Remy(77)

The crowd loves it.

“Kill him, RIP! Kill him, RIP!” they chant.

The fight continues through the night, pausing only during small resting periods where we drop down on our stools and our coaches drill us with instructions.

I listen to what Coach says, pretending to listen, nodding. But it goes in one ear, and out the other. I know what I’m doing. Scorpion and I don’t take our eyes away from the other as we head back to center again. I can see it, in his eyes, when he plans to move. We hit again, both of us landing hard punches. He clinches me, but I pull free and slam out my right hook. He covers and pounds my ribs.

My breath goes, but I quickly recover, going at him with my fastest punches, so fast he barely sees them coming. Wham wham wham. Soon blood starts pouring out both his nostrils, and his balance is rocking with my hits.

I know I have him, but the gleam in his fucking eye tells me otherwise. He doesn’t plan to submit. Swinging out, he hooks an arm around my neck and pulls me down as he rams his knee into my gut.

He looks excited about that. But I don’t think I’ll let him land any more. Shoving him back, I drive my fists fast and hard into his body, slamming him like I do my hard bags until he’s covering, ducking, trying to escape my payback.

I don’t let him. I follow and pound him into the ropes.

He falls to his knees and spits on the ground, then he gets up and comes at me.

He hits my jaw, ribs, temple, slamming me into the ropes.

Fuck! I straighten and stalk him as he backs away, my eyes trained on his as blood trickles down my face.

I hit. He hits back. Wham-pow-wham.

In my peripherals, I see Brooke’s sister by her side. Her sister who she loves.

Her sister who this motherfucker screws around with, which means he indirectly screws around with Brooke.

I start battering Scorpion until he’s stumbling on each step—but he still won’t fall.

He will.

He’ll be falling at my feet and it’s only a matter of three . . . two . . . one . . . Clenching my teeth when he doesn’t, I grab him by the neck with one arm and spin him around to look at the girls.

“You think I wouldn’t kill you in front of them? You think I wouldn’t enjoy having them watch me break you?” I growl.

He laughs and I promptly break his elbow. He moans as I let go of his arm, and it drops at his side, dangling and useless.

He backs away now, and I corner him, slamming his head to the side, over and over. He rams his knee into my gut, but I recover and punch, left-right, left-right, until I drop him to his knees.

I won’t be merciful. I grab Scorpion and pull him to his feet, forcing him to look at Brooke. Her sister is crying, her head down, and Brooke’s cheeks are stark white, and the helpless fear in her gaze only makes my protectiveness rise tenfold.

“Look at her very well,” I whisper with my lowest voice in his ear, “because what you see belongs to me. It’s because of her that I’m going to break every inch of your body, beat you to within an inch of your life, then I’m going to prolong your agony until the pain alone is what kills you. You think I won’t kill you because she’s watching? You’re wrong. It’s because she’s watching that I will kill you.”

He spits black blood to the mat.

I shove him away, pull up my fists and pop out my knuckles, ready to go at it again.

We don’t lose time. We fight. I punch him, over and over, slamming hard and fast, all my power running up and coming from my gut, straight into my hit. I jab, jab, hook, until the sound of my knuckles meeting his flesh is replaced by the sound of his body crashing to the mat.

The chant rises up. “REM-ING-TON! REM-ING-TON!”

“Rip! Seal the deal, Rip!!!!!!!!”

I head over to his prone form, working some air into my lungs. Sweat drips down my chest and arms. I watch him crawl on the ground in an effort to avoid me. I keep approaching, my eyes on Brooke now, because that’s where I’ll see the victory, and not anywhere else.

“Go, Remy!!!!!” she says.

At my feet, Scorpion tries to move, and I swing my arm and slam him down.

The crowd roars. Bending over, I grab his unbroken arm and break all his fingers, then I move to his wrist, and I lift it up for the crowd to see, then I break that easily too.

A low sound rumbles up his throat, and he squirms on the mat. I slide my hands up to his elbow and I start twisting, wanting to make it painful, and slow. Oh, yes, fucker. It’ll be slow.

He thrashes and sputters, and the bone is about to snap when I hear his coach yell out, and a black towel falls into the ring.

I see the towel and grit my teeth in frustration when I do.

“Booo!” the public shouts. “Booo!!”