight dirty to gain what you want.”
I tried to ignore his words, turning back to the flood of people that were about to witness the fight of a lifetime. Waiting for a certain blonde goddess to walk through the entrance and fill my senses.
“Looking for someone, Mr. Shooter?” his cruel voice said.
“Mind your fucking business,” I growled out.
