I can’twaitto watch him bleed.
The announcer introduces Raf next, and the crowd goes just as wild. ‘Remember the Name’by Fort Minor blasts over the sound system as he pushes out from the locker room door, his black athletic shorts slung low on his hips and the tattoos on his chest and arms rippling with his movements like living, breathing art.
Myart.
I’ve given Raf most of his ink myself, and goddamnit I do good work.
Raf doesn’t feed into the fanfare like Hopkins– which, honestly, is probably why the crowd doesn’t like him as much even though he’s a better fighter. He keeps his head down as he stomps through the crowd to his corner of the ring, stone cold and laser focused.
Wes claps him on the back as he climbs up into the ring, mumbling some words of encouragement that I can’t hear, while I just tip my head to him with a grin. From the murderous look in his eyes, I’m gonna cash out big tonight. My boy didn’t come here to play– he’s ready for a bloodbath.
The announcer starts jabbering on about the rules, though in a place like this, there aren’t many.
Basically, anything goes during the three rounds of the fight. If there’s a knockout, it’s an automatic win, but the shitbags who run this place get salty if there’s a first-round K.O., so the fighters typically do what they can to make it last all three. A clean fight is encouraged– though not mandatory– and winner takes all.
The fighters are beckoned to the center of the ring to fist-bump, then the announcer calls for the first round to begin, clearing out of there as the bell sounds.
Hopkins and Raf take their places, each sinking down into a defensive crouch before starting to circle one another. The spectators egg them on as they slowly draw closer, both coiled to strike.
Raf gets the first hit in. It’s a left hook, and the crowd draws a collective gasp as his fist connects with Hopkins’ cheek and blood sprays from his mouth onto the mat. He recovers fast, and Raf blocks a responding blow to his own face, though in doing so he leaves his ribs open for Hopkins to land a hard jab to his side.
Any other man would probably double over from a hit like that, but not Raf. The guy is built for fighting because pain doesn’t faze him. Itfuelshim. He doesn’t miss a beat before coming right back at Hopkins, landing another punch to his face that splits his lip, blood dribbling into his mouth and coating his teeth.
Not gonna lie, I’m so wasted that I zone out a little bit. I’m imagining how fucking cool a raven tattoo would look added toRaf’s chest piece when the announcer calls the end of the first round, Raf stomping back over to the corner of the ring and slumping down onto the stool that Wes places there. Sweat drips from his inky black hair, blood streaming from his nose as he takes a water bottle from Wes and sprays it into his mouth.
The announcer calls the first round for Raf, and while Wes and I celebrate, he doesn’t even blink. He just sits there hyper-focused, chest heaving as he waits for the bell to signal the start of the next round.
I glance up toward the betting booth to find Angela sitting on the edge of the counter, gazing longingly in my direction. She throws up a wave when our eyes meet, but I give her the brush-off, turning back to Raf while Wes coaches him through moves to try in the next round.
I’m not even sure why I do it. I had every intention of ending the night balls deep inside her, but for some reason, I’m just not feeling it anymore.
Funny, whiskey goggles usually have the opposite effect.
“You gonna hit?” Wes asks me, jerking his chin toward Angela. I hadn’t even noticed that he’d stopped coaching Raf, or that I’d diverted my attention back to the thirsty bitch in the betting booth.
“Nah,” I murmur, wetting my lips with my tongue as I turn his way. “She wants it too much. Might just get Ava to play with my dick when we get back instead.”
Raf jerks his head around, his murderous gaze landing on me, but I’m saved by the bell. As soon as it sounds, he lurches off his stool, stalking across the ring to meet Hopkins in the center of the mat again. The latter rushes first, but Raf’s ready for him, blocking his hit and getting in one of his own.
Knew that comment would rile him up.
Hopkins stumbles back, blood flowing from his nose and staining the mat at his feet as he gathers himself, but Raf doesn’tlet up. He keeps advancing on him, getting in three more brutal hits before Hopkins goes for the cheap shot, raising a knee and aiming for Raf’s balls.
That pisses my guy off. I see the moment it registers for him what Hopkins is trying to do, and he just barely manages to evade the move, eyes flashing with malice as he retaliates with a swift kick to Hopkins’ bad knee.
The dude goes downhard. Raf lands on top of him and the pair start grappling on the floor while the crowd goes absolutely insane, the volume in the warehouse cranking up to a hundred. Hopkins does his best to block his blows and fight him off, but he’s no match for Raf’s killer instinct. Nobody is.
I swear I see Raf smile as he rears back his fist a final time, landing a hard punch to the side of Hopkins’ head.
It’s a knockout.
CHAPTER 20
AVA
After writing not just one,buttwopapers for English Lit– because apparently completing his own coursework is beneath my stepbrother– my brain is exhausted, eyes burning from staring at my laptop screen for so long. Considering Raf couldn’t be bothered to write his own paper, I doubt he’ll even read it before submitting it. Hopefully he won’t, because Imight’vetaken out some of my anger on him through the assignment. Just because I can’t physically fight back against the Kings doesn’t mean I’m completely powerless.
I’m all too eager to fall into bed and curl up beneath the blankets, but I feel like I’ve just drifted off to sleep when the sound of someone bursting into my dorm room makes me jolt upright with a start. Clutching the covers tightly to my chest, my eyes struggle to adjust to the low light streaming in from the hall, my brain scrambling to process what the hell is happening.
