Page 1 of The Fight

CHAPTER ONE

SHAY

Sweat drips down my face as the familiar sting of adrenaline pulses through my veins. I wrap my wrist one last time, then move the tape up my palm and in between my fingers, making sure each one is secured but still able to move.

The gym is humming with life tonight. Muffled grunts and distant chatter slink into the locker room. That, along with the smell of leather and metal, lets me know I’m home.

This… this is my home.

Scanning the room, I take in the rows of dented lockers and the worn benches from years of fighters sitting exactly where I am now. They’d all been here, in this same space, going through the same rituals, fighting their own battles—inside the ring and out. For some, it was about money or even survival. But for me, it was about something else. This was my escape, my way of exorcising the demons that wouldn’t let me sleep at night.

When my mom died three years ago, I struggled to find my place. I was a kid, barely fifteen, and had just lost the person I cared about the most. Her death made something inside me snap, or maybe that something was lingering below the surface all along, who knows. But the way I learned to cope was to fight.

The high I got from fist meeting flesh was better than sinking my dick into the smoothest, tightest pussy. But once I started really training and learned my strength and how to harness it? Mmm. There was no coming down.

Clenching my fists one last time, I glance at my reflection in the cracked mirror. The fluorescent lights cast shadows over the sharp lines of my face. My eyes, hard and unblinking with an animalistic edge. My jaw, ticking slightly with the anticipation of what I know is about to happen.

I let myself take a few steps back until my shoulder blades hit the cool steel of the lockers. The chill from them seeps into my bones as I try to focus on my breathing—slow, deep inhales to calm the beast inside of me, but only for a moment.

Reaching into the duffel at my feet, I grab my towel and water bottle. I pat the sweat from my face, then bring the bottle to my lips. As I swing my leg over the bench to sit, the door to the locker room opens, letting a wave of chaotic sound in with it.

Austin walks in, grinning like he just won the lottery. He’s one of the few people I’ve let into this space, into my routine. He knows when to push and when to back off.

“Man, you wouldn’t believe the crowd tonight.” He smiles, closing the distance between us and leaning against the lockers next to me. “Place is packed, and they’re all here for you, ready to watch you put some poor bastard on the mat.”

I glance at him with a flat expression but can feel the corners of my mouth twitch. Austin is good at this—good at reading the room and reading me. He knows I don’t need some over-the-top pep talk, just a reminder of what I’m walking into.

“Yeah?” I ask, taking another sip of my water. “How many?”

“Standing room only, man.”

This has basically become a part of my before-fight ritual now. Austin hypes me up, and I soak in just enough to let my confidence solidify into something unshakable. Not like I reallyneed the help to begin with, but I need the edge—for everyone to believe I’m untouchable, that I’ve already won before the first punch is even thrown.

“Good.” I finally let a half smile show. “More witnesses for what’s about to go down.”

Austin chuckles, pushing off the lockers, and claps me on the shoulder. “That’s what I like to hear. You’ve got this. Just do what you do best.”

I nod and zero in on the fight. “I always do.”

He gives me one last look. “I’ll be out there, man. Watching your back.”

I don’t respond, just give him a quick nod as he turns and heads out the same way he came. As the door closes behind him, the silence of the locker room settles back in, but this time, it feels different. It feels like the calm before the storm.

CHAPTER TWO

BLAIR

Waves rush the shoreline and tickle the tips of my toes as I peer through the lens of my camera. I scoot backward, careful not to make any sudden movements and scare the ruddy in front of me.

It’s still funny to me, the amount I’ve learned about animals and sea life in Saint Bipal since moving here three months ago. I can name most of the birds that frequent the shore, like this ruddy, and even identify the different types of shells I come across. Maybe if I had paid this much attention in school, I would have graduated higher in my class, but oh well.

The shutter of my camera sounds out as I press the button, and the small bird cranes his neck toward me before spreading his wings and flapping away. I sigh and lower my camera, setting it in my lap. He’ll be back. They always are.

Leaning back, my hands sink into the warmth of the sand and brace the weight of my body. Over the last few months, I still haven’t gotten used to the beauty of this small Florida town. It’s peaceful—the swaying palm trees, the bobbing boats in the water, and the sky full of soft pastels. A very stark contrast to the city life I had grown used to.

I wasn’t too thrilled about the idea of moving from everything I had ever known, but seeing the excitement on my mom’s face when she proposed the idea of beach living made my heart turn to mush. Her excitement practically spilled out of her pores and made me think this really could be the “fresh start” we needed. Only, Dad wouldn’t be with us. I try not to think about him too much because it’s still so painful, but I’m scared to forget his face at the same time.

Pushing the thoughts away, I lean my head back and let the dipping sun touch the skin of my neck. It’s so warm and humid here, but I like it.

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