Page 58 of Driving My Obsession

“About time you show your face around here,” he says through a haze of smoke. “I was about to come to your door and drag you back to the ring if you didn’t make an appearance tonight.”

God, I hate him. “Well, I’m here, so fuck off.”

“Word around town is you’ve been shacking up with some hot little redhead. Since when does scar have a pretty thing like that?”

If his goal is to have me throttle him to death in this office, he’s dangerously close to succeeding. “I fight for you. That’s the extent of what you need to know about me.”

He takes a long drag of his cigar, then studies it for a moment. “You seem to forget what you are, scar. You’re a fucking product. All my fighters are like livestock to me. When one strays too far from the herd for too long, its business becomes my business. If you don’t want me to track you down, don’t leave the pen.”

“Maybe if you took better care of the herd, we wouldn’t feel the need to run off. Ever think of that?”

His shit-eating grin evaporates, and that’s enough for me.

“On that note, I’ve got a fight to win.” I turn and leave his office. I’ve had enough of his shit.

I make my way down the stairs and push through the packed crowd until I reach the locker room. After wrapping my hands and warming up, I’m ready to take on Boris. I exit the locker room and head toward the center of the building. My eyes focus on the ring, and I roll my neck and work out my shoulders, trying to wake up every aching muscle as I head toward the ropes.

Boris stands in his corner, ready to go. I kind of like that little fuck. Men who fight him often underestimate him because of his short stature, but I know what he’s capable of and I respect him. Which means this fight isn’t ideal. Fighting someone I respect is worse than fighting someone I hate. He’s also a tenacious little shit. He’ll fight until he can’t stand, then keep swinging while he’s on the floor. This bout will be brutal because he almost always wins and I never lose. Good thing I’m in the mood for brutality.

I duck beneath the ropes and approach the scrappy brick house that is Boris. He steps into me and grabs my hand, pulling me into his chest.

“You ready, scar?” he asks, his accent thick in my ear.

“Do me a favor, Boris,” I say. “Don’t be afraid to tap out if things get rough. I’ve had one hell of a day, and I really don’t want to kill you.”

He nods and we both separate with an honest agreement to leave the ring alive tonight. I need him to not be so...Boris. In exchange, I agree to not be so...me. I strip off my shirt and throw it on the ropes.

The bell rings, and our friendship falls away. Boris and I meet in the center of the ring, and our two sweaty, muscular bodies collide with disgusting force. Fists swing with marginal inhibition on both sides. Exhaustion plagues my muscles long before it should, but I push through it.

Boris sends his signature swing right into my face. For such a compact dude, he packs a nauseatingly strong punch. When he goes for his next move, I block it—a perk to our familiarity. Blood drips from my nose and splatters onto the mat.

I see a flash of red from the corner of my eye, and I’m tempted to look into the crowd for a woman who won’t be there. She has no reason to come here, especially not when I made that stupid threat. I did it to protect myself, and I’ve regretted it more with every passing second. I keep my eyes on Boris because looking for a ghost means risking another jab to the face.

I push forward, sending a hook into Boris’ face. The blow stuns him, and I take the opportunity to slam my elbow across his jaw. This sends him to the ground. I pounce on top of him and we lock in a grappling stance. Blood drips from a cut above my eye, blurring my vision in a red haze. I try to wipe it away with the back of my hand, and Boris sees his opening. Using his powerful legs, he flips me onto my back and pins me beneath him. His muscles flex as he strikes me, and I deflect with my forearms.

Blood fills my mouth, and I need to spit it out if I want to draw enough air into my lungs. I turn my head and spew a spray of red onto the mat. My eyes land on the crowd, and time stops.

Oaklyn stands at the front of the crowd like a goddamn angel. I blink to clear the blood from my eyes, sure that I’ve only imagined her, but she’s still there when I focus again. Her makeup runs down her face as if she’s been crying, and her bottom lip is swollen to twice its normal side on the right side of her face. Dried blood paints the corner of her mouth. When she realizes I’ve noticed her, she waves her hands and screams something, but I can’t hear her over the roar of the crowd. They’re building into a frenzy, and she’s in the danger zone.

I have to end this fight right now.

Boris readies himself for another punch, and I slam my head forward so that our foreheads collide. Colors flash behind my clenched eyelids. I flip Boris onto his back again, and I see I’ve done more than stun him. He’s barely hanging on to consciousness at this point, but his fists continue to drive into my ribs. This feisty little bastard refuses to give up, and that’s a real problem. It means the only way to end this fight right now would be to kill him.

I could take Boris out with one adrenaline-laced punch to his exposed throat. It would crush the delicate bones and obstruct his airway, which would be one shitty way to go out. He would fight until his last breath, but I need to get to Oaklyn before the crowd swallows her whole.

I pull back my fist, but I can’t do it. “Boris, you need to tap!” I shout.

He shakes his head and mumbles something, but I can’t hear him.

I move my free hand from the mat and press it on his throat. He’ll be disqualified if he’s unconscious. Choking him out will take longer, but it beats killing him.

The crowd releases a unified cheer of approval as I push my weight into my hand. This is what they paid to see. Like one cohesive, massive monster, they push forward toward the ring. Everyone wants to be on the front lines to witness this. Oaklyn gets jostled to the side, and she loses her balance, sending her to the floor. Her fucking ankle. They’ll kill her if I don’t get out of this ring.

So I do the only thing I can to save her.

I release my hold on Boris, and he springs forward. His forearm presses against my neck, and I can only look up at him and smile as I extend my right arm and tap the mat with my hand.

I need to lose.

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