Page 12 of Hurts So Good
“He said as much. We were talking about getting together this Saturday. My boyfriend, Donnie, has a fight coming up, and I want you both to come. You can meet him and we can get drinks after.”
“I don’t know…” I say.
With my stalker and Ty on the forefront of my mind, I’m not sure I want to spend my weekend doing anything but digging up information on them. My desire to get closer to my sexy masked man of mystery has me itching to deepen our connection. I crave to feel what I felt with Ty once again. My stalker is the first one since him to bring it out in me.
“Please. I don’t want to go by myself. I miss you, and Kieran’s already said he won’t go if you don’t.” The pout in her tone has me smiling.
Maybe a few punches and a bit of blood could do the trick to ease the raging lust building inside me. And if not, at least it could give me a new outlet for the darkness that seems to haunt me everywhere I go.
Relenting, I say, “Text me the time and address.”
“Yay! You won’t regret it. We’ll have a blast. Love you! Talk soon.”
I hang up, rolling my eyes. She’s a trip, but I love her. I’m looking forward to spending time with my friends. It’s been a long time coming.
This weekend should be fun; I just hope it’s helpful. I really miss cutting, watching the blood flow from my wound, as if my internal pain is leaving my body metaphorically. Hopefully, seeing someone else bleed will be just as satisfying.
Who knows? I may discover a new hobby to distract me from stalking my stalker.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ty
“Coming?” Tomas hits my shoulder as he fake-fights. He bounces on his feet and continues to punch me wherever he can reach.
I swat at his fists, then sucker punch him in the stomach. “Yeah.”
“Low blow,” he grumbles, leaning forward.
With a smirk, I lift the ski mask off my face just enough to put in my mouthpiece. Tomas has been with me for years; he trained me as a teen when I was first starting out, but he, like everyone else, has no idea what I look like beneath my masks.
The attire I don for fights is much different than what I normally wear. My white mask is replaced with a black ski mask, boots are traded in for tennis shoes, baggy gym shorts instead of black jeans, and white wraps rather than black gloves adorn my hands.
“I’ve got a lot of money riding on you,” Tomas says. “But I know you’ll win.”
I grunt in agreement. I’ve been in many illegal fights and have never lost one. It’s safe to say tonight won’t be any different. I’ve got a lot of built-up rage that’s just begging to let loose.
I follow Tomas around the side of the bridge. It’s closed for construction that’s set to start in a month, making it the perfect place to host a fight.
The crowd underneath is rambunctious and hyped up as we approach. Everyone steps aside to let me through so I can enter the ring they’ve laid out for us. I pull off my hoodie and hand it to Tomas, then bounce up and down in place and move my head from side to side to loosen my muscles. I can’t wait to pound my fists into someone’s flesh.
My opponent comes into view as I’m shaking my arms out to get my blood pumping. I size him up. He’s about two inches taller than me, and maybe twenty-five pounds heavier. Here in the underground ring, size doesn’t matter as long as you can fight. Knowing your weaknesses and strengths comes in handy too. Without that knowledge, you won’t last long here.
A referee comes into the center of the ring. We stand on either side of him.
He makes us slap hands before yelling, “Fight!”
With my fists up and my stance adjusted, I wait for him to make the first move. I always let my opponent go first. It gives them the impression they have the upper hand.
When he goes for a punch, I block it and kick him under his knee. He limps for a moment before walking it off. He moves toward me again. I block and kick him in the same place. The more I attack that area, the weaker his stance becomes.
Tomas shouts directions at me from the sidelines. Listening his advice, I land a punch to the guy’s jaw. He stumbles and sways a bit. Shaking it off, he catches his balance.
He kicks my side. It stings, but I stay upright. While there are no set rules, I try not to kill here. This is just a means to an end for me, a way to make easy cash and let out some steam. Killing people in front of others is messy and gets rumors started. That only ends with you getting noticed. I don’t need that shit.
As if an invisible force calls for me to glance up, my attention shifts to the crowd. My eyes widen.
It’s her. Why is she here?