Page 94 of Beautiful Soldier
Fuck.
I shake it off, circle around him and start again. Brawler looks just as content to do this with me, play with each other, but it won’t work. My gaze darts up. Like with the warehouse, a special boxed area for the Crew sits atop everything else. It’s fancier, but what fills it is the same. Big Daddy K is front and center in the window. Johnny is next to him, fists clenched at his side, but it’s K who grabs all of my attention. He’s leering, a half-smile on his face is more predatory than anything. He’s the perfect representation of an enemy in beautiful clothing.
I lick my lips and focus back on Brawler. I send a silent thought up, hoping he’ll forgive me for this, and then I head in. I attack first because I know he won’t. If any one of the guys is too good for me, it’s him. Hell, it’s not just me. He’s too good for the Heights. He’s too good for most things. He’s been through the shit that has taught him who he wants to be.
He’s just...fuck. He’s good. Not halo worthy, obviously. None of us are, but he’s just…good. There’s no other word for it.
He blocks my punches and attacks with some teasing ones of his own. Just like he would in training, telling me he could’ve got me if he wanted.
I smile at him, and he smiles back.
Fighting someone you train with is difficult. They know you. They know your style, and I’m not even counting the fact that neither one of us actually wants to hurt the other. It means I have to do something unconventional.
I run at him. He’s stunned, pausing briefly. I plant my foot on his thigh, grab his shoulder, and glance an elbow off his head. I didn’t throw it as hard as I could have, but the audience loves it.
Brawler throws me off. His gaze narrows now, and I wonder if I’ve poked the beast.
We circle again. Oscar yells his name, followed by, “Do it!”
He comes in, catching me in the chin. His hands are heavy, powerful, like fucking sledgehammers. I’m impressed and pissed at the same time.
Listen, taking the fight out of a fighter is a hard feat. Brawler’s standing in front of me, and I know that, but that doesn’t mean I want to get punched in the face.
I give him a few body shots to his perfect abs, and he retaliates with a backfist to my cheek.
I have to bite my lip, a mixture of emotions swimming through me. Most of them contradict each other. I’m mad. I’m embarrassed. I’m…proud of him.
I grin, loosening my fists to go in for another attack. I give him a couple of jabs to the mouth. He captures my arm, kicks my feet out from underneath me and slams me to the floor. I grunt on impact. It really sucks to go down hard on a cement floor like this.
Brawler doesn’t immediately pounce on me, which tells me he’s doing this with love. God, I love the big guy. I blink at the ceiling a few times to get my bearings back and then kick to my feet in one movement. The spectators in the front row stand, appreciating that little maneuver. Actually, after that, everyone in the room stands in a ripple effect. It’s that part of the fight where you know you’re about to get your money’s worth.
Brawler throws a roundhouse to my legs. It hits me in the calf and stings. Adrenaline lessens some of the pain during the fights, but for some reason, kicks can be different. Especially well-placed kicks like the one he just threw.
I stomp kick him in the gut, earning a grunt from his lips. We circle each other again, acutely aware that this fight is taking a while now. Everyone is foaming at the mouth to see what happens. Brawler can feel it too. His eyes start to change because we can no longer play with each other. We have to get this done, and it’s going to kill both of us to do it.
I give him a slight nod, barely imperceptible, as I move in. As before, I know he would never make the first move, so I crack him in the nose. When I retreat, blood drips from his nostrils, and my heart cracks in two.
He licks his lips, a different kind of armor locking into place around his body. He goes from cold mask to even colder mask. A spike of fear hits me.
Brawler moves forward. I throw up blocks to ward off his punches. I do just enough so it looks as if I’m trying to stop his attack, but the first time his fist connects with my face for real, I don’t have to pretend anymore.
The room goes out of focus. He hit me in the right spot. I stumble and shoot for a takedown to make up for the fact that my brain is haywired right now. I must catch him off guard because I’m able to wrap him up. I land on top of him, but he flips me to my back immediately. He catches me in side hold, working for position. I struggle against him, but Brawler is heavy. He’s bigger than me. Stronger than me. Let’s not forget, he’s also a better fighter than me. Listen, I’m good. I hold my own against people, but Brawler’s better. Especially when my head is still ringing from the last hit he gave.
I get out of his side hold and ease into his guard. He postures, swinging his fist down at my face.
My eyes swim. I gaze up at him through fractured vision, and I catch the moment something inside him breaks.
He pulls back.
No. No.
I use my legs to pull him back toward me, wrapping him in a hold like fighters do when they want to get their breathing under control. I hold him until it’s just us two. Hearts crashing against our rib cages. “Don’t you fucking dare,” I say. “Finish it. It’s the only way.”
He growls into my ear, and it probably looks like a sound of annoyance to everyone else.
I give him an elbow to the cheek. It’s weak though. Partly because I’m fucking tired, and partly because he’s supposed to be winning this fight. He will win this fight.
Then I pull him back down, his face crashing against my chest. “I love you. It’s okay.”
