Page 44 of Monster: King of Nevada

I catch them as they share a look.

26

THEIAS

“She’s in the suite,” Owen mutters as he tapes my hands and wrists, the white color stark against my tan flesh. Tapping my leg, I lift it so he can do the same to each foot and ankle.

My body has been buzzing with excitement and adrenaline all day. I’m ready to take this motherfucker out. “You know what to do when he falls?” Closing my eyes, I roll my head around my neck to loosen the tension.

“Yup. Got a couple of guys ready out back for both men.” Owen’s tone holds amusement, and I can’t help but grin.

I won’t kill either man here–much as I’ve enjoyed threatening and fantasizing about it. I’m not a careless man. It’s too risky, even with the security measures we’ve implemented. And with Ella waiting for me now, I won’t risk getting put behind bars for murder and leaving her and the babies alone.

“Fucking twins,” I mutter, still amazed by the news and the fact I’m delighted with it.

“God, I hope at least one of them is a girl,” Owen grunts when I dig my heel into his thigh. “You’d be a good girl dad.” I digin harder. “Okay, man, okay. No girls; I get it. But if they’re as strong as their mom, I think you’d be lucky as fuck.”

After I’m taped up, music begins to play, and it’s almost time for me to head out. Tank will enter the arena first, then I’ll follow a minute or two later.

Booing echoes around the expansive enclosure as his music strums and pounds through the speakers, followed by Hanger, hyping up the crowd as he introduces Tank with all his accolades.

When it’s my turn, “The Monster” by Eminem and Rihanna blares around the arena, bass vibrating the walls as I hop from foot to foot and shake out my arms before following Owen out of the locker room and down to the caged ring. Sensing Tank’s uncertainty rouses the predator to the surface as Hanger steps out behind my arrival.

The clang of the cage door slamming shut echoes through my skull as sweat beads on my forehead and rolls down the back of my neck. My body ripples and flexes, a machine ready for a fight.

I can hear the crowd outside the steel bars, their hungry cheers rising and whirring as it vibrates through the padded floor under my feet, blood and sweat staining the white material from previous fights. The imagined smell of defeat and metallic tang of anticipation fills the air as I step right, then left, keeping Tank off-kilter as he attempts to figure out my first move.

The overhead lights flicker, but I don't blink. Tank steps forward in the opposite corner. Massive. His arms are like tree trunks, neck thick enough to snap steel. The tattoos on his skin shift as his muscles ripple beneath them, his chest rising and falling in a slow, heavy rhythm. The dude is built for this. His presence in the cage is like a storm waiting to be unleashed.

I measuredly exhale. No fear. Not now. Not ever.

Just killer instinct dying to rip his enemy apart.

The bell rings, and the crowd's roar blasts against my eardrums. Tank lunges first, just as expected. He’s as fast, but I can read him already. He takes a wide stance, arms hanging heavy, and a slow draw back like a pendulum ball readying to release. A massive swing is coming. Too slow to be unexpected.

I pivot, sidestepping his wild hook with ease, feeling the air rush past my face as his fist whips by. I keep low, planting my feet solidly into the mat, pushing against the ground to get the right angle. He’s already shifting his weight back, setting up for another attack, but I’m on the move again already.

I strike first this time. A jab to his ribcage. He grunts, a flicker of pain in his eyes, but that only fuels him. Tank is a damn wall, but I know how to chip away at him. I snap my fist out again, targeting his chin, but he’s ready this time, just as his hand comes up to block the blow.

Tank grins, probably thinking he’s got me. “Gonna take that sweet pussy home tonight and enjoy her and your wealth while you choke on your own blood.” He laughs as my eyes narrow.

I take a quick step back, drawing him in. His eyes flash with anger when I don’t respond to his threat. He charges, the roar of the crowd increasing as he pushes forward, arms swinging like wrecking balls. I let him. I’m setting him up.

Just a little closer.

Then, I explode.

I close the distance with a sudden burst, driving my shoulder into his chest. His breath whooshes out of him,and I follow through with a quick knee to his midsection. He staggers back, and I press the advantage, my footwork sharp, my body a blur of calculated strikes.

Tank tries to recover, but his wide stance is his weakness now. He’s slowing, his body realizing it can’t keep up with the speed. I circle, darting in and out, landing quick, stingingpunches. A few to his ribs. A sharp uppercut. Each one cracks through his defenses like a hammer to glass.

His anger turns to frustration. It’s plastered on his face. His eyes widen as he punches wildly, no longer calculating, just swinging. And I’m ready, ducking low, dodging a brutal haymaker, and slip in behind him.

The crowd's frenzy grows as I latch onto his back, wrapping my arm around his neck and locking it in. A rear-naked choke. His pulse hammers beneath my grip. He thrashes, but it’s too late. My legs are around his waist, my hold tight and unyielding.

He tries to buck me off, but every move just tightens my grip. He’s gasping, the sound desperate, frantic. His strength is slipping.

Seconds feel like hours, but I know he’s done.

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