Page 53 of If You Fight

Looking up, I saw a young guy staring down at me with worry in his pale blue eyes. He seemed so fresh compared to the scene in the next room. Too fresh to be a fighter even though he clearly was dressed for exactly that.

I nodded. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

He motioned with his chin toward where the fight raged on. “Too much for you to handle?”

The image of Ryder being pummeled by that monster ran through my brain, and I shuddered. “A little. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

“Okay. Do you want a drink of water? I wouldn’t drink the tap water here, but you can have some of my bottled water,” he said as he held out the bottle to offer it to me.

Parched from throwing up, I gladly accepted it, thankful for even a sip of liquid to pass my lips. “Thanks.”

I took a swig of water and let it linger in my mouth for a moment before swallowing cautiously, my throat raw from vomiting. Handing the bottle back to him, I thanked him again and said, “What’s your name?”

“Dylan. And yours?”

“I’m Serena. I appreciate you being so nice to me. I guess I’m not really cut out for this kind of thing. Are you a fighter?”

He stood up a little taller and puffed his chest out. “Yep. Tonight’s my third fight. I’m looking for my third straight win.”

“How old are you?”

Looking around, he answered, “Eighteen.”

Nothing on him said he had reached anywhere close to eighteen, from his baby face to the peach fuzz sitting above his lip he probably called a mustache to that innocence in his eyes. No, he definitely wasn’t eighteen.

Before I could challenge him on that fact, I heard someone just outside the room bark out, “We need water and ice! Get out of the way!”

I turned around to see the greasy man who’d started the fight and another man carrying Ryder in. His body was covered in blood, and his head hung limp so his chin rested on his chest.

My heart stopped as I stared at him in horror. Had he lost the fight? Was he unconscious?

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