I wink at her, but I can instantly tell she’s not feeling playful. She looks appalled.
“Kirk Dirkwood, the Hammer, here for all of you tonight!” the guy with the microphone yells.
My lips curl as I turn to watch Dirkwood hop into the ring and remove his cover, and I flex my arms and curl my fingers until my knuckles pop out. My body feels good—every muscle is warm and ready to contract. I know I’m good as fuck, but I want this girl to know it. I’m feeling very, very possessive, and I don’t want her to look at anyone but me. I want her to see I’m the strongest, the fastest. Hell, as far as I know, I want her to think I’m the only man in the whole damn world.
Kirk is big and slow as a snail. He throws the first punch, but I can see it coming from the moment he even starts thinking about moving. I duck and come back with a punch that knocks him to the side and rocks his balance. She’s watching me, I know it. The heat in her gaze makes me fight harder and faster. Hell, I own this ring. I love everything about it. I know its dimensions, the feel of the canvas under my feet, the heat of the lights on me. I have never lost a single Underground fight. People know that no matter how badly I get beat up, I always get back up and finish the battle on my terms.
But tonight? I feel immortal.
The crowd starts chanting my name.
“REMY . . . REMY . . . REMY.”
It’s my ring. My crowd. My fight. My fucking night.
Then I hear that voice again. Not her, but the woman she came with. “Ohmigod, hit him, Remy! Just knock him dead, you sexy beast!”
I oblige and knock Kirk down on the canvas with a hard thump. Yells erupt all over.
The ringmaster grabs and lifts my arm, and I swing my head to look at her, curious to see the look on her face. I’m panting and possibly bleeding, but none of that matters. All that matters to me is checking her the fuck out. Did she fucking see how I knocked him out? Is she even impressed, or not?
She returns my stare, and my gut twists all around. God, she’s making me hard. She wears these nice clothes, and I swear she’s the classiest thing I’ve ever seen in a place like this. Still, whatever she’s wearing, it’s too much and needs to come off.
“REMY! REMY! REMY! REMY!” people yell.
Their chants grow in intensity while her startled golden eyes devour me like I’m devouring her.
“You want more Remy?” the announcer happily asks the crowd. “All right then, people! Let’s bring out a worthier opponent for Remington Riptide Tate tonight!”
Hell, they can bring out anything they want, man or monster.
I’m so primed, I could take a couple at once.
In my peripherals, I’ve got her pinned down, nice and tight. In that frilly shirt. Those body-hugging pants. I’ve already cataloged her at about 120 pounds and five feet seven, at least a head shorter than me. In my head, I’m already measuring her breasts in my hands and tasting her skin with my tongue. Suddenly, I notice she whispers something to her friend, rises to her feet, and takes off down the aisle.
“And now, to challenge our reigning champion, ladies and gentlemen, is Parker ‘the Terror’ Drake!”
I stare in disbelief as she walks off, and a knot coils tight around my gut as the rest of my body tightens in preparation to chase.
The crowd comes alive as Parker takes the ring, and all I can do is watch her leave my arena while every molecule in my body screams at me to go get her.
The bell rings, and I don’t play the little feinting and waiting game that me and my opponents always do. I stare into Parker’s face and give him a look that says, Sorry, dude, and go straight for the slam and knock him down.
He falls splat and doesn’t move.
The crowd is stunned into silence. The announcer takes a moment to speak as I wait, frustrated as fuck, my heart pounding in anticipation as I wait for Parker to stay down and the counting to begin.
It begins.
Come on, motherfuckers . . .
I’m fucking winning the championship this year and I won’t be disqualified . . .
Just call it a knockout and let her hear . . .
TEN!
“Holy cow, that was fast! We have a KO! Yes, ladies and gentlemen! A KO! And in record time, our victor once again, I give you, Riptide! Riptide, who’s now jumping off the ring and—where the hell are you going?”
The crowd goes crazy as I land on my feet on the aisle and their screams follow me all the way to the lobby. They are screaming for me while my body is screaming for me to catch her. “Riptide! Riptide!”
My heart pumps like crazy. She’s walking fast, but I’m fucking running. Every one of my senses demands I chase, capture, and have this girl. I grab her wrist and spin her around.