Pow.
Another hit.
I feel this one too.
It lands on the left side of our faces and makes us double over, jumbling our thoughts. All the people who didn’t want us to win were in this one—Uncle Kenny, AJ, Blake, Arnez, Melo, Jamari’s ghost.
I grab my throbbing, wet cheek. “Rich!”
“Pup, you better get the fuck up…” Arnez mutters. “Get up.”
Smitty’s hands tighten, and he digs his fingers into my arms.
Primo takes another jab at Rich’s body, and he curls into himself even more.
“Stand up, Pup! Beat his motherfuckin ass!” Arnez hollers. “I swear to God, if you don’t get up, I’ll come out there and kill you myself!”
There it goes.
That fucking word that just won’t leave us alone.
My insides lurch as Primo circles Rich like a predator.
“Stand up,” Arnez says. “Stand the fuck up! Who gives a shit about her being here!”
Smitty takes an arm from around me and holds it in front of Arnez. He blows out a whistle that rings in my ear, signaling her to hush.
“Stand up, Pup,” he mutters under his breath. “Stand up and walk him down.”
Rich hawks up a glob of red spit and pulls himself up just as Primo goes in for another punch. He ducks it so fast that whenI blink, he’s back up, drilling his fist into Primo’s face like it’s one of those tires swinging off the tree in his backyard. That deafeningbangsounds worse ricocheting off flesh and bone than it does rubber.
The crowd hollers in horror and excitement.
“Gahhhh!” Primo screams as blood spurts from his nose and onto a group of guys standing too close to the pit.
They wince while he grabs it and my skin prickles so much that I tug at the collar of my sweatshirt to get it off my neck.
This isnothinglike a boxing match. This is a brawl with no gloves or rules—just two men trying to survive. There’s nobody to make sure Primo is still fit to defend himself, so we all stand around, staring and waiting for him to realize his nose isn’t in the middle of his face anymore.
“Stupid,” that same voice from earlier grumbles. “There goes my six hundred. Nigga just broke his nose.”
My stomach gurgles as I choke out a dry heave.
Rich’s low eyes find me again while Primo stumbles toward the edge of the pit with globs of blood trailing over his hand.
“Forget her, Pup,” Arnez mutters. “Put him out his misery.”
His eyes flutter with something that looks like regret, but I don’t trust myself enough to read his expressions anymore.
He stalks toward Primo with a straight face, forcing Primo closer to the edge of the pit, and I close my eyes just as he raises his fist.
I don’t see the hit, but I feel the surge of the crowd and hear the yelling afterward. I open my eyes back just as Primo’s eyes roll into his head and his body folds and falls to the ground with a thud that nobody hears over the crowd’s yelling.
“That’s all, folks,” Lucky drones from the intercom. “Pup takes it home.”
The music starts back, life goes on, and a man who looks like Primo wraps his arms under Primo’s armpits and drags his limp body out of the pit.
The chicken I ate bubbles up my stomach while I dig my nails under Smitty’s fingers, forcing them off me. I turn around and take off with my arms pushed in front of me while the crowd turns into a blur.
