Torment Her (Rebels At Sterling Prep #5) - Caitlyn Dare Page 0,46
thinks. I need this. I need the focus, the pain, the distraction.
I find myself a bottle of vodka and tip it back.
I don't feel the burn.
Fuck, I don't feel anything.
The minutes tick by as the alcohol starts to take effect. I don't drink enough to hinder my fighting but enough to fire me up. I have no idea who Daz is going to pair me up with next. I don't really give a shit, but I need to be ready.
It's another thirty minutes or so before I'm called back into the ring. I'm still pumped and ready, and as I stand there waiting to see who my opponent is, I ignore both Levi and Jay who are standing behind me, trying to convince me to give it up and go home.
I shake my head and block their voices out.
No one here understands.
Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Kenny laid out beneath me with my fingers wrapped around her throat, my fingertips digging into her hips. Only in a heartbeat, everything flips in my head and she isn’t willing, and I'm not me. Instead, she's struggling, and I'm that fucking monster, Warren.
Anger swirls through me, my fists curling as I imagine what I'm going to do to him when he finally crawls out of the hole he's hiding in.
My shoulders tense as I imagine snapping that motherfucker's neck like it's nothing more than a twig.
No man should ever force themselves on a woman. But my girl? My Kenny?
No. No, fucking way.
The crowd starts to get louder, and when I drag my eyes up from the concrete at my feet, I find a guy I recognize from my time in the ring before we left the Heights. I've never fought him before, and for one very good reason. He's fucking huge.
He steps forward, snarling at me as he approaches.
"You think you're good enough, boy?" he taunts.
I shake my head. He can try to intimidate me as much as he likes, but he doesn't have the images inside his head that I do.
"Try me," I spit as Daz steps toward us.
Movement on the edge of the crowd catches my eye for some reason, and I momentarily look up. A shiver of awareness trickles down my spine and I eagerly search for the head I thought I just saw.
He's here. That motherfucker is here.
I'm still searching for another glimpse of him while starting to think I'm imagining it when Daz starts the fight.
I only realize he's done so when a fist lands in my face.
Stumbling back, I collide with some of the crowd who happily push me back into the firing line.
I've been blindsided, and for a few minutes, I don't stand a chance. No matter what I do, what move I make, I can't get an advantage.
My lip splits, my eye swells, and I'm sure at least one rib cracks as he gets in hit after hit before I manage to take some kind of control back.
Suddenly, the tables flip. With Warren's smug fucking face in my mind, I see red. If that motherfucker is here, then I want him to witness what’s coming his way, because I will catch up with him at some point, and I will fucking end him.
The minutes feel like seconds as we continue to throw punch after punch at each other. The crowd continues to shout and scream for us as the fight goes on and on, both of us fairly evenly matched.
Seeing as it's my second of the night, despite the fact that the first one was a walk in the park, my muscles start to tire and my movements begin to slow although my head screams to continue.
Thankfully, I’m not the only one who starts to tire. I manage to get the upper hand when he makes a rookie mistake. I fly at him, desperately needing to take him to the ground. And I'm just about to when his fist connects with my temple and everything goes black.
I feel myself go down. I wince in pain as I crash against the cold concrete at my feet.
The crowd roars in excitement before everything goes silent. I have no idea if I lie there for thirty seconds or thirty minutes, but at some point, hands grip me under my arms and I'm dragged away from the ring.
Voices sound out around me. I want to say I recognize them, that they're familiar, but I can't quite get a grasp on reality.