Page 214 of Fighting the Forbidden

At the “training house,” I’m way the fuck out of my depth. The little underground fighting ring I run with Remy might as well be a playground happy hour.

Half of these guys are street fighters. Dirty fighters. The kind of guys Remy and I would ban from entering the ring at The Castle.

Despite the upscale surroundings, it reminds me way too much of my time in the basement.

Venom, Bear Trap, Woolly, and I form a sort of alliance. Together, we’ve avoided the “romantic drama” element that was introduced to the show.

They’re all serious fighters. Venom’s clearly above all our skill levels, but instead of dogging us for it or using our lack of knowledge against us, he’s been showing us different techniques. Each of us adds a little something to our group.

Unfortunately, one thing I know a lot about is avoiding strikes. I can advance, and dodge, and throw some vicious punches. The day before our first matches, we huddle in the gym and talk strategy.

“Your reflexes are unbelievable,” Venom says.

I tilt my head. “I’ve conditioned myself to respond without thinking.”

“I see that. You’ve got a useful toolbox of moves.”

I snort. Sounds like something Eraser would say. “I have a friend back home that would agree with you.”

“He fight too?”

“Sometimes.” Only out of necessity.

“You’re going up against Hammer Fists. You need to use your evasive moves,” Woolly says.

No shit. That guy’s built like the side of a mountain.

Venom nods. “He’ll bulldoze you easily if you try to engage him at long range.”

“I don’t know about easily,” I protest, mildly insulted. “But yeah, I plan to get close, cut loose, withdraw.”

“Resist the temptation to blast him with a flurry of body shots,” Bear Trap says.

I roll my eyes his way. “Do I look suicidal?”

“He’s heavy on the back leg,” Venom says with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “A quick step in and chop is something he probably won’t expect.”

“He’s heavy period,” Woolly says. “Make him move so he’s out of breath. Use those quick feet to dart away and cut some angles. Make him keep moving to defend himself.”

“I will.” I’ve fought bigger guys before, and that strategy’s worked well.

On fight night, I’m bubbling over with confidence. Maybe too much. The air in the arena we’re using tonight is thick with anticipation.

Hammer Fists is huge and not much of a talker. We shake hands before entering the cage but that’s about it. While the producers fuck around with the lights, I take a moment to close my eyes and breathe.

You’ve got this. You know what you’re doing. Keep moving. Don’t let him grab you. Stay off the cage wall.

I open my eyes and bounce on my toes. Adrenaline thunders through my veins. Across from me, Hammer Fists is formidable. But his expression’s blank. He could be assessing my strengths and weaknesses or pondering how long it takes grass to grow. It’s hard to tell.

As soon as we’re given the signal, Hammer Fists lunges for me with his thick arms.

“You tryin’ to bear hug me, bro?” I dart away.

He grunts. We circle each other. I see an opportunity and weave in at an angle. I throw a quick shot that lands in his solar plexus. I’m too keyed up and my fist doesn’t connect as well as it should’ve. He drops his elbow, catching my shoulder, and I rock sideways.

Fuck no.

I dart away. Too far. He whips out a powerful roundhouse kick to my midsection. The thud reverberates through my body. I grit my teeth and move in closer.

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