after a moment.
"How good?" I demand.
It takes a moment for him to answer, but when he does, he pivots his head so that his gaze meets mine. "Good enough to beat her," he says.
My eyes turn back to the fight as it winds down. He's right. Her opponent is tapering off, but as Avalon grins at the other girl, I realize that she's nowhere near finished. Her chest rises and falls in rapid movements but her legwork is precise. Careful. My eyes fall to her breasts and I have to grit my teeth at the realization that every fucking man in the room—my brothers included—are seeing her nearly bare up top. The little fucking strap of fabric holding her tits in place is barely acceptable. It's obviously worn from use and age. It’s damn near a deep gray, but the hue tells me it hasn’t always been. How fucking long has she had that thing? Not a split second after that thought occurs, her opponent punches her in the face and bloodstains join the fabric.
Without meaning to, a growl works its way up my throat, but fuck, the way she smiled when the blood was running down her lips … it should’ve been illegal. I spread my legs and anchor my feet to the tops of the bleachers, hoping that my hard on will go down soon.
"Dean," Abel calls, distracting me. I cut my gaze his way and he nods to Jake. "What do you want to do?"
I want to claim her ass in more than just name only, I think. But that's not what Abel is asking. I turn my body back towards Jacob Hayes and level him with a glare. "Listen up, Hayes," I begin, letting the unreleased growl fill my voice as I talk. "Regardless of what she says, we're the ones you fucking talk to when it comes to anything to do with her. As far as you and everyone else from Eastpoint is concerned, Avalon Manning is mine. Is that understood?"
His eyes widen but he nods quickly. "Understood," he agrees without argument.
"Good."
Before anyone can say anything else, a roar from the crowd grabs our attention, and I watch as Hanson, our bookie, makes his way back to the cage as a panting Avalon stands over her obviously unconscious opponent.
"Looks like you were right," I say to Braxton.
He shoots me a grin. "I always am."
30
Avalon
As soon as Hanson introduces me to the girl, I forget her name. It won't matter in the end. My blood is pumping. I shiver as I crouch down, waiting for Hanson to step out of the cage and lock it behind him. Sweat collects against the nape of my neck and slides down my spine. It's hot in the warehouse. The sheer amount of people they have crammed into the building rackets up the temperature.
"You're going down," the girl sneers.
Not likely. I don't say anything, though. That's not what this is about. While other fighters try to psych out their opponents, I never do. I don't care what they think of me. I don't care what anyone in this room thinks of me. All I care about is getting what I want. And what I want is to beat her into the ground.
The lock clicks into place and she wastes no more time on words but dives for me. I spin out of the way and grab the back of her head as I pass, sinking my fingers into her ponytail. Yanking her back, I deliver a punch to her stomach and then her face, sending her reeling.
The adrenaline makes my muscles feel lighter. It makes me feel like I'm floating. It makes me feel powerful.
My breath saws in and out of my chest. I could take her down now, but then that'll defeat the purpose. People scream in my ear, their chests pressed up against the cage as they yell at me to take her down. She's already down. Instead of doing that, though, I wait. It doesn't take her long to recover, thankfully, and when she does, she's even angrier.
"You bitch!" she shrieks and we're back to circling. I grin.
Everything in the room narrows down to the cage. Just her and me. Round and fucking round we go. Her feet move slowly, but her eyes remain on me. I'm careful—I have to be. Fighting like this is illegal. Unlike in television shows, this is real. It's not faked. No actors. And certainly no medics on standby. One wrong move