Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“Evaluate how?” Wary of the shift in Remy’s mood, I circle to the other side of the cage and grab my backpack off the steps.
“I think you know how.” Remy strips off his shirt, dropping it on top of the bag.
Ahhh, I should’ve known this was coming. Still, I can’t help fucking with him. “How? You planning to give me a lap dance or something?”
He slips on his gloves and stares at me.
All right. I’ve been getting back to the gym. Slowly starting training again. I might not be quite where I was before my fight with Naptime, but I’ve got this.
I find my gloves and wriggle my fingers into them.
Remy’s feral smile raises the hairs on the back of my neck. He really thinks he’s gonna win here, huh?
I lift my shirt over my head and hop up the stairs into the cage.
“Let’s do it, bro.” I tap my gloves together. They’re made for sparring, with more padding than what we’d wear in an actual match. Still won’t feel good to get smashed with one. I bounce on my toes in the center of the cage, trying to pump myself up.
I didn’t expect this today. But that’s always been part of training. You never know when you might encounter a fight. Always be ready.
Remy enters the cage with his hands up, already guarding his face.
“No ground rules?” I ask.
“Nope.”
I take a deep breath and knock my gloves together again. “All right then. Come and get it, fucker.”
He slowly slides to my right, circling me. The same first move he always makes. His sharp blue eyes bore into me. I stare him down just as hard.
He steps forward.
Whoosh. His fist breezes by my face. Not an actual punch. More like he’s testing me.
“You seem to have some big feelings you need to get out, Remy. Let’s hear it,” I taunt.
My mocking tone drops a match to the gasoline that seems to be flowing in his veins.
“Fuck you for dragging my sister into that snake pit.” He lands a solid fist to my gut.
I wheeze a pained breath and back up. That punch unlocks all the fury I’ve been holding in and trying to forget for months.
“Fuck you for not believing me.” I smash my fist into Remy’s jaw—harder than I’d normally hit him, but fuck it, he started this.
His eyes widen in shock, then narrow. “You’re going to regret that.”
He sends his fist through the air. Even though it’s been a while since we’ve faced off, I know Remy too well. His moves are predictable. He practically announces his intentions.
I easily duck the blow, then pop back up and punch his side.
“Regret what?” I reach out and tap his face with the underside of my glove—a padded version of the Stonewall Slap—just to fuck with him.
“This?” I taunt and tap him again. “Or this?” Another tap on the opposite cheek.
“You watched it,” he grunts and sweeps my hand away. “Saw how bad it was.” Punch.
Weave.
“It doesn’t matter.” I hit his shoulder. “You should’ve believed in me.”
“I warned you not to do the show.” Blam! His fist hits my cheek.
It smarts but I shake it off and back away.
“So what? You wanted to teach me a lesson?” I throw a few jabs and he counters. “You let Molly go all that time thinking I’d do that to her?”
“You should’ve found a way to talk to her yourself.” He drives his fist into my gut.
Air whooshes from my lungs in another painful wheeze.
I blink, then laugh in his face. “That’s all you’ve got for me?” I hit his side again.
He growls a curse and hooks a kick, popping me behind my bad knee. The shot almost takes me down.
I glare at him and return the kick. There isn’t enough power behind my foot. He grabs my ankle and yanks hard. I hop and wobble. We both tumble to the mat.
The fall’s hard enough to jar my bones but I recover faster than Remy. “Been waiting for this, huh?” I easily wrap my legs around his midsection and squeeze.
Remy’s always been a slightly better grappler than me, but my time at the house taught me a few new moves.
And I’m about to give Remy an education he won’t forget.
He twists and struggles to free his legs, but I’m motherfucking concrete ready to drag him to the bottom of an ocean. Slowly, I twist and unwind, rolling us until I get my arm under his chin in a guillotine choke.
“You like that?” I say against his ear, flexing my arm enough for him to feel it but not completely cut off his oxygen. “Ready to tap out?”
“No,” he grunts through clenched teeth.
He presses his palms into the mat, trying to throw me off but I stay on his back like a monkey. He’s always been a strong son of a bitch. But I’m stronger.