Page 13 of The Way We Are

Stepping back from the referee, I raise my fists to my face, successfully blocking Axel’s wildly flung left fist. Isaac’s caution on the strength of his left hook was accurate. It was strong enough to inspire a panicked gasp from the ref, but not potent enough to disrupt my stern stance.

I keep my hands held high when Axel comes at me with a quick left, right, left combination. When his strikes to my head are unsuccessful, he lowers his tape-covered hands to my ribs. From the way he grunts with every swing, I perceive his body is in more pain from his jabs than mine. He doesn’t keep his core stable, thinking if he uses more power, the fight will be over faster. It's a pity he trained under the wrong instructor. My heart rate has barely kicked up a notch, yet he's covered head-to-toe in sweat, and his chest is heaving with every breath.

I wait for Axel’s energy to drain another ten percent before asking, “What will it take for you to walk away from her?” I shout my question, ensuring he can hear me over the monstrous bellowing of the spectators.

I block three back-to-back jabs to my ribs before pushing Axel away from me by his sweat-drenched torso. I barely touch him, but his stumble over his feet sends him crashing onto the spongy mat. I want to pretend his faltering steps are because of my impressive fighting skills, but that isn’t the case. It's compliments of the whiskey leeching from his pores. I’m certain the front three rows of spectators are getting drunk off his scent.

After regaining his footing, Axel charges for me. “Nothing. Savannah’s mine. The quicker you learn that, the better,” he growls, his words as breathless as his lungs.

He lands on the ropes with a grunt when I sidestep his attack with only a second to spare. The laughter from the crowd aggravates his anger even more. The heat on his cheeks grows, as does the fire in his eyes. As he advances for me with the look of death burning in his slit gaze, the background noise fades to nothing. All I can hear is Savannah’s panicked breaths battering my eardrums on repeat, wordlessly encouraging me.

“Walk away from her, and I’ll throw the fight,” I guarantee as Axel pummels my left ribcage with a bone-crunching right hook.

While lowering my elbows to stop his recurring hits, I continue my ploy to coerce him into giving up Savannah. “I’ll make you look so much like a hero, no one will challenge you after tonight.”

Axel’s next two jabs aren’t as firm as his first two, making me hopeful I’m getting through to him.

“You’ll look like a god in front of your uncle and his associates.”

I grunt when he stabs his fingers under my ribs, nearly forcing me to drop my hands from my face.

Ignoring the burn ripping through my lungs, I guarantee, “You’ll not only walk away tonight victorious; you’ll walk away with his respect.”

“You want her that bad?” Axel rumbles, his words barely audible in his breathless state.

My reply is forced out via a rumble when he throws his fist into my spleen. “Away from you, yes.”

Axel hammers my ribs as his eyes raise to mine. After passing them over my face that shows no signs of the exhaustion he shows, he turns to the side of the ring. His uncle is watching our fight with the same sardonic look he’s been wearing all night. He appears neither amused or entertained.

“Who says I want his respect?” Axel asks, his words flowing from his mouth as fast as his fists advance toward my face. “Besides, I don’t need you to throw the match. I’ve already got this contest in the bag.”

Swooping down low to avoid his fists narrowing in on my head, I inflict back-to-back jabs to his unprotected ribs before smashing my open palm against his nose. Axel stumbles backward, his eyes widening as his hand darts up to stop the flow of blood coming from his lips. The roar of the crowd triples, thrilled by the first sign of bloodshed.

“That’s just a taste of what is to come if you deny my suggestion.” My tone is low, but the way the referee’s nostrils flare at the end of it has me wondering if he heard my warning.

After lifting my fists high, I step toward Axel, backing up my warning with a glare. My onslaught was only one tenth of the gasoline I have left in my tank, so he has five seconds to agree to my terms before I succumb to the endorphins thickening my blood.

As Axel proceeds toward me, I notice the bounce in his step isn’t as springy. His left arm is hanging a little lower than his right, and his nose is already swelling from the jab I inflicted. Other than tucking my elbows into my ribs, I allow him to approach me without protest, hoping I haven’t misread the treaty in his eyes. Before I fought back, he had no intention of accepting my offer. Now... now he looks exactly how I want him to look—defeated.

My assumptions are proven dead accurate when he curls his arm around my neck in a loose chokehold to conceal his muttered, “Alright. You’ve got yourself a deal,” from the referee.

I shoot him a sideways glare, cautioning him not to fuck with me. He holds my gaze, firming his agreement with a weak nod of his head.

“You’ll do it? You’ll walk away?” I doublecheck, wanting to ensure the mass surge of testosterone roaring through my veins isn’t affecting my perception.

The quickest flare ignites in Axel’s eyes before he once again nods his head. “But you better make me look good, Ryan, or all bets are off.”

I nod without hesitation. After this performance, I’ll be nominated for an Oscar.

Our fight lastsanother three rounds before the wooziness in my head matches last month when I drank two cheap bottles of wine and half a dozen beers. I’m not the only one sporting fresh injuries though. Axel has a black eye, a cut brow, and a split lip added to the ugliness of his face. Although I agreed to throw the fight, I want it to look legitimate. When the spectators leave here tonight, they’re going to say our bout was evenly matched until I was forced to tap out during the fourth round due to the fear of being choked.

Considering I’ve never watched an episode of WWE in my life, my wrestling skills are remarkedly convincing. Probably helps that Axel’s rear naked chokehold he just placed on me is authentic enough to make moisture rush into Savannah’s eyes.

Because I am on my hands and knees, her terrified gaze stares into mine as tears glide down her cheeks unchecked.

“I’m okay,” I attempt to mouth, but since Axel has placed pressure on the wrong nerve in my neck, my words are entombed in my throat.

Noticing the blue color seeping onto my skin, Savannah leaps up from her chair, panicked I’m not getting adequate oxygen. “Stop!” she screams, startling two middle-aged ladies seated on each side of her. “Please stop!”

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