Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Then she pulled away, breathless and clearly fucking pleased with herself. Her smirk was as sharp as the edge of her eyeliner.
“There’s more of that after the match.” Ari pressed a small kiss to my lips then sauntered away. “So get ready.”
Fuck me. I ran a hand over my jaw, catching my breath before following. Lotto and Frankie were back, and Frankie ushered Ari closer to the cage in the middle of the old basketball court. A woman was already standing in the cage, looking wilder than a pit bull. Joanne, if the crowd’s chants were anything to go by. Her curly brown hair was piled up in a bun atop her head. She had much broader shoulders and looked like a fucking dam wall—stacked, leaner, and much stronger.
Once Ari got closer to the cage, the crowd began screaming her name. Guppy, that fat bastard, yelled into a microphone about the “sexiest match on the docket!” The crowd around the betting table was a school of sharks, waiting to make money off two sexy women. I crossed my arms over my chest as Ari stepped into the ring, my teeth clenched so tightly, I might have snapped some molars.
Lotto stepped next to me and wrapped an arm around my waist. “Relax.” His firm order made my shoulders drop, but only slightly. “You look like you’re about to shit your pants.”
“Frankie would make me walk home if I shit in his car.” I sucked in a breath, my eyes on Ari’s back. Hopefully, her white tank top stayed that clean when she stepped out of the ring.
“She’s going to be fine,” Lotto promised and squeezed my side. “She’s going to win.”
Lotto sounded so confident. Ari looked it, too. Her shoulders were squared back, her head held high, and she stretched out her neck and arms. What did I have to worry about? Winning in the ring was a mix of talent, luck, and straight narcissism. Good fighters had the talent. The best fighters had the balls and bullshit to back it up. The ring was nothing more than a lion’s den where the strongest lion would lead the pack.
And right now, Ari was the king while Joanne was the prey.
The bell rang; the crowd erupted in cheers, exuding a thirst for violence. They danced around each other for a second before Ari threw her first punch. It clipped Joanne’s cheek and made her take a step back. She blocked Ari’s follow-up punch and threw out a mean right hook.
And sent Ari straight into the bloodied mat.
Chapter 19
Ari
For all of Frankie’s training, he forgot the most important lesson: how bad your head rings when you take a punch to the fucking temple.
Luckily, his other training was much better: if you ever fall to the mat, get your ass up before you get curb stomped.
I rolled out of the way just as Joanne tried to kick my head. I pushed to my feet, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my wrists. Lotto told me all about her when we signed and weighed in. She’d taken up boxing to protect herself from an abusive, shitbag of a husband. Pretty Christian girls didn’t fight back. They smiled, cleaned the house, and tended to the kids while their preacher husbands were off banging underaged mistresses. But in Joanne’s case, after everything was done, she taped up her hands and took out her anger in the ring.
Her newest target? Me.
She had a damn good punch. My head still rang even as we danced back and forth, waiting for the next person to throw a punch. When she swung, I ducked. When I spun and kicked, she blocked. My muscles ached, and my head pounded, but I kept going. Hit after hit, block after block. The crowd around us roared with cheers of our names and a few choice expletives that made me want to fight some balding sexist pricks instead.
I lost myself in the rhythm of our sweaty, adrenaline-fueled dance. Block, hook, jab, kick, block. Grapple, shake off, elbow, reset. Frankie’s ghost screamed in my ear every time I moved. Look for an opening. Keep your hands up. Don’t let your head droop. Go for the throat.
Joanne grabbed my shoulders, and we went tumbling on the mat. I kicked and fought to get free, my elbow clipping her shoulder. She pulled back slightly, and I jumped at the chance. I got to my knees and grabbed her leg, starting to roll to put her in a leg lock.
I realized too late I’d broken Dad’s first cardinal rule: the best offense is a defense.
I didn’t see Joanne’s flailing roundhouse kick until it was too late.
“I fucking knew this would happen, I shouldn’t—”
“Don’t give us that bullshit, Frankie. It was her choice—”
“And none of us could change her mind. We all know that. So calm the fuck down—”