“You’re being extra fucking difficult. It must be damn juicy.” He kicks my leg out from underneath me, and I land hard on my side. This fight has just been taken to the ground. I’m not as skilled in wrestling or Jiu Jitsu as March, so I know he is literally going to squeeze the information out of me like juice.You might as well just call me ‘Fallon the fresh squeezed.’
Despite the torment, I welcome the pain. I need to feel it. I need to exercise the demons out of me, if only for a little while.
We grapple around, March much more skilled than I, but I fend him off for as long as I can, squirming out of his octopus-like hold once, then twice. My muscles fatigue way faster than I like. I have much more stamina on my feet. But I continue to fight, my will still strong. It’s what gets me through all of my strife. It’s what gets me through every single day.
The body can achieve whatever the mind believes.
March finally gets me in a solid submission hold. “Talk,” he demands, my limbs stretching in pain as he applies pressure.
I bite my tongue. He compresses harder. “You’re not gonna win,” he taunts, knowing he has me just where he wants me.
I grit my teeth, resisting him. Our skin hot and slippery from the sheen of sweat.
“Who was your sneaky visitor who got you all spooked?” March continues to press. God, I fucking hate him sometimes.
I tap out. If I can’t breathe, I can’t talk.
He loosens just enough for me to erupt. “Ronan, okay! Ronan fucking Kennedy!”
“What?” March lets go, and I roll over immediately, doing a push-up onto my feet.
I go on the offensive, kicking and punching him as I speak. “He showed up and offered me a proposition.”—I throw a right hook.—“He wants a bodyguard with benefits.” I knee him with a grunt. “We fucked all night.”
March pushes me back several steps. “Say truth.” He’s having a hard time believing me.
“Truth. He found me. And he wants me.”
March is clearly dumbfounded. It’s written all over his gaping-mouthed face.
“How the fuck did he find you?”
“I have no idea. But he did. And he said when he wants something, he gets it.”
“And he wants you,” March muses.
“Yes, he does.”
“What do you want?”
“Me?” I crack my knuckles. “To stop talking about Ronan and kick your fucking ass.” I run at him and leap into the air, assailing him with a flying side kick.
“Aggressive much?” March masterly steps aside at a forty-five-degree angle, evading me completely. “If you got laid all night, you should be more relaxed, no? Was he that bad in bed?”
“He was perfectly fine in bed.” I grit my teeth and punch. I jab-cross-jab-cross in quick succession.
“Then what’s the fucking issue?” March hits me with an uppercut, and my teeth clank.Son of a bitch. “If you were gonna play dirty, we should have put the gloves on.” He dances back and forth on his toes.
“Gloves are for pussies.”
March barks a laugh. “Tell that to Conor McGregor.”
The mention of the Irishman makes my blood pressure spike.
“Ugh.”I swing sloppily at him.
March picks up on the change in my form.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
