Page 50 of Fight

Thirteen

Ioan

“Time for fresh blood,” Markov said the later that night.

Though he played to the crowd, one that was roiling with excitement, he kept his eyes on me.

An attempt to intimidate, perhaps, maybe to get me off my game before I went into the ring.

It wouldn’t work.

Because while I saw Markov, heard the crowd, they were only background noise, inconsequential in this moment.

The man who stood at Markov’s side was my complete focus.

As I’d suspected, Ciprian would not be fighting tonight. Proof that Markov was at least smart enough to know I wouldn’t be easy competition.

The others didn’t know that, though, and the bets against me flew fast, each one more gratifying than the last. When I won, I’d get a portion of the night’s take, and with a crowd this size, that portion would put a sizable dent in what I owed.

Get P that much closer to being away from this all.

I flinched, saw from Markov’s little smile that he had seen, as had the crowd.

It would only work to my benefit if they thought I was afraid, but I needed to keep my head focused. And thinking of P was a sure-fire way to disrupt that focus. So I pushed her out of my mind and turned to my opponent.

Not a second too soon either, for he rushed toward me, moving his gargantuan form with a surprising level of speed.

A blitz attack, one where he would seize the element of surprise and overcome me before I even had a chance to react.

I made no effort to move.

His punch was a hard right that made my ear ring, but I ignored the pain and focused on the punch that he threw as he tackled me to the ground.

My opponent stopped punching long enough to smirk, the triumph in his eyes telling me he thought he had me right where he wanted me.

Just as I had intended.

He punched me in the side, the brutal body blow loud enough that the crowd yelled at the impact. My opponent continued, all business now as he used his shoulder to trap me against the floor and his free arm to punch, some hits I avoided, some I did not.

The crowd was growing restless. His strategy was a good one to win, but not one that was as entertaining as watching two men trade blows.

I didn’t care about their entertainment.

Each second of this fight earned me more money, so I was content to stretch it out for a while because I had no doubt of the victor.

Or didn’t until one of the soldiers who circled in front of Markov, separating him from the crowd passed through my side vision. I tried to keep focused on my opponent, but my attention was divided as I studied the man, recognizing him instantly. He’d helped carry P into this place. Had he threatened her, hit her, laughed as others had done the same?

Though I counseled myself not to let them, my eyes followed the man, my mind spinning with the desire for vengeance.

The teeth-rattling punch to my jaw brought me back to the moment. The crowd roared and the man across from me smiled, pleased to have gotten through my defenses. My anger at Markov’s man and at my own thoughtlessness almost forced me into a hasty move, but I kept my cool, and after beating back his attack, fell back into a defense position, circling him, waiting.

It went on like that, but I don’t know for how long. Time didn’t really have a meaning for me here. I was simply looking for the right moment to strike.

And when my opponent swung, his frustration evident in his face, I knew I had found it.

I’d kept my left arm at my side, letting him think he controlled it, but I dropped the ruse and used my left shoulder to throw him off balance. He stumbled backward, landing on his knees, and I reacted instantly.

My first punch caught him in the throat, and he looked at me stunned, coughing, his hands automatically going to that spot. I punched again, landing squarely on his nose, the bone instantly broken.

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