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 and I could kill her. A thrill shoots through me, cooled only by the fact that the same goes for her. She could kill me.
I grin. It's not likely.
"The fuck are you smiling about?" she hisses, spitting out blood.
I shake my head and the next time she steps too close, I turn, arching my leg up and roundhouse kicking her in the side. She blocks it—but only just barely.
"Take her down!" someone yells.
"Hit her in the face," another commands. "Fuck her up!"
The only thing I don't like about doing this here is the fact that I recognize some of the people in the sea of faces surrounding us. They're students from Eastpoint. I don't, however, recognize the girl across from me. From the state of the still fading bruises on her arms and thighs and the ragged look of her clothes—she's just like me.
Guilt is an echo in my chest, but no one is making her do this. She chose to step into the ring with me, and that's her own fault. The tail end of that thought comes to an abrupt halt as she barrels towards me—all pretense of trying to stay away gone as she slams my back into the cage.
Hot breath hits my ear, slides against the side of my face. An irritating memory flashes behind my eyes when I squeeze them shut. I hear her chuckle and that only serves to piss me the fuck off.
Anchoring my hips, I reach up—sliding my fingers through the loops of the cage and I tighten my grip. She pulls back to punch me and I arch up, narrowly avoiding the hit as she slaps into the cage herself and I land on the other side of her and suddenly, we've switched places.
I punch her in the face. Blood hits the tape on my knuckles. A second punch snaps her head to the side and more blood shoots out of her mouth, landing against my face and upper chest, staining my sports bra. There's no better feeling than someone else's blood on your skin.
Rearing back, I deliver a head butt. My skull echoes with the agony that results from a stupid move, but it sends even more adrenaline pouring through me, numbing the pain. And we're back at it.
We fight for what feels like only seconds. Everything spins around me at supersonic speed, but I know it's longer than it seems. She's waning. Her hits slow down. Her body’s unable to hold up under the pressure and the numerous hits. I don't want to stop. I'm not ready to let go of this feeling. The feeling of absolute authority.
I don't feel human anymore. I feel dangerous. I feel fucking weaponized. And it's glorious.
"You're done," I say, my chest heaving as she stumbles under my latest hit. Blood hits my tongue. This time, it's my own. I lick at my lower lip, feeling a cut.
"I'm done..." she pants. "When I say so..."
I shake my head and punch her again, my taped knuckles slamming into her jaw. Despite her words, she goes down. The audience loses its shit. The roar of their excitement fills my head with nothing but annoyance, though. I don't care for nor do I want their approval. I stand still for a moment, staring down at the girl as I reach up and wipe my forearm along my hairline. Sweat collects against my skin, making me feel grimy and dirty.
I am dirty. Filthy. There's something wrong with me. Addicted to the adrenaline high. And as it falls down, so do I.
Back to reality.
I turn towards the exit gate as it swings open. A stack of hundreds is slapped into my hand. I look down at them with a scowl. A part of me wants to keep them—money like this would help me go a long way, but I made a promise to someone a long time ago. And when I make a promise, I keep it.
"Avalon..." Jake's voice is shaky, but it pulls me out of my thoughts.
I smile as I lift my head, ready to hand over the cash when I pause and the smile falls away. "You motherfucker," I snap in accusation, my eyes darting from the group of men who approach from behind him.
"I'm sorry," Jake says. "I—"
I growl and punch his chest with the hand holding the cash. "Your fucking fee," I grit out, storming past him as I release the money and he barely catches it.
"Not so fast, Ava." Dean's hand shoots out and he grabs my arm, halting any further movement. "You're not leaving just yet."
The high I had been feeling slowly creeps back into my veins as my blood boils and races faster and faster. It practically pounds beneath my skin. I shove down the excitement and look up at him with disdain. "Oh yeah?" I spit in his face. "And who's going to stop me?"
Those dark chocolate brown eyes of his flash with something dark and sinister, making my lips curl up in spite of myself.