best there is, and fear will not beat me. I win.
Garrett got his hands on some film of my competition a few weeks back. So, luckily, I’ve watched video of the guy I’ll be fighting, and, while he’s a good boxer with a strong hook, his floor game isn’t nearly as strong as mine. Every person he’s defeated has been by knockout. I just have to keep my head in the game, keep him from striking, and get him to the ground. Then it’s over.
Rian, as little as she is, and with the disability of having lost an arm, has taught me that you don’t need to be the biggest or the baddest to win. The person who comes out on top is the one with the strongest fight inside them. Standing a little over six feet, I’m a few inches shorter than Garrett, but with his training, I need to be confident in my skills.
“I gotta run and change. See ya out there, Cutter,” Josette says, giving me a brief hug before she continues to the changing room for the ring girls. Then we’re stepping into our makeshift locker room. I damn near punched a hole through a wall when she told me she’d be working as a ring girl tonight. She gave some excuse about needing the extra money, but the idea of her walking around half-naked for people other than me has me feeling some kind of way, and I don’t like it. I have absolutely no right to be pissed, she’s not my girlfriend, and yet I can’t make the jealousy stop. Maybe this is another one of Garrett’s ideas to keep me on my toes. What’s a good way to ensure a man will rip off the head of another without a second thought? Jealousy.
I glance up just in time to watch her saunter down the dark hall, and my dick begs for the attention of her swaying hips. God, she’s fucking beautiful. Tiny as hell, short blond hair, and the most hypnotizing eyes I’ve ever seen. Garrett was right to let her work tonight, because I would love nothing more than to bury myself inside her. Knowing I can’t makes me more irritated than I can even put into words. Garrett’s a sadistic, evil genius. As she rounds the corner and goes out of my sight, I could rip someone’s head off just to get a quick taste of her.
Take it out there, Cutter. Use this. That’s the point. Too many hormones racing through your body, a lot of need and want, and not nearly enough release, makes for a focused, lethal fighter.
“Ten minutes, Cutter,” Rian says, heading out toward the main arena. I nod, pull my shirt over my head, slip out of my sweatpants, and stick the earbuds back in my ears. Shrugging into an oversized hoodie, I zip it nearly all the way up and take a seat on the bench, bouncing my leg while the Struts song finishes. A few seconds later it cues up again. I pull the hood over my head, shielding my face from the light, and close my eyes. Behind my closed lids, I envision the fight, go over the videos I’ve watched, and prepare myself to take anything and everything he throws at me, giving just as good as I get. Over and over I tell myself to stay out of his reach. If he can’t hit me, he can’t win. Take it to the mat, put my grappling skills to the test, and prove exactly why I’m here. Well, not exactly why, but still. I don’t deserve this shot, but it’s mine and I’m taking it.
I owe so much to Garrett and his family. This fight is how I can pay him back—show my gratitude for bringing me into the fold with open arms instead of kicking me to the curb when I almost screwed all this up for him. More important to me than my own family, they’re the ones that deserve my absolute best.
Fight like you’ll never get another chance. Leave it all out there.
That’s how Garrett trained me.
Garrett taps me on the shoulder, nodding toward the door. It’s time to go. Taking a few deep breaths and trying not to psych myself out, I stand and follow him into the hallway.
Walking by Garrett’s side, I peek over at him, and his facial expression reads the same as mine: lethal and ready for battle. Either because
Garrett got his hands on some film of my competition a few weeks back. So, luckily, I’ve watched video of the guy I’ll be fighting, and, while he’s a good boxer with a strong hook, his floor game isn’t nearly as strong as mine. Every person he’s defeated has been by knockout. I just have to keep my head in the game, keep him from striking, and get him to the ground. Then it’s over.
Rian, as little as she is, and with the disability of having lost an arm, has taught me that you don’t need to be the biggest or the baddest to win. The person who comes out on top is the one with the strongest fight inside them. Standing a little over six feet, I’m a few inches shorter than Garrett, but with his training, I need to be confident in my skills.
“I gotta run and change. See ya out there, Cutter,” Josette says, giving me a brief hug before she continues to the changing room for the ring girls. Then we’re stepping into our makeshift locker room. I damn near punched a hole through a wall when she told me she’d be working as a ring girl tonight. She gave some excuse about needing the extra money, but the idea of her walking around half-naked for people other than me has me feeling some kind of way, and I don’t like it. I have absolutely no right to be pissed, she’s not my girlfriend, and yet I can’t make the jealousy stop. Maybe this is another one of Garrett’s ideas to keep me on my toes. What’s a good way to ensure a man will rip off the head of another without a second thought? Jealousy.
I glance up just in time to watch her saunter down the dark hall, and my dick begs for the attention of her swaying hips. God, she’s fucking beautiful. Tiny as hell, short blond hair, and the most hypnotizing eyes I’ve ever seen. Garrett was right to let her work tonight, because I would love nothing more than to bury myself inside her. Knowing I can’t makes me more irritated than I can even put into words. Garrett’s a sadistic, evil genius. As she rounds the corner and goes out of my sight, I could rip someone’s head off just to get a quick taste of her.
Take it out there, Cutter. Use this. That’s the point. Too many hormones racing through your body, a lot of need and want, and not nearly enough release, makes for a focused, lethal fighter.
“Ten minutes, Cutter,” Rian says, heading out toward the main arena. I nod, pull my shirt over my head, slip out of my sweatpants, and stick the earbuds back in my ears. Shrugging into an oversized hoodie, I zip it nearly all the way up and take a seat on the bench, bouncing my leg while the Struts song finishes. A few seconds later it cues up again. I pull the hood over my head, shielding my face from the light, and close my eyes. Behind my closed lids, I envision the fight, go over the videos I’ve watched, and prepare myself to take anything and everything he throws at me, giving just as good as I get. Over and over I tell myself to stay out of his reach. If he can’t hit me, he can’t win. Take it to the mat, put my grappling skills to the test, and prove exactly why I’m here. Well, not exactly why, but still. I don’t deserve this shot, but it’s mine and I’m taking it.
I owe so much to Garrett and his family. This fight is how I can pay him back—show my gratitude for bringing me into the fold with open arms instead of kicking me to the curb when I almost screwed all this up for him. More important to me than my own family, they’re the ones that deserve my absolute best.
Fight like you’ll never get another chance. Leave it all out there.
That’s how Garrett trained me.
Garrett taps me on the shoulder, nodding toward the door. It’s time to go. Taking a few deep breaths and trying not to psych myself out, I stand and follow him into the hallway.
Walking by Garrett’s side, I peek over at him, and his facial expression reads the same as mine: lethal and ready for battle. Either because
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