Untamed (A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance)(117)

He tries to clamber on top of me, tries to get his arm around my neck, but I twist out, roll backward over my head onto my feet, and I’m up faster than he is.

I swing a kick at his head; he takes the full impact. Any other fighter and he’d be out, but Bullock just grunts, gets to his feet, rubs blood from his mouth.

I mimic his move, double-hop, except this time I go southpaw. I hop with my right, kick with my left, he doesn’t anticipate it.

He takes it on the other side of his head, right against his ear, and his brain’s automatic response to the impact is to relax every muscle in his body. His legs give out, he falls back down, and I clamber on top of him, get his neck into the nook of my arm, hold on to my fist, and pull.

Bullock throws elbows wildly behind him, catching me in the ribs again and again. I wince, hold on, and when he tries to get up I stab my heel into his calf over and over, numbing the muscle so he can no longer use it.

“You lost this one, you big fuck,” I growl into his ear. I heel-kick his other calf muscle, then aim for his ankle on the one leg he’s carrying both of our weight. It gives, bends grotesquely to the side, and he flops over. I wrap up his legs in my own, pull his legs back, stretch him out, leverage his own bodyweight against him, tightening my chokehold.

I choke him with all the motherfucking strength I have left in my body. He’s gasping for air, his eyes are bloodshot, his lips are turning blue.

He’s tapping the hardwood rapidly out of habit, but this isn’t a fucking cage fight, and I’m not going to let go of this fucking beast.

“Fuck you,” I breathe. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

The world is white-hot around me. My skin feels on fire. Something distantly is telling me to let go or he’s going to die, but all I want is to choke this motherfucking cunt, choke the fucking life out of him for threatening my family, for—

His words echo through my head: I have family.

I let go, throw him away from me in disgust. He lies, curled up on the floor, sucking in lungfulls of air.

He’s not the one I should be fighting. He’s only being made to do this, just like me. Glass is holding his family above his head, just like me.

I get up, rub my side. I’m sure he cracked a rib with one of those thunderous elbows.

“There,” I say to Glass, who looks astonished. His eyes are wide and his mouth open. His gold teeth glint. “One last fight, right?”

I start moving toward him slowly, knowing that I have to close the distance between me and him, knowing that I need to get myself to within arm’s reach of that fucking gun.

I glance up at Dee, meet her eyes. She’s signing me something with her fingers. She lifts her thumb up, extends her forefinger, then darts her eyes toward her side.

No! I shake my head at her, hope to God she can see my eyes, see what I mean: Do not try to get Frank’s gun!

“Stay, boy,” Glass says, lifting his revolver again, pointing it at me.

I freeze on the spot, not having come close enough to him yet to even attempt to reach for the weapon. I know I’m quicker than Glass, and I know I could do it, hold it down, if I was just a few feet closer.

“You thought you could find someone better than me, Glass?” I taunt him. “You thought, what, that I wouldn’t fight the best I ever fucking fought when you’ve got a gun to the mother of my child?” I bellow the last words at him, and I see his whole body jolt.

He looks past me at Bullock, and I turn to follow his line of sight. The huge man is getting up, rubbing the deep-purple bruise on his neck. He is one tough son of a bitch.

I hear the sound of metal, snap my head back to Glass to see him holding a butterfly knife. He lifts it up in front of me. “Remember this, Duncan?”

It was the knife I took from Danny, which Glass then took from me. It was the very first time I met Johnny fucking Marino.

It was the day that changed my life, that led to me meeting Dee.

He tosses it to Bullock, who catches it mid-air, then carefully opens it up.

“Fight,” Glass says.

“You dirty fuck!” I bark. “This ain’t no fucking fight anymore.”

“Fight,” he tells me, pointing the gun at my left leg. “Before I decide to handicap you even more.”





Chapter Forty Three





The hard metal barrel jabs painfully into the small of my back. I wince, shift my weight, but Frank’s strong hand grips my shoulder.

He leans forward, whispers into my ear: “Sit still, Deidre. Don’t make this difficult.”

Rain slaps against the windows, and the crack of thunder booms, echoes in the room. Dad is pacing around Duncan and the huge man. He’s jittery, screaming at them.