I usually end up taking one home with me at the end of the night. They know the score, and so do I.
Casual. Always keep it casual. They want to bag a fighter, and I want to work off the last of my adrenaline.
But the last few I’ve taken home with me have only ended up passing out on the couch since I’ve been too piss drunk to do much of anything.
Conor’s got it in his head that there’s something wrong with me. Something bothering me.
Tonight, I’m set to prove him wrong. My eyes scan the crowd before I even square off with the Italian I’m fighting in just a few short moments.
I’m already counting my victory… because let’s face it… this bloke walked in here with Gucci loafers.
Enough said.
There’s a few blondes over in the corner tossing smiles my way. I smile back at them and flash them the dimples. Works like a charm.
Every time.
I ignore the brunettes in the crowd. Because there’s only one brunette I want. And I don’t like to compare.
There is no comparison.
But just as Johnny starts his spiel and I meet my opponent in the middle of the makeshift ring, one brunette does catch my eye.
And I have to do a double take to be sure.
Because her face is all beat to hell.
Scarlett.
In a black dress and flats. Scarlett never wears flats, but tonight she is because her leg is jacked up too. She’s leaning to the left and trying not to show it.
My nostrils flare and I crack my neck and I’m ready to murder someone when the bell sounds and I give her one last glance. She’s looking right at me. Holding her head high. Acting like her face isn’t all fucked up, and she has every right to come here and provoke me like this.
Because she knows.
She knows I’m going to slay the motherfucker who did that to her. Even if I have to cuff her to my bloody bed and torture the name out of her myself.
I can’t handle this shite.
I can’t handle seeing her fucked up like this all the time. The things she does to herself. The way she puts herself at risk.
Fucking Christ.
I need somewhere to channel this rage.
The Italian clatters me in the jaw when I’m not paying attention, and it feels like a hit from back in my schoolyard brawls.
Doesn’t matter though.
I come at him like a freight train. Loaf him three times in the head and he goes down. He’s not even fighting back when I get down on the floor and continue to pummel him in his face.
It isn’t until Lachlan and Ronan are pulling me off him that I realize he’s knocked the fuck out. And it’s not enough. There’s still too much adrenaline flooding my veins. Fucking up my head.
And all I can see is Scarlett’s face.
So, when Crow doesn’t take his hands off me, I turn around and clock him too. And pretty soon, we’re both going at each other before some of the other lads join in.
It takes four of them to pin me down and talk some sense into me.
