won’t hurt me—I’m certain of that, but I don’t know why. Carmine? Carmine would backhand me across a room if he felt like I deserved it.
I’m surprised to feel my eyes going hot. I’m crying—not a lot, but my eyes are definitely leaking. I backhand the tears away and sniffle, disgusted with myself. There’s a way out. There has to be. I can’t keep living like this.
Again, that thought drifts across my mind. Cain. Cain could be the answer. He could be the one who gets me out of this hellhole.
Bad idea, Jess. Just let it go.
But I can’t. I just can’t.
CHAPTER THREE
Cain
There are days I wonder why I fight. Days I wonder what gets me into the ring, makes me almost crave the adrenaline, the smell of the sweat and the blood. The pain. Days I think it would be so much easier if I gave it all up and became an accountant or something. Something easy.
This is not one of those days.
Why? Because today I’m supposed to win. And it’s not going to be a cakewalk. If Spada’s scouts misjudged the last opponent as stronger than he was, they misjudged this one in the opposite direction. He’s not nearly as far beneath me as they seem to think he is.
That’s okay. I need to work for it once in a while, if for no other reason than to take my mind off the fucking cesspit that my life has become. To forget that I don’t only want to win, but I have to. Because if I don’t…
Well, Spada’s made that pretty fucking clear. And right now I’m not thinking. I’m just hitting. Punching. Dodging and weaving. I want to move in and pull my opponent down into a grapple. I always feel like I have more control that way. The boxing, the hitting—it’s not my favorite part of my time in the ring. No. I like the primal tangle in the grapple. Using every inch of my body with every inch of my strength to pin another man down, manipulate him, overpower him. Then we can get to the hitting.
He makes a very slightly wrong move and I’m on it like a cat on a mouse. That’s my job—to watch until they do something wrong, and then make them pay for it. A moment later, I’ve got him on the mat where I want him, and I’m punching him in the face, at the same time weaving my own body out of his reach so he can’t retaliate. After a while, he manages to get tangled back up with me again, and for a few long seconds neither of us can move. The ref moves in then, ordering us apart.
I hop to my feet and move back, as instructed. As I head for my corner, I glance over the crowd. I didn’t see Jessica anywhere when the match started. She’d better be here. I wasn’t kidding about hunting her tight little ass down if she isn’t.
I don’t see her at first, but then I do. She’s not in her usual spot; she’s farther back from the ring. She sits with her hands folded together between her knees, her back straight, expression neutral. I wonder if she’s afraid for me. I give her a quick wink, but I’m not sure she sees me.
When I turn back around, there’s an extra jump in my step. Because my girl’s here. Because she’s watching while I pound this guy into the ground. Because I can pound this guy into the ground. I don’t have to hold back. I can show her exactly what I am, what I have, what I do.
Maybe I forget she knows all that already. It doesn’t matter, really, because when she’s watched me before it’s been under very different circumstances. Circumstances that didn’t involve my having fucked her to within an inch of her life. Twice.
I grin around my mouth guard. The fight’s on again. I know I’m going to take this guy. There’s no question now. I’ve got all his weaknesses filed in my head, and my instincts take over. He won’t last five more minutes.
He lasts three and a half. It’s a knockout again. Can’t say I always enjoy knockouts—it’s dramatic, but they lack a certain finesse. On the other hand, you don’t have to wait around while the refs tally up points, so there’s
I’m surprised to feel my eyes going hot. I’m crying—not a lot, but my eyes are definitely leaking. I backhand the tears away and sniffle, disgusted with myself. There’s a way out. There has to be. I can’t keep living like this.
Again, that thought drifts across my mind. Cain. Cain could be the answer. He could be the one who gets me out of this hellhole.
Bad idea, Jess. Just let it go.
But I can’t. I just can’t.
CHAPTER THREE
Cain
There are days I wonder why I fight. Days I wonder what gets me into the ring, makes me almost crave the adrenaline, the smell of the sweat and the blood. The pain. Days I think it would be so much easier if I gave it all up and became an accountant or something. Something easy.
This is not one of those days.
Why? Because today I’m supposed to win. And it’s not going to be a cakewalk. If Spada’s scouts misjudged the last opponent as stronger than he was, they misjudged this one in the opposite direction. He’s not nearly as far beneath me as they seem to think he is.
That’s okay. I need to work for it once in a while, if for no other reason than to take my mind off the fucking cesspit that my life has become. To forget that I don’t only want to win, but I have to. Because if I don’t…
Well, Spada’s made that pretty fucking clear. And right now I’m not thinking. I’m just hitting. Punching. Dodging and weaving. I want to move in and pull my opponent down into a grapple. I always feel like I have more control that way. The boxing, the hitting—it’s not my favorite part of my time in the ring. No. I like the primal tangle in the grapple. Using every inch of my body with every inch of my strength to pin another man down, manipulate him, overpower him. Then we can get to the hitting.
He makes a very slightly wrong move and I’m on it like a cat on a mouse. That’s my job—to watch until they do something wrong, and then make them pay for it. A moment later, I’ve got him on the mat where I want him, and I’m punching him in the face, at the same time weaving my own body out of his reach so he can’t retaliate. After a while, he manages to get tangled back up with me again, and for a few long seconds neither of us can move. The ref moves in then, ordering us apart.
I hop to my feet and move back, as instructed. As I head for my corner, I glance over the crowd. I didn’t see Jessica anywhere when the match started. She’d better be here. I wasn’t kidding about hunting her tight little ass down if she isn’t.
I don’t see her at first, but then I do. She’s not in her usual spot; she’s farther back from the ring. She sits with her hands folded together between her knees, her back straight, expression neutral. I wonder if she’s afraid for me. I give her a quick wink, but I’m not sure she sees me.
When I turn back around, there’s an extra jump in my step. Because my girl’s here. Because she’s watching while I pound this guy into the ground. Because I can pound this guy into the ground. I don’t have to hold back. I can show her exactly what I am, what I have, what I do.
Maybe I forget she knows all that already. It doesn’t matter, really, because when she’s watched me before it’s been under very different circumstances. Circumstances that didn’t involve my having fucked her to within an inch of her life. Twice.
I grin around my mouth guard. The fight’s on again. I know I’m going to take this guy. There’s no question now. I’ve got all his weaknesses filed in my head, and my instincts take over. He won’t last five more minutes.
He lasts three and a half. It’s a knockout again. Can’t say I always enjoy knockouts—it’s dramatic, but they lack a certain finesse. On the other hand, you don’t have to wait around while the refs tally up points, so there’s
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