Page 36 of Irresistibly Wild

“Fine.”

Feeling slightly guilty about my ulterior reasoning, I wait for her to begin another panic rant, but she doesn’t.

“I’m worried about you,” she says. “Like, not to sound crazy or anything, but I get vibes that you’re not okay from time to time.”

“I’m fine, Crown,” I say. “I promise.”

“When is your next match?”

“In a few hours.”

“What’s the prize amount this time?”

“Five thousand dollars.” I lie.

“Wow.” There’s a smile in her voice. “That’s amazing! Mom and Dad would be so proud of your fighting.”

“They wanted me to go to college.”

“Oh, right. They’d hate your fighting.”

I laugh, and for the next half hour we drift into an easier conversation.

It’s not until someone calls her other line, her “coach” supposedly, that she rushes me off the phone.

Grateful, I finish taping my hands and flex my fingers. I silently remind myself that tonight’s fight can’t last that long since I have to fight tomorrow and the day after.

“Humble Kid?” A guy taps my shoulder from behind. “You’re up in five.”

“Got it. Thanks.” I follow him out of the garage and into an open space.

Unlike the Underground, where the fights somewhat resemble the ones at the professional level, this place is an utter dump.

There’s a metal cage that sits at the center of the floor, and I’m pretty sure it’s used for dog and cock fighting whenever MMA hopefuls aren’t trapped inside.

There are no announcers, pricey badges, or excess security. There isn’t even a timer for the rounds or a referee.

The cage is it, and the match starts once both fighters are locked away.

The winner is the last guy standing.

As I’m approaching it, I spot the usual bettors and enthusiasts surrounding the metal, but a glimmer of soft pink catches my attention.

Everyone knows to wear dark and dreary colors in case the cops break up this illegal operation, so I’m confused why someone would blatantly break that rule.

I squint to get a better view and stop walking.

Tatiana?

Wearing a skin-tight, pink dress and a beige baseball cap over her curls, she’s completely oblivious to the long stares from the guys around her; they’re as transfixed by her presence as I am.

Her eyes meet mine and she offers a small wave.

I smile and step inside the cage amidst a sudden roar from the spectators.

My opponent, a guy who is half a foot taller than me, steps inside and locks his door—signaling that we can start.

I’m only getting five hundred dollars for this shit…

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