Page 98 of Xander
Then we both entered the ring.
He smirked, “Do your worst, home boy.”
I snorted, “You sure?”
He jerked up his chin.
I stepped forward, once, twice, and then I swung.
His head whipped to the side.
He spat blood out, followed by a tooth, then he looked at me, “Fuck me.”
I snorted, “You sure about his?”
He spat another spot of blood out, then wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, and then did the come-on gesture with his hands.
He got one good punch to my kidneys, but I returned the favor... ten fucking fold.
It was the next day.
I winced as I caught sight of Saint’s face.
Ophelia laughed.
He growled, then he turned his head and looked in my direction, “Feel a little more stress-free?”
I shook my head.
He lifted his chin, “Good.”
I growled, “Good? I pulverized your face.”
He nodded, his left eye the only one he could see out of, but barely, then he said, “The only way you’ll let go of the mistakes you made is if she takes you back. That’s the true sign of a man who wants to do better. You feel it. You know it.”
I lifted my chin.
I got him.
He was really saying that if one method didn’t work, then you did the only method that would.
And that was getting her to forgive me.
Suddenly, the clubhouse doors flew open, and Hamm, one of the prospects, came racing in.
He ran over to me, breathing heavily, then he asked, “What kind of car does Nola drive?”
I told him, “A Hyundai Sonata. White. Why?”
“Does it have black rims?” he asked.
I felt my breath catch, then I nodded.
“And a sticker on the back glass of two halos?” he asked.
I stood, then I nodded.
He grinned, “Just passed it about three miles back. Headed this way, I think.”
