Page 119 of The Wrecked One

Feeling defeated after only five minutes told me everything I needed to know. I was in trouble. There’d be no Rocky coming back from the dead to defeat Ivan Drago kind of moment happening tonight.

“Just stay away from those kicks of his.” Dad took the water from me, then set his free hand at the back of my neck, drawing me closer to him. “You’ve got this. He won’t win. You have heart, and the will to live.”

“What if that’s not enough?” I hated how it’d only taken one round for this guy to get in my head, to make me feel like I was wrecked and hopeless all over again.

“Then remind yourself you have a woman who loves you here. You have your mom and brother looking down over you, rooting for you.” His voice became nearly hoarse that time. “You have?—”

“I forgive you, Dad.” I pulled away from him, still working to catch my breath. “In case I don’t get to tell you later.”

“Don’t.” His voice caught on that word as the ref ordered us back to the fight. “Remember who you are,” he called out. “Remember who you’re fighting for.”

I swung my gaze toward the benches to the “who” he was referring to. Mya. My team. And honestly, the whole world given our enemy. No pressure. I coughed into my fist, more blood coming out, hating Mya saw that.

I barely heard the ref announce the next round, and Hugo caught me off guard with a blow to the side of the head.

Somehow, I shook it off, finding my stance again instead of going down. As we circled each other, preparing to make our next moves, I took a second to speed through the facts I knew about Hugo, hoping something would be useful.

Five-eleven with a seventy-two-inch reach. In his two “professional” fights Jesse and I had previewed, he excelled at switching his stance from orthodox to southpaw, going forward and back, making it hard to anticipate his next moves.

But his kicks. Fucking A.

Hugo caught me with an oblique kick so viscous it had me gasping for air, and I had no time to prepare for the knee strike that followed.

I did my best to find my center and maintain my stance to take a more aggressive approach, go after him before he could come at me. Dirty box it is, then. Shirking traditional MMA rules, I landed a solid strike to his throat followed by a headbutt.

Then the son of a bitch managed to hit me back with twice as much as I gave him.

My best shot would be another takedown to ride out the round.

Spitting blood, playing off distracted as planned by looking off to the left, I waited for him to come at me again. Then I went for it. Abruptly shifted course and caught him between the eyes with a palm heel strike, knocking him off-balance.

Then I rushed him. Taking hold of his leg with both hands, I drove him to the mat and used my legs to squeeze both his neck and one arm in a triangle choke.

His dad, or someone on his side, began yelling. Cursing in another language. Swiss German maybe. It didn’t matter. All I knew was that I finally had the upper hand.

I wasn’t sure how much time I had left on the clock, but I didn’t bother searching for the countdown on the screen, remaining in control and gaining my confidence back since he’d yet to be able to break away.

His Achilles’ heel was his arrogance. So, I leveraged that to my advantage. Rattled him up the way he’d done to me in that first round by maintaining dominance until the bell rang.

I stood, not offering him an assist up. When he made it to his feet, his cold, dead eyes cut straight to me.

“It ends this next round.” He stabbed the air before heading to his corner.

I did my best not to limp over to mine, because at some point during that round, he’d nailed my leg pretty hard.

“That’s my boy.” Dad patted my chest, handing me the water. He removed his shirt, using it to press against what felt like an open gash at the corner of my eye. “Just do what you did one more time, and we’re done.”

One more time. Right.

I blinked a few times, grateful the cut was below and not above my eye so my vision wasn’t obstructed.

Handing the water back to him, I then peered at Mya while placing my hand over my heart, signaling to her I was back. I’d lost my way for a bit that first round, but I was finally locked in and ready to finish this.

She gave me a hesitant smile, and I knew it was hard for her to do that with her nerves and one round to go, but I appreciated it regardless.

When the ref called us back over, I was in the zone and prepared. I made the first move, took the first shot. But then everything happened too fast, almost in slow motion.

Hugo let loose, unleashing some type of devil inside him, and took over. I barely realized what was happening as he hit me left and right, my arms going dead limp at my sides.

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