Page 3 of Nicolette

Unable to stop myself, I turned to LC’s private box and glared. The bastard was right there sitting in his leather armchair like some king looking down on his kingdom. He caught my eye and smiled, showing all his sharp tiny fucking teeth, telling me he’d planned this. The witch might be the full-blooded supernatural that I was going to fight tonight, but clearly, I was working up to it with these half-breed fucks.

“Just you wait, little man. One of these days, I’ll find a way to get you back for all this,” I muttered to myself as I pulled my gaze away.

Closing my eyes, I took three deep breaths holding each for a few seconds before letting them out again. If I was going to make it through tonight, I needed to be on my A-game. So I blocked out all the noise of the spectators around me, tuning into the beating of my heart, calm and steady. All that mattered was me and the fucking gorilla man I was about to face. Finally, hearing the clang of the bell calling us to the center, I shook my arms, casting off the last of my worry and anxiety, then opened my eyes.

It was game time, motherfucker.

Walking up to the center of the ring, I tilted my head back to look at the behemoth standing before me. For as large as his body was, his head seemed almost too small, like it was an afterthought when they designed his body. He looked down at me with dull brown eyes that didn’t seem to have much going on behind the curtain. That fact would either help me or mean I was even more fucked than I thought. Some of the toughest fighters I’d faced hadn’t been the brightest tool in the shed. You didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to know how to throw a fucking mean right hook.

“Fighters ready,” the announcer called.

I lifted my wrapped hand and balled it into a fist, Ram did the same, and we bumped knuckles. Why they always insisted on this stupid ritual, I’d never understand. What about this game was supposed to be sportsmanly? The winner was the one who survived and, in most cases, lived. Death matches weren’t a requirement, but sometimes it was the only way to put them down so they stayed down. If I wanted to live to see the next fight, this asshole was going all the way down and never getting up.

“Fighters, fight!” the announcer shouted, causing the whole space to erupt with cheering and screaming.

The first thing I did was back the fuck up so I could get a gauge for how fast the walking boulder could move. He didn’t react right away, almost as if the call to fight didn’t register, and it took him a second to comply. When the dull look fell away from his eyes, they were lit with excitement and fury.

Oh fuck.

This man wasn’t part giant—he was part berserker, and I was fucked right up the asshole. Not only would he be ten times harder to kill, but he also wouldn’t be able to feel any of the hits I landed on him. When berserkers went into their fury-like trance, they fixated on one thing and one thing only—killing the enemy.

Ram charged at me like a linebacker, putting his shoulder first, digging his feet into the mat, and launching himself at me. I spun, running for the fence, praying I’d built up enough speed to pull this off or the fight would be over before it even started.

The mat shook with his steps, but I didn’t stop until I ran as far up the chain link fence as I could, then kicked off into a backflip. Arcing over the beast’s head, I searched for the right spot on his back that would be my only chance of living. When I found it, I swore under my breath that it was in a different spot with him being a mixed blood. Landing on the mat in a crouch, I darted forward, climbing up his back before he could turn.

Every Supe had a weakness. The trick was knowing what they were and how to take advantage of them.

Berserkers normally had a spot where their spine was closer to the surface than the rest, and if you managed to hit them there, they would feel it. Sometimes it would even snap them out of their fighting rage.

This asshole had to make it harder with the sweet spot being on the back of this neck. A neck that was super short and had bulging trap muscles that protected it. Both these things made it nearly impossible to get a good grip or angle to take advantage of the weakness. I needed a better look at it, so I decided to just hang around for a bit since his arms didn’t bend so great with all that muscle.

Ram let out a roar that seemed to shake the building and my brain with how loud it was. Twisting, he slammed himself backward into the fencing, squashing me between him and the chain link. He acted like he was scratching his back, moving side to side, trying to scrape me off. I was losing my grip on him, and the metal was scratching the hell out of my skin, not to mention catching on my sports bra. If I was going to make a move on this sweet spot, I had to do it now or bail and try again.

“Come on, you motherfucker, is that all you’ve got? I thought you were some bigshot fighter, but here you are, trying to rub me off like I’m your cock,” I yelled at him.

If I could enrage him further, it would cause him to do something different, which could be good or extremely bad. He let out another roar, stomping further into the ring, and planted his feet before squatting down.

“Oh shit, shit, shit,” I muttered, realizing what bright idea this knuckle dragger figured out.

I scrambled onto his shoulders, then dropped in front of his face just as he jumped and landed on his back. That, for sure, would have flattened me like a human pancake if I hadn’t moved fast enough. Now I was staring down at him, both a little surprised at the move.

“Sup? You come here often?” I asked.

He just growled and grabbed for me, so I went for one of the oldest tricks in the book and jammed my thumbs into his eyes. I felt one of them pop under the pressure causing him to howl in pain, thrashing his arms every which way to get me off. His arm clipped my hip and sent me flying across the ring, making the crowd roar with excitement. I crashed into the fence and dropped like a sack of potatoes on the ground with a groan.

“Holy fuck, that sucked.” I grunted as I pushed up. “Gavin better not give me shit for getting my ass handed to me.”

Wiping the sweat off my forehead with my wraps, I took stock of what was happening with the jolly giant. He was down on one knee as blood and whatever eyeballs were made out of spilled down his cheek. I had seconds to end this because I doubted he would make this so easy once he got his shit together. So I pushed off the fence and ran full tilt at the berserker but came in from the side, allowing me to wrap an arm around his head. I held on as tight as I could, pulling tighter with my other hand, then pushed off the mat, so I went up and over his head again. Only this time, I took his head with me, and since his weak spot was in his neck, the damn trick actually worked. The sickening snap of his neck could be heard in the silence as the spectators held their breath.

When my feet touched the mat again, I released the man and stumbled away just in case that wasn’t enough to take the fucker out. With a halting step forward, the mighty Battering Ram crashed to the floor like a building that had the foundation blown up. The mat shook like an earthquake was happening to the point I almost lost my balance.

Standing there panting, I waited and watched as the timer started to count down, giving him the count of five to get back up. If he stayed dead like I planned, then I’d won the fight, no question, but who the fuck knew with berserkers if a broken neck would stop them.

The buzzer sounded, ending the fight, and the announcer was beside me, thrusting my arm into the air. “Swurve Reaper strikes again as our champion. Let’s hear it for the human.”

My ears rang with the deafening sound of people cheering, marking the end of my first fight of the night.

Only two more to go… yippee.