Asher(48)

And a good thing, too, because another bell rings and Shady Sam comes at me like a hurricane, punching and kicking.

I fall back, protecting my head with my taped hands. Then I see an opening and descend on him, twisting my body as I throw my punches, putting everything into the movement.

Blood sprays; I’ve cut his lip. He growls and throws himself at me, dropping me to the ground. He punches my jaw and stars explode in my vision.

No. I push him off and kick at him until he falls back.

He launches himself at me again and we roll on the floor, each one of us trying to get the upper hand. He punches me in the mouth, splitting my lip, too.

We’re even, I have the time to think, before he punches me again, and I lose track for a second.

Raising my hands to protect my head, I brace.

Have to get up, push him off. I know that, and for a long moment I’m back at home, Dad looming over me, the stench of alcohol mixing with the smell of sweat and blood.

The crowd roars and that snaps me back.

I twist and manage to push him off me. Rolling, I get on all fours and shake my head, trying to clear it. The sweet metallic taste of blood floods my mouth.

The cage. The fight.

He’s back on his feet. I see him coming and I lurch upright, letting experience drive me, the instinctive knowledge of what I have to do.

Go on the offensive.

I move toward him, getting into his space, throwing a right hook followed by a left cross. They don’t connect, but they force him to retreat, to lift his taped hands to cover up his face. Not hesitating, I advance, throwing jab after jab, not leaving him time to mount his counterattack.

An opening, and I throw a powerful hook, my body rotating, feeding all my force into the punch.

It connects. I feel the impact in my hand, my wrist, traveling up my arm to my shoulder socket.

Shady Sam drops like a stone, more blood spraying on the floor.

The crowd goes wild, the roar rising like a tidal wave, drowning me. I stagger backward, my head swimming. A hand claps me on the back and I turn, ready to defend myself.

“Good work, kid,” says a bass voice, and the face with the sagging jowls finally registers.

Johnny.

I let him grab my hand and lift it, causing another wave of cheers and hands banging on the cage bars. Johnny turns me in a circle, so everyone can see me.

I’ve won the fight.

Holy shit. It’s a heady feeling.

After what feels like a lifetime, Johnny finally leads me out of the cage and back to the dressing rooms, where he proceeds to push me into a chair and wave at somebody.

Carl arrives with a first-aid kit and pulls a chair beside me.

“That was a good fight,” Johnny says. “You’re a fine one, kid. Maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

That irritates me. “And where should I be?”

He shrugs. “Legal fighting. Boxing or whatever strikes your fancy. I’m sure your dad—”

“Leave my dad out of this,” I snap.

“He’d want you to be a professional.”

I’m too tired for this conversation. “He never cared about me one way or another, and I doubt he’ll start now.”

Carl gives me a pad of gauze to press to my bleeding lip and I take it, wiping the blood from my chin.

“Okay, whatever you say.” Johnny lifts his hands. “It’s your life on the line, boy. Be here tomorrow, same time.”

I nod as he walks away. The crowd is cheering again. The next fight has to be starting.

I get dressed, snatch my small wad of money and drag my sorry ass out into the cold.





Chapter Fifteen




Audrey





Mom stays until the next day. I hate to admit it, but I can’t wait for her to go, so I can drop by Zane’s and check on Ash.

He won’t answer the phone. I called until late at night, and then again in the morning—the apartment phone, then his cell phone.

Where is he? Is he avoiding me? Or did he go out last night and forgot his cell?

As soon as Mom leaves, with promises to call me later and visit next month, I run out of the apartment and head straight to Zane’s. It’s midday, so I stop by my favorite Japanese take-out place and get some food.

Now I have an excuse to visit him.

I ring the doorbell and wait, jumping from foot to foot. Wait some more. Ring again. The plastic bag with the food cuts into my palm.

He’s avoiding me. It’s official.

I knock on the door with my fist. “Ash! It’s me, Audrey. Are you there?”

Disappointment presses on my chest like a stone and I’m about to turn about and go, when I hear a sound.

Footsteps? And a crash.

God, what’s happening?

Then the door unlatches and opens, revealing Ash. A battered-looking Ash, his lip split, his chin and jaw bruised black, his eyes bloodshot.

“Ash?” My heart stutters. I’m horrified. “Was that...? Did you...?”