Page 203 of Repairing the Wreckage

“Dead serious. But it doesn’t matter. I’m here. I’m ready. I’ve got the skills and heart to win.”

“Yeah. You’re skilled all right. Skilled at bleeding,” he grumbles.

I let out a loud yawn. “Please stop. I’m too young to die of boredom.”

“You are young. I been at this fight game for years. You been here a minute.”

I cock my head and shrug at the audience. “Imagine doing this for years and still acting this childish.”

A low murmur of chuckles ripples through the room.

“You need to show some respect!” he shouts.

I slowly turn my head and stare at him. “Respect is earned, not given. I don’t care who you are.”

“Hard to respect someone who goes trolling for dates at the local high school,” he mutters into the microphone.

Fury shoots through my chest. Don’t react. I loosen my grip on the microphone and force out a harsh laugh. “You sure are obsessed with my love life. You tryin’ to fight me or date me?”

“All right!” The moderator interrupts. “Let’s take more questions.”

“Griff!” A man in the first row raises his hand.

I point my microphone at him.

“Jeb from Skirmish Skeptic, we spoke earlier.”

I nod quickly to acknowledge that I remember him.

“Speaking of your girlfriend. Will she be here for the fight?”

I open my mouth to answer but he continues. “After all, high school doesn’t let out until mid-June in New York, right? Will she need a permission slip to fly to Las Vegas?” He smirks like he’s really fucking proud of that one.

This prick. “What was your name again?” I ask.

The cocky tilt slips from his lips. “Jeb. Skirmish Skeptic. We met earlier,” he repeats.

“Jeb with the blond hair and green shirt.” I raise my hand and point to him. “Yo, Ruthless, that’s him. Front row. Jeb with the goofy green polo.”

Jeb’s eyes widen and he turns around. “What?—”

“You asked about my girlfriend. That was dumb, Jeb.” I explain slowly enough for his little brain to process it. “My whole crew’s here watching, including her brother. Don’t worry. I’m sure he just wants to have a word with you, Jeb.”

Laughter ripples through the room.

“We just want to talk, Jeb!” one of the guys screams from the back of the room. “Don’t be scared!”

More laughter.

Two of the hotel security guys jump off the stage and storm through the aisles.

“All right. I think that wraps things up,” the moderator says. “Thank you both.”

I slam the mic on the table and push my chair out. Underhill follows me off the stage.

“Fuck this shit. I’m not doing this again,” I say to him in a harsh whisper. “It’s fucking pointless. I’d be better off spending the extra time in the gym.”

“I know.” He rests his hand on my shoulder. “Relax. You handled it fine. Kept it about the fight. Talked some shit but didn’t cross any lines.”

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