“Got it.”
“Win cleanly. We’ll see what comes next.”
Pierce turned and crossed to the bear. The bear nodded, then Pierce moved to the leopards. Blaze read it the way he read everything.This is my ticket deeper inside.
He thought about Stella for a beat. She was at the bar, and he hoped she was okay. Pierce finished his rounds and left through the door. A muffled roar came from the floor side. The first bout had started. Blaze stood in the open space between the two benches and worked through his warmup, shadow striking slow at first, footwork in tight circles, hip rotation drills he’d done a thousand times.
The first bout came through the door in the sound of fists slapping on flesh, the roar of the crowd, and a smooth unaffected voice on the PA introducing the fighters. Blaze read the rhythm of the fight without seeing it, the strikes landing, the pace of them, the moments of clinch where the strikes went quiet. He knew when one of them was hurt and when one of them was breaking. A hard cheer came at the three-minute mark. Someone had been put down hard.
The clouded leopard stood up and stretched his neck. He was six feet tall and lean as wire. He cracked his knuckles and walked to the door to wait. He did not look back at Blaze.
The floor manager walked through the door.
“Russo. Up.”
Blaze rolled his shoulders. Something feral rose in his chest. He picked up his mouth guard from the table, slid it in, and walked out the door. Ryder was behind him with the towel and the water.
The corridor between the holding room and the pit was twelve feet of concrete with the lights overhead getting brighter as you walked. The pit was at the end. The corridor was cooler than the holding room, the breath of HVAC moving through it, and the crowd was louder by the step.
The crowd noise crested. Voices around the pit were calling odds. He couldn’t see faces past the edge of the lighting rig. He scanned the crowd and found Stella at the bar. She was on a high stool, a drink in her hand. She wore a bored expression, her cover holding.
He climbed the low cinderblock wall and stepped down into the pit. The lights bit at his eyes. The concrete was rough through the soles of his feet. The leopard was across the pit, barefoot and in shorts. He rolled his shoulders.
The PA voice announced them, smooth and unaffected.Jake Russo, twenty-three and four out of Reno, fighting tonight at middleweight against Marcel Rouet, eighteen and two out of Vancouver.The crowd noise crested again. Money moved. The floor manager from earlier stood at the edge of the pit as referee. He raised a hand and brought it down.
Fight.
Rouet moved first. He circled to Blaze’s right, quick and light, the front foot probing. Blaze pivoted and kept him in front of him. He didn’t chase. He cut. Rouet threw a kick to Blaze’s lead leg, snapping it out and back to keep distance. Blaze took it on the thigh. It stung, but he didn’t react. The leopard threw a head kick high and fast off the same rhythm. Blaze read the leopard’s shoulder before the leg came up, and he dodged it. The kick whistled past his ear.
He’s fast.
Blaze pressed. He cut the angle on Rouet’s circle and threw a low kick to the inside of the leopard’s lead thigh to take that mobility away. It landed clean. The leopard made a small sound. His opponent answered with a flying knee.
Blaze hadn’t expected the flying knee from a distance fighter. The knee caught him in the ribs on the right side, hard, and pain shot up through his side. The crowd reacted. He grunted, gave ground, and Rouet pursued.
His opponent threw three strikes in succession looking to finish the round on the back of the knee. Blaze covered, took two on the forearms, dodged the third, and clinched. Inside the clinch was Blaze’s range. Rouet tried to break away. Blaze didn’t let him. He got one underhook, then the other, and pressed his head against the side of the leopard’s neck. The cat scent up close was musk and blood and cologne.
Blaze worked short uppercuts into the body inside the clinch. Rouet tried to knee him. Blaze blocked with his hip and drove the leopard’s back against the cinderblock wall. His opponent fought, but Blaze kept him there.
He doesn’t know what to do here.
The buzzer ended the round. The floor manager stepped between them. Blaze released the clinch and stepped back. Rouet was panting. Blaze walked to his side of the pit and sat on the cinderblock wall. Ryder leaned over from the other side with the water and the towel and gave him both without touching him.
“You good?” Ryder said.
“Sore. I’m good.”
“He’s tired.”
“I know.”
He didn’t look at Stella. Looking at her now would be a mistake in a hundred ways.
The buzzer sounded. He stood, and Ryder swung back over the wall. Blaze came out pressing. He cut the leopard’s circle inside thirty seconds. Rouet kicked, and Blaze took it on the thigh and kept coming. He threw a heavy overhand right, and it caught Rouet on the side of the jaw. The leopard’s head snapped. He went down on one knee and popped up before Blaze could follow.
He doesn’t take a punch.
Blaze took him to the ground with a clean double-leg, lifting through the hips. Rouet hit the concrete on his back hard. Something in Blaze rumbled, and the crowd reacted. Blaze landed inside the leopard’s guard. The cat tried to scramble. Blaze planted his weight, passed the guard with patience instead of speed, and got to side control.
