Page 222 of Between Secrets and Obsession

Tyler leads us forward, and I can’t help but randomly turn around and check behind us. It’s creepy as fuck being in this building that smells like engine oil and dirt.

Voices travel down the hallway, and soon, the noise from the crowd becomes more audible. We continue forward until the hallway opens to a large arena. The lighting is still shit, and puffs of smoke from cigarettes linger in the air. I see the ring that’s protected by crowd-control barricades to ensure no one gets in the ring who isn’t supposed to. Folding chairs surround it, while most of the room stands, giving the onlookers the perfect view to watch someone die.

Tyler scans the crowd and lifts his hand in a wave. A minute later, a guy with blond hair and green eyes comes over to us. This must be who Tyler has been getting intel from. He looks Irish like he’s related to the O’Learys.

“Lance,” Tyler says, giving him a hard pat on the back.

The guy shakes my hand, then looks back and forth between us.

“What have you found out?” Tyler asks.

“Not much. I’ve heard rumors.”

My face contorts. “About what?”

“Who you’ll be fighting,” Lance confirms.

“Why?” I shake my head. “Does it matter?”

Lance shrugs. “I guess it doesn’t since you’re prepared to fight anyway. But apparently, a nickname was used, so those who were betting would know who your opponent was.”

“When will we know for sure if it’s him?” Tyler asks, and I suspect he has an idea who I’ll be up against, but I don’t give a fuck. It doesn’t matter because I’m already committed.

“Right before the fight starts, we’ll know. I gotta go, though. Good luck,” Lance says, then walks away.

I can tell Tyler is annoyed by this fact, but I’m not at all shocked.

“Do you want me to tell you what I know?” he asks.

“No,” I tell him, not wanting anything to mess with my current mentality. When it comes to the O’Learys, they can’t be trusted anyway. They do what benefits them, lying and manipulating people, treating them like puppets. But my patience is steadily waning. I check the time and notice we have a little over thirty minutes before this party gets started. Tyler leads me to an empty room and unzips his duffel bag, then pulls out tape and water, forcing me to drink.

“Bare-knuckle boxing. Gotta love it.” I grunt, and the sarcasm isn’t lost on him.

“Street fighting at its finest.” He takes my hands and securely wraps my knuckles and wrists. While he’s doing so, he coaches me. “Don’t take your eyes off him. Be swift on your feet. Look for the opportunity of weakness. Every person will let down their guard at some point, and that’s when you pounce. You’re ready for this.”

“I am ready. I have so much fucking pent-up aggression I might knock the guy out with the first punch.”

Tyler chuckles. “Good. Do that, and the fight will be over.”

The noise from the main room hushes, and someone gives a ten-minute warning. I swallow hard, then take my time stretching and warming up, giving Tyler a few good practice hooks.

“Ready?” he finally asks, handing me my mouth guard.

I give him a single nod. The blood rushes through my body, and I can almost hear my pulse in my ears. Looking around the room, I see hundreds of pairs of eyes on me as I step into the ring and take off my shirt. I look over my shoulder at Tyler as the crowd bursts into a roar of applause. He gives me a thumbs-up as my confidence continues to climb. I keep my body moving, not wanting my muscles to go cold as the guy over the loudspeaker continues.

“And his opponent…Mickey DeFranco.”

I drop my hands to my side as the room goes eerily quiet.

“DeFranco?” I mouth to Tyler, who’s shaking his head as his jaw twitches. Victoria’s lover. The father to her children.

What the fuck?

I wonder if this is what Tyler found out and wanted to tell me.

The guy comes into the ring, glaring at me like he wants blood, and I’m sure he does. This isn’t just a random fight, no, DeFranco wants me dead as much as JJ does. This was a setup.

Though the rules are given, I can’t focus on anything other than the bastard who’s standing a few feet away, glaring at me. Mickey is my height with dark brown hair and eyes as black as night. His muscles look as if they’ll break right through his skin, and I have a feeling he’s not going to be following any of the rules that are read to us. He doesn’t even have his hands taped, but I’m sure he’s been fighting on the streets since he was a kid.