on my robe. I smile as he opens the room up, and there everything is, laid out and ready for me. Brawler must have done this. My own personal training room. I finger the bra and shorts I’ll be wearing in a little while. A cute set. Black with purple trim. It’s too bad they’re about to get bloody. That I know for sure. Glancing up, I notice two doors in the dressing room. Johnny explains that one exits out the back—the one we just came in with—and the other leads to the fights themselves. It’s a cool setup.
Brawler and I didn’t plan out the fight ahead of time. Mostly because it needs to look real. Big Daddy K is going to be out there, watching us with a critical eye due to it being one of Brawler’s initiation tasks. I asked Johnny if he thought it was weird Brawler’s other tasks weren’t set yet, and he told me no. They set them in succession. So, if Brawler beats me, then he’ll get the next one. If he accomplishes that, he’ll get the next and so on. No sense in planning more activities if Brawler loses the first.
I sit on the small bench and Johnny walks over. “Is there anything we can do to make it hurt less? I Googled it, but I couldn’t find much of anything.”
I smile at his concern. “I’m going to take some Tylenol in a little bit and then just have ice ready. Lots and lots of ice. Maybe an ice bath.”
“The rooms only have showers,” Johnny admits, looking at the space as if it will suddenly change because that’s what I want.
Behind us, the door opens, and Mag appears, shutting it soundly behind him.
Before Johnny can offer to rip the showers out and put tubs in, I tell him ice packs are fine.
“Don’t let Brawler see me right after, okay?” I say, flipping my gaze between the two of them so they know I’m serious. “Get me out of there as soon as possible. I have a feeling his acting abilities suck.”
“Done,” Mag says.
Johnny growls. He’s been bitchy and on edge all day, but there’s nothing I can do about it. He knows this is all his father’s fault even though he’d love to blame it on Brawler. It’s too easy to do that. There are always reasons for everything, however hidden they may be. Hardly anyone or anything is black and white. Everything is made up of layers, just like nature. A predator with an alluring shell. Or an angel who looks like the devil.
I pick up the bra and shorts and head into the attached bathroom. The whole area is one space. The bathroom doesn’t have a door, just a walkway into a separate room. It’s also ten times nicer than what we had at the warehouse. I peel my clothes off then stare at myself in the mirror over the sink. My eyes look dead today. You ever just stare at yourself and wonder what’s going on in your head? I’ve had years of experience of staring at myself in mirrors, searching for my parents’ reflections. Searching for pieces of them they may have passed on to me. But right now, I can honestly say I don’t even look like myself.
I glance away and tug on my fighting outfit. Afterward, I pull my hair back into a tight ponytail and then braid it, wrapping two elastics around the ends, so it won’t let loose during the fight. My stomach tightens after I finish, realizing that every little thing I do is only taking me toward the inevitable. With a huge breath, I walk out to do my pre-fight stretches. There’s no point in getting any more injured than I need to by pulling a muscle because I didn’t put my all into the fight, even though I already know how it’s going to turn out.
A knock sounds on the door, and Magnum opens it. A guy I recognize from the warehouse sticks his head in. “The fight before yours is about to wrap up. You’ll be on soon.”
I nod with a sickening twist to my insides. I’m not sure I’ve ever not wanted to do something so much in my entire life. Something that I knew I had to do, but didn’t want to, and it’s fucking killing me. I’ve had mini pep talks with myself all day about picking up my ovaries and doing what needs to be done, but