Stepbrother Charming(34)

Fat Boy's still not talking. Usually, my rivals get in on the act and join me, but I don't think this fucker's here for charity. He's here to rumble for glory, and nothing else.

The referee crawls back in the center, waiting for me. I give everybody one more roar of thanks, push the mic into the ref's hands, and watch as Fat Boy lumbers up to the center.

“It's the moment you've all been waiting for!” The old man in the pinstripes shouts. “If you've been here before, folks, then you already know the rules – there aren't any 'til a man goes down! Anything, and I mean anything, can happen tonight! Will we see our boss pull out another big win, or is this the first night Club Zing gains a new reigning champion?”

More explosions from the crowd. It's so loud my eardrums are about to break. Good, because that means more money flowing in too. There's a direct, no shit correlation between decibels and dollars. Judging by the noise, tonight's gonna be a bank buster.

I take one last quick look at Claire, surrounded by all the chaos. Her eyes are big, excited, pleading. I can't tell if she's getting into the fight, or if it's the hunger she showed me the other morning on steroids.

“No more talk! Keep those dollars flowing, folks, and pop your last few cents when it's all over.” The ref pauses and looks at us carefully before he says the last important line. “Let's. Fucking. Go!”

Ref gives us both a nod and steps back, sinking toward the edge. He's really there for show, and to officially put an end to the fight when I've laid out another bastard.

There are no rules in this box short of killing a man.

Fat Boy looks like he wants to do exactly that. The big bastard lunges and swings, strong but slow. I dodge and get off a few good whacks at his side.#p#分页标题#e#

I can practically see the steam shooting out his ears. He hops up and charges me like a bull. This time, he's a little faster.

It's like a screaming meteor slamming into me. I hit the floor, and the next thing I feel are fists landing on my face. It's seriously like a three hundred pound bear squatting on my chest, holding me down, pounding me right in the fucking face, over and over and over.

Thinking about Claire all the time's put me off my game. I've left myself open.

I rock up with all my might, punch him right in his saggy gut. Fat Boy grunts and topples off. His weight works to my advantage while I'm struggling to get on my feet. The audience starts to scream when I stand up, and the whole damned world's spinning.

Something hot and thick trickles all the way down to my chest. I realize he's given me a bad nose bleed, something no other man in this ring has ever managed.

Fuck.

I can't let it stop me. I charge the asshole just as he's getting up, beaming his dark boar eyes at me. I should have a dead bullzeye on the back of his head.

I'm ready to pound him flat now if I have to, ending the fight early. It's not ideal for donations, but the crowd just cares about the excitement. They'll spend the rest of the night re-hashing a five minute fight and throwing down more money at the bar if it's exciting enough. Then I can throw a good portion at the children's fund.

The boulder in front of me moves. He rolls right into me when I'm coming at him, and I go crashing on the floor, one inch away from smashing my tender face.

Mother-fuck. I should've seen it coming.

I also should've known Fat Boy isn't moving an inch further than he needs to. Before I can force my bruised elbows to get my ass up, he's on me again, throwing his fists into my abs. He hits me so hard I choke, knocking my wind out, holding his ass on my legs so my desperate attempts to break out are total failures.

Christ. He's gonna fucking do it, I realize, as soon as the blows I'm trying to block start getting through, smashing me in the face.

There's a ringing sound like the end of the world. Everything goes black.

I'm drowning. Falling into an empty, desolate, bottomless pit. For some reason, I'm not that concerned about being beaten or even dying.

What really, really pisses me off is the idea that I'm about to leave this world without ever having Claire. I need to taste her. Need to feel her. Need to fuck her.

I can't let it end like this. I can't go down. I can't humiliate myself and leave before I've done everything I mean to in this life – starting with her.

Is there more to this weird shit between us than lust? I need to think about it, and I mean seriously fucking think. But not 'til I gasp awake and find myself with my neck snapped to the side, drool and blood streaming out my mouth.

The referee's face is crooked, upside down. He's standing over me, giving Fat Boy an uneasy look, like he's about to call it so the fucker doesn't murder me.

These fights are rough, brutal, and borderline illegal because it brings us crowds like nobody else. Too bad my whole damned operation will be in hot water if anybody suffers a serious injury here tonight, much less a dead owner.