Page 37

AJ

I stood in the center of the ring, ready for whatever this guy might throw my way. But when the ref stepped back, the man in front of me remained still.

The crowd buzzed with excitement, waiting to see which of us would attack first and hoping that who they had bet on would land the first hit.

My knuckles tightened as I flexed my hands, rolling my shoulders out from a defensive stance to an aggressive one. I watched Koroshi as I decided on my first move.

He was completely still, wearing black cargo pants and a long-sleeved shirt. His hands were wrapped in black bandages, and he wore a balaclava with only his eyes showing.

Even though the guy was just standing there, I knew if I made one wrong move, I could get in some serious trouble.

Better play it safe. Start by throwing a few punches and keep my distance.

I surged forward, my footwork light and quick as I jabbed with a left hook aimed at his jaw.

He didn’t even flinch at my incoming fist. Instead, he brought a hand up and caught my punch mid-throw, redirected it past him, and pivoted around to the side of me. It felt like I’d just punched through a wall of smoke.

I spun around to face him once more; this time, I kicked out. One of the few things I’d learned from training with Sydney was some kickboxing moves. I’d saved them for this fight, so no one was expecting it.

This time, I connected in the middle of his chest. But something still felt off. He flung a few steps back and gripped his chest, but I didn’t feel like I’d kicked him that hard.

Still, it was better to not let him recover.

I rushed him, swinging a right cross to knock him off his feet. But it didn’t connect, as he dropped forward and hit the deck, just as I reached him with my swing.

“Fuck,” I swore under my breath as I turned.

I decided to try a different approach. I straightened up and stuck my hand out, bending my fingers, taunting him.

“You gonna just dodge and weave all day? Or are you going to actually fucking swing?” I said with a smirk, my arms stretched out wide, begging to be hit.

I usually let a guy get the first hit anyway, but today, I couldn’t risk it. But at this point, I needed to do something to get this guy to fight me.

We stood there, staring at each other, neither of us moving. The crowd got restless, shouting at us to fight and to stop standing around. The air was thick with anticipation.

Koroshi made his first move. He swung his body left as he rushed me and drew his arm back. Based on his movement, he was about to try and lay my ass out.

I felt it connect with my shoulder as I tried to dodge. Wincing, I countered with my own spinning back kick.

Koroshi moved again—not stepping, not dodging; he just folded his body around the attack. My heel barely grazed the fabric of his shirt.

Gritting my teeth, I faked a high shot and dropped into a vicious low-body blow, aiming for his gut. I was on my A game today; there was no way this wouldn’t land at this distance.

But at the last possible second, where my fist’s impact should have hit him at full force, he twisted just enough to avoid the brunt of it. It was barely perceptible, but enough to make me feel like I was swinging at shadows.

Arrogant son of a bitch. He’s playing with me.

I pulled back, reassessing my next move as we circled each other. But he was done letting me attack.

Koroshi launched himself forward, his hands moving like lightning bolts as they flew around my last-second guard, connecting with pressure points along my chest.

I sucked in a sharp breath as a tightness went through my left shoulder. Sydney had warned me to not let him touch me. I’d do better and not let it happen again.

I cut left and threw a brutal inside-leg kick, aiming to knock his balance out. My shin slammed toward his thigh as he hopped back, and my kick passed through the empty space he’d left behind.

But that was exactly what I’d wanted him to do.

Growling, I planted my back foot harder and twisted, countering with a brutal right cross straight for his temple. This was the kind of punch that’d drop a regular guy cold.

And at first, I felt like my hit finally connected like normal. I felt his head snap to the side.

The crowd roared, upset I’d knocked their favorite down a peg or two with that hit. I advanced on him, ready to hit him with another solid swing, but he backed off. He was damn fast on his feet, quiet too. I could barely hear his shoes touch the floor as he moved.

Koroshi snapped his arm out, aiming a sharp jab toward my ribs that I barely managed to block with a quick drop of my elbow. The strike stung; a pinpoint of pain shot through my side, making it numb for a second.

I circled, my jaw clenched, breathing deep through my nose. I needed to concentrate.

All right. Play it smarter.

I feinted a right jab before dropping low for a sweeping takedown. My aim was to tangle his legs and slam him to the ground, where his speed wouldn’t matter.

Koroshi leaped over me, twisting midair like some goddamn ninja, landing soft on the balls of his feet behind me. I spun, but he was already sidestepping away.

His eyes narrowed as he glanced at me from over his shoulder.

Quick little bitch.

Round one became a goddamn dance. A show of me pressing my attack, throwing calculated combos and him looking like he was taking the hit, but they weren’t doing the damage they should be.

It was like he was letting me burn energy and wear myself down without him breaking a sweat.

His defense wasn’t flashy; it was textbook perfect.

I managed to graze his shoulder with a glancing hook, and the crowd roared like I’d dropped him. Their desire for one of us to make the other bleed fed into my movements, tightening my fists, sharpening my focus.

I adjusted. Changed angles and threw a sharp shovel hook to the liver—one of my best shots.

Koroshi tilted, letting it roll off his hip with barely a wince. But he acted like I’d slammed him into a concrete wall.

Motherfucker!

He wasn’t countering much. He didn’t have to. He let me swing. Let me sweat. Let me chase him. And each time, he made it look like I had been landing solid hits while still not really taking the brunt of them.

I didn’t know what he was playing at, but I was done with his games.

I rushed him, throwing a flurry of blows. A high jab to mask a low gut punch, then a fake-out uppercut, followed by an overhand right. Mixing my moves, speed, and angles.

He danced back, thinking he was going to be able to slip out of my reach once more.

Not this time.

I caught the rhythm of the way he moved. I wasn’t only swinging to land a hit; I was observing his natural behavior. He would dodge, pivot, half step—then rinse and repeat.

I lunged forward, faking a right cross, and when he shifted sideways, I drove a brutal left elbow toward his ribs.

Crack!

I felt the hit this time. And it was solid and heavy.

He staggered half a step.

The crowd shouted and gasped as he fell to his knee.

Got you that time.

The ref stepped in to end the first round, and I jumped back, keeping my eyes on Koroshi.

His eyes showed no emotions as he looked up at me. He straightened up this time, turning slightly. His fist curled, and that was when I knew that I had broken through that cold exterior and pissed him off.

Finally taking this seriously, huh? About damn time.

I walked over to the gate that Sydney was standing at, and she offered me water and a towel. I used the towel on my forehead and handed it back to her, refusing the water.

“Are you all right? I saw those hits he landed. They really seemed to hit some tender spots.”

I shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t work through. He is quick, but there’s something weird going on,” I said as I leaned against the wall, glancing across the ring at him.

“Weird how?” Sydney asked in a hushed tone.

“Not sure yet. It feels like I’m not actually hitting the guy, even though it looks like I am. It just feels off,” I said.

Sydney peered around me to look at Koroshi. Her eyes narrowed as a frown formed on her face. Hopefully, she was going to be watching him even closer this round.

“Be careful. It won’t take too much longer, I think,” she said as she turned her head toward the front entrance.

I knew she meant for the cops to show. I nodded and then gave her a smirk as the ref walked into the middle of the ring once more.

“Don’t forget to cheer for me, baby,” I said.

I strode into the center of the ring, flexing my muscles as I twisted slowly from side to side, stretching my back muscles.

Koroshi met me there. The ref’s arm separated us as we stared back at one another.

One thing was for sure: I wasn’t going to let him fake my punches anymore. He’d feel each and every one of them.

The air was tense; the crowd's murmurs died down as all eyes turned back on us. The second the ref removed his arm and jumped back, I went on the attack.

No fucking around this time.

I launched a fast inside low kick to the knee, aiming to buckle him at the start. My shin smashed against his leg with a thud, but he pivoted at the last second to divert the brunt of the blow.

He spun with a back fist, and it connected with my shoulder. I slapped my hand around his wrist and chuckled as I turned and yanked with all my might, dragging him over my back. I tossed him on the floor.

This motherfucker had to be part cat because he flipped over me and somehow landed on his feet and left hand. His eyes snapped to mine.

I kept up my assault, throwing a savage right hook, aimed straight for his jaw, anticipating he would try and block it.

And I was right.

He brought his arms up and blocked my punch with a tight guard, and his forearms absorbed the brunt of it. But feeling his flesh and bone under my fist made me smile. He was actually feeling my attacks now. I wouldn’t let him avoid them any longer.