Page 13 of Cruel Betrayal

Guess that means I’m going to be left-handed today.

I switch my position fast, before he has a chance to register what’s happening, and my fist flies out. I deliver a sharp jab to his torso, followed with a hook to his other side before bouncing back and out of his range.

The crowd roars as he lunges at me, feinting to the left.

I meet him when he shifts to the right, delivering a cut to the underside of his jaw, sending him stumbling back.

He groans, his hands dropping long enough for me to snap forward and nail him in the face again, his nose crunching beneath the weight of my punch.

I’m on him then, pinning him to the ground and pummeling him.

This is the part of the fight I love. The one where I let out every frustration I’ve ever had. The one where this fucker is going to have his face caved in because I feel like it.

The crowd is roaring. People scream. There’s blood on my gloves.

All of it fades into the background.

And then arms wrap around me, hauling me off and throwing me to the side.

Someone is in my face, shouting and pointing at me, but I’m too lost to the bloodlust to pay much attention to who it is. It doesn’t matter.

The fight is over, and the dickhead on the ground is lucky to be alive.

Tyson appears in front of me, raising my arm high in the air as the crowd roars.

Money starts changing hands and before I know it, I’m being pushed from the ring.

I head back down the hallway, Tyson trailing behind me, yammering on a mile a minute. I tune it all out, though.

Maybe now I can send Jade a message. I could have dinner with her tomorrow or the night after. Or maybe we should meet for coffee first. I read somewhere that women think you’re less of a threat to them if you meet them for coffee.

Tyson knocks me on the back of the head. “You’re not even listening to a word I say.”

“Why the hell would I? You never have much that’s important to say.” I glance at him over my shoulder as one of the trainers comes over and takes off my gloves.

He scoffs and drops down onto the bench. “Someone is feeling a little touchy today. Have you thought about taking the stick out of your ass?”

“Yeah, sure. Let me get right on that.” I sink down onto the bench beside him and start unwrapping my hands. “Look, I’ve had a shit day and then I had to come here and beat the fuck out of some guy.”

“You could walk away.”

I glance over at him. “You and I both know that it’s not as simple as that. In for life, remember? Besides, the money is good. Too good to walk away from even if I could.”

“Damn right it is.” Noah strides into the room with a wad of money in his hand and holds it out to me. “Your cut, though next time, I’d like you to leave the guy you’re fighting a little closer to living. Can’t make money if all my fighters are on the ground.”

I take the money and flip through it. Nearly a hundred thousand. “Thanks.”

Noah nods, eyeing me for a moment. “There’re going to be more fights this month. I have bills to pay and endeavors to fund, but lucky for us, you benefit from this too.”

I press my lips together and give him a sharp nod. There’s no use in arguing with him. I used to do that when I was younger. But I learned. Arguing with him means getting the shit beat out of you when you get jumped in an alley. Or you’re starved and then made to fight for your life.

Noah turns to Tyson. “You’re going to be fighting more this month too, but your primary job is going to be getting Ezra here to the top of his game. I need him locked in.”

Tyson nods, not looking Noah in the eyes. He’s never been able to. Not since Noah put us through hell as children.

It was better than the alternative, though.

Which is why, as much as I don’t want to spend the rest of my life beating the hell out of people who aren’t worth my time, I’m going to.