Page 84 of Legacy of Danger
Chapter 23
What a goddamned nightmare.
Vaughn needed to end this fight, pronto, or it would end him. Those punches were harder than any he'd felt in his life. Like, even the knuckles didn't feel right. Vaughn would bet his left nut that the cheater had illegal fiberglass layered under the gauze beneath the gloves.
Another concrete fist glanced off Vaughn's cheekbone, making him see Tweety Birds for a second. He had to stay on his feet. Couldn't go down.
Holy fucking mother of God, this was bad.
Didn't help that his mental power kept shorting out, demanding that his attention focus on Mariah. Every time that damned ability flowed to her, he lost the beat that kept him ahead of Linc's rapid strikes. Another bad blow like that roundhouse a few seconds ago, and that bastard would drop kick Vaughn's head into next week.
When Wyatt snuck up behind Mariah, Vaughn almost climbed out of the octagon, so badly did his power beg him to get over there and protect her. And when that slime wad dared to touch her? Screw the fight. He'd kill Wyatt and then take out anyone who got near her.
What the actual hell was wrong with him? He ate another fist. Damn it. He swiped his glove over his mouth. It was a miracle he didn't spit out teeth.
One more scan outside the cage; Angelo now stood behind Mariah like an oversized guard dog, and two inspectors were positioned on either side of her. She was safe. Good.
One problem solved.
Next problem? Staying conscious so that the referee or the good doctor had no excuse to stop the fight.
And staying alive. That was important, too.
He sucked wind as Linc nailed him in the solar plexus with his foot. Good shot. Had nothing to do with rigged gloves, either. But the uppercut that followed? Yeah, thatthunkwas all counterfeit goods.
Shit. As the bell rang to end another round, Vaughn stumbled to his corner. His friends from Bar None MMA rubbed his muscles and shoved freezing, wet sponges on his head and neck, waking him the hell up. The cutman nailed a bleeding spot with the epinephrine swab. Stung like the devil.
Damn it. No way could he last five rounds with Linc. Not with Vaughn's ability on the fritz. Not with those illegal fists.
Those first two rounds went to Linc, no question. Vaughn had to finish this ass wipe once and for all or Linc would finish him instead.
As the seconds ticked down, he did a mental shakedown on his ability, pulling it around him like a blanket. Mariah was safe.
Now. Time for Vaughn to end this joke of a fight. Time to feed his demons. Time to destroy Linc. Did he have enough left in the tank?
He glanced over at Mariah, her wide eyes swimming in that pale face.
Her fear was unacceptable.
As he met Linc's icy glare across the cage, Vaughn's rage grew like a magma chamber under the earth, pushing his world into a new shape. The heat inside of him turned him into a crucible, fired to the point of shattering.
Vaughn wanted her safe and protected? To meet that goal, he'd have to go through Linc.
Suited Vaughn just fine.
* * *
Vaughn pushed to his feet as the bell rang.
Mariah held her breath.
After the first two rounds, normal fighters would come out of their corner tired or in pain. Not him. With a glare locked onto Linc, Vaughn strode out to the center of the ring, refused to touch gloves—and unleashed a blurry barrage of punches, kicks, sweeps, and combinations. Every time Linc pressed him, Vaughn dodged, like Neo inThe Matrixwatching the bullets pass slowly by him.
Linc still got some blows through the offensive onslaught, but if Vaughn noticed the crunches and thuds of fist on flesh, he gave zero indication.
One hit.
It would take only one blow to the head or body to end the fight, for either man. It would take one blow to end the fighter's life, too. Unable to look away, she leaned forward, taking a step away from Angelo.
