by Doyle, Dawn
I wrapped my arms tighter around Kinsley, raising one to cross over her body, cupping her shoulder as her back leaned into my bare front. Her soft hands caressed my arms, one covering mine, her tips toying with the red fabric of the wraps wound tightly around my hands and wrists. I was taking every second I could with her before the shit was going to hit the industrial-sized fan.
I dipped my head and pressed my lips to the soft skin of her neck, staying there to hear her quiet breaths, listening to the quivering air. I held her closer still, taking a deep breath and savoring her floral and fruity scent. Her head fell back against me, her hair loose, her eyes closed, and her lips tight. But instead of a serene expression, she seemed troubled.
Because of me.
I’d given her so much to fucking worry about lately. The fights, Phoebe, Colby, Owen… Me.
“Kinny,” I said just above a whisper. Josh opened his eyes, his head still back, and watched us through narrowed lids. “You don’t have to—”
“If you think for one second I’m sitting this out, then you can just stop,” Kinsley cut in. She turned in my arms, fire blazing in her eyes. “I’m here, which means I support you.” Prodding a finger into my chest, she stood up on her tiptoes until she was nose-to-nose with me. “I’m here because I said I would.” She gripped my shoulders and slid her palms inward until her hands were either side of my neck, my pulse increasing under her determined grip. “And I like to keep my word, Quinn. I want to be here for you, and I am. I know I don’t have to, so you can stop with that bullshit because it won’t work. You mean too much for me to just wait on the sidelines, wondering what the fuck's going on and if you’re still in one piece.” Her chest heaved when she was done, surprise on her face.
“You’re sweating.” I held her back, taking in every inch of her, checking for any sign of illness. “Your face is flushed, Kinny.” I began tugging at my hoodie that I’d insisted she put on again, reaching for the zipper to cool her down.
“I’m fine,” she said, brushing me off, then wiping across her forehead. She shot her hand up. “It’s just that this wait is fucking killing me!” She held her hand over her mouth, her fingers curled toward her chin.
As if right on cue, the noise died down as the previous fight was done, the winner declared, and no doubt Jeremy was taking care of the business of getting them the fuck out of there.
I jerked my chin at Layton. “Collection.”
Layton saluted. “Aye aye, Captain.” He left the RV, slamming the door behind him.
Josh stood and slipped his hood back. “Showtime.” He stared at me, unmoving. “Are you ready for this, man?” He flicked his gaze to Kinsley, then back to me.
I nodded, my jaw tightening as I thought of the guy who I was up against. “I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole damn life.”
And now he’s gonna see his creation up close and in full fucking technicolor.
I took Kinsley’s hands and pulled them to my mouth, and I could feel how much she was shaking, her hands trembling to fuck, even as I kissed her fingers. She blew out a long, wavering breath, her lids tightly shut.
Josh slapped his hand down on my shoulder. “Let the games begin.”
More people than usual were stuffed into the barn, people packed wall-to-wall around the new gated barrier surrounding the white, spray-painted circle. He wasn’t escaping, he couldn’t crawl out between the people, he had to face me like I’d been forced to face him.
“Eyes up, head down,” Josh said as he checked my wraps.
I bounced on the spot, shaking my shoulders and thighs out, my bare feet collecting tiny grains of dirt and gravel as I hopped foot to foot.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Kinsley groaned, holding her stomach. The long sleeves bunched over her hands, hiding them.
“Come here.” I reached for her and took her in my arms, just like I had done at the last fight. I held her close and cupped her chin, tilting her head back. I spoke low and quiet so only she could hear me. “Kiss me, babe. Show them I’m yours.” Recognition flashed across her face, and before I could say another word, she crashed her mouth to mine, her fingers gripping my hair, pulling me harder to her lips. I fisted my hands in the hoodie as she delved into my mouth with her tongue, her hunger turning me on at the worst possible time, but I didn’t give a single fuck about it.
“God, I needed that,” she moaned, pulling back. Her soft hand stroked down my face, her tips lingering on my jaw. She stared at my mouth, but she couldn’t disguise the deep worry marring her beautiful face. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I kissed her once more, lingering, my mouth hovering over hers. “Always.”
“Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” Josh yelled over the raucous crowd, quietening the jeers with his wild arm gestures, telling them to shut the fuck up. “On one side, your favorite asshole, Quinn Dexter!” The cheers were so deafening, the screams and high-pitched squeals piercing my eardrums more than ever. “And on the other, tonight’s pathetic excuse of a man, Roy Tenant!”
I watched Kinsley as she stood near Josh’s make-shift podium, waiting, anticipating what I’d see, and knew the exact moment she recognized the name of my opponent.
She shook her head quickly, her eyes bulging, and her mouth agape. Just when I thought she was about to tell me, no, to tell me not to face him, she surprised the shit out of me.
Rage overtook her delicate features, replacing the shock with so much hatred it burned into me just by watching her. Her slender frame, swamped by my hoodie, stood stiff, her hands balled into fists, her shoulders elevated.
I didn’t have time to see if that was aimed at me, because the guy I hadn’t laid eyes on in nine years took his place in the circle.
Roy Tenant stood almost at my height, his dark eyes almost black in his sunken sockets. Dark circles and aging lines creased underneath, his alcohol habit adding years to his leathery and weather-beaten skin.
He cracked his knuckles, extending his fingers and curling them back in on a wave, just like he used to, just like I’d grown accustomed to.
My gut ignited, the furnace inside already taking me past my boiling point, the desperate need to slam my fists into this guy’s face growing more and more, the pit of my stomach opening up, ready to dive right to the bottom.
He’s nothing.
“Hello, son,” he said, his voice gravelly from smoking too much and drinking strong liquor.
I eyed him, sizing him up, weighing in my opportunities—my plan of attack. He’d filled out some, shaved some blubber from his gut, and looked to be about thirty pounds heavier than the last time I’d faced him, the time he’d knocked me unconscious and continued to kick me while I was down.
His dark-blue shorts were well worn, the elastic on the waist losing thread, and most of the white had changed to a dull gray.
“Hello, Dad,” I spat, the word like poison on my tongue, dripping from my mouth to burn the ground where it fell.
“Look at you,” he sneered, his snarl never faltering as he scanned me up and down. “All grown up. Looks like you can take a real man’s beating now, huh? Or are you the same little pansy-assed runt you always were?”
“Quinn!” Kinsley screamed, and I allowed myself to glance at her out of my peripheral vision, seeing her struggle against Josh, fighting him back, his head snapping to the side as he took a shot from her. “Quinn!”
“Aww, I see you have a lady in your life.” Roy cackled. “Does she know what a real man feels like, son? Does she need me to show her?”
Keep mouthing off, you fucking cunt. You’re only making things worse for you. And that comment just earned you extra.
I fed off of him, his insults, his jibes that he used to run me down, to make me feel weak, incapable, unloved. But as I stood there, my father foaming at the mouth as his hatred for his child was made known, I was fueled to the fucking brim.
“Are. You. Ready?” Josh yelled, still struggling with my girl. When the cr
owd went wild, Josh yelled, “Fight!”
I didn’t move.
Roy started for me.
Still, I didn’t move.
“Come on, cock sucker,” he spat. “Or are you gonna just take a beating from your daddy like you used to?”
I dropped my arms to my sides and allowed my fists to relax even though my blood sped through me like lava, scorching me from the inside out.
I planted my feet to keep my balance while Roy dipped side to side, his sloppy guard leaving his face open for me. Yet, I did nothing.
“Come on, Quinn!” somebody yelled while others shook their fists, demanding I make a move.
But I didn’t. Nobody was going to push me to do something until I was ready. They could fucking wait for all I fucking cared, and I couldn’t have cared less if it were physically possible to do so.
“Still a rat-bastard,” Roy ground out between his teeth. “Think you’re so fucking tough?” He looked me up and down in disgust, his nose scrunching like there was a bad smell, and I was the source. “Nah. You’re the same scared shitless little piss-ant you always were, aren’t you?”
My mouth curled in one corner, and he spotted it, the movement enraging him like I’d never seen before.
Come at me.
Roy shook his head at the same time he took a short step toward me, a movement I’d recognize; one of his trademarks. With a quick jab, his arm snapped out, and my head whipped to the side as his wrapped fist connected with my jaw.
I jerked with the force but kept my ground.
He hit me again, then again, and I refused to lift my hands to block. I licked around the inside of my mouth, gathering the metallic liquid, and spat it out beside me.
I could hear Kinsley’s screams for me to do something and the spectators’ frustrated words at my lack of retaliation.
“I’m going to give you the whooping you deserve,” Roy hissed. “So bad you’re gonna think our days were like sunshine and fucking rainbows.” He raised his hand high and swung it wide, the side of his fist ramming into my temple, knocking me to the side, the impact taking me off balance.
The room spun, and I staggered, catching the thick plastic barrier, gripping on to stop myself from crashing to the ground. I wanted to fucking end him, to see the life slip slowly from his eyes as I watched, sending him to the deepest pits of hell where he belonged.
Not yet, Quinn.
The air left my lungs as a heavy thud hit me square in my back, the stamp on my spine stealing my breath as I was thrown forward into the hard surface, my arms and head flying backward. I fell down to my knees, my hands still grasping the short fencing.
“Oof!” I blew out when another blow hit me harder than before, smashing into my ribs, again and again, lifting me up off of my knees with each hate-filled kick.
I felt a crack inside of me, along my left side where Roy’s foot connected with the same spot he’d driven into repeatedly, the searing pain spreading white-hot flames through my body, taking my breath away.
I gritted my teeth so hard that they crunched, the sting in my jaw growing more intense but not alleviating the radiating agony in my side the least fucking bit.
My head was yanked backward, a hand balling into the hair of my crown. I’d put off cutting it, and now it was a vantage point for my abuser, his fingers attempting to rip the strands clean from my scalp as he began dragging me.
“I thought you were supposed to be a fighter!” Roy yelled. “All I see is a chicken shit momma’s boy.” He threw me down, and I rolled across the dirt on my side, the tiny stones like glass against my grazed skin. “But you can’t be a momma’s boy, can you? That stupid bitch got herself fucking killed. Probably threw herself under the wheels of that car to get away from your whining,” he grabbed my hair again, “complaining,” he stood over me, his arm lifting, “irritating,” he crouched and drove his fist into my face, my head snapping to the side and my blood splattering across his hand with the impact, “mistake of a life!”
I ground my jaw, pain radiating into my skull as I tensed, his words about my mother begging me to let loose on him, to make him pay for what he did to her; to me.
An eerie calmness washed over me when I saw the face of the woman I loved behind him, trying to get over the barrier, but not for me; she was attempting to get to Roy; Josh, and now Layton both struggling to keep her from getting to him.
I looked back up at Roy, his black eyes, fueled by the sick and twisted mind of a psychotic predator, were fixed on my face, watching as he hit me again.
“My turn,” I said after he’d taken the last hit I'd ever allow him to land again.
“What did you say?” he roared, yanking my head up toward him.
I saw the moment he knew the tables were about to turn, his narrowed lids expanding, widening, as my mouth grew wide, grinning like a fucking maniac. Blood seeped over my lips and down my chin, the warm trickle running down my neck to my chest. “I said,” I raised my hand when he threw another punch, capturing his fist in my palm right in front of my cheek, “it’s my turn.”
His mouth dropped open as I shoved his fist to the side, bringing my other up and smashing it against the side of his head so hard he fell to the side, his leg catching on my torso so that he was across me.
All I could hear in the barn were the voices of everybody there, screaming, roaring, goading, wanting more blood, wanting more pain, wanting… More.
“Quinn!” Kinsley cried.
I couldn’t turn to her. I wouldn’t let this piece of shit get the slightest chance to blindside me. Not again; not ever.
Roy struggled to get up, and I shoved him off of me, making him crash head-first into the barrier. I pushed myself to my feet, slightly bending to my left to support my side.
“You little shit!” he spat, turning around. He shook his head, sweat flinging from his unruly hair, graying around the sides and top with age.
“Not so little,” I snorted, watching his awkward movements. He lifted his hands again, messy, sloppy, and leaving himself open so much it was laughable.
“Still a worthless cunt,” he fired back. He took a swing, and I stepped to the side, his uncontrolled fist flying past me as he lurched with the movement.
“Projecting,” I said, waving my finger side to side. “That shows weakness. Are you weak? You look weak.” I was goading him, and like the egotistical dick that he was, he ate it up like a pig.
He swung again, and all I had to do to avoid it was twist my body away. Throwing more punches, his swings grew more careless, his body unguarded, his face open for any attack.
But I waited. I let him come at me, much to the irritation of those around us, the crowd drawing as close as they could to the barrier I’d set up for that reason.
“Fucking hit him!” one man roared.
“Stop playing with him, Quinn, and finish this!”
I recognized that voice, and although I’d let this go on for longer than I’d planned, I was enjoying watching the evil fucker throw himself around. His arms were practically windmilling to hit me, swinging haymakers in his frustration, spit flying from his mouth, foam dribbling down his chin.
Roy raised his arm and shot it out toward me, his shot on target, but it never fucking touched me. I merely tipped my head to the side, avoiding it with ease.
I opened my hands as though holding a ball, ready to go all net, and struck forward in our close range, hitting his chest and chin at the same time.
Roy’s head snapped back, wet hair spraying out salty droplets, his arms throwing up as my strike took him off guard and off his feet. He landed with a dull thud on the ground, chalky dust billowing around him.
“Get up!” I yelled. “You wanted to come here and kick my ass, so do it!’
“I’m going to kill you,” he groaned, his voice tight.
“Well, you’re not going to do it from down there,” I said with a chuckle, then sneered, “Get on your feet, pansy-ass.”
His face twisted, filled with a
sadistic rage, eyes narrowed, yet glaring wide, his nose scrunched, his teeth bared, and every vein in his neck bulging. He pushed off of the ground, and the second he was upright, he rushed me, dipping low, arms wide.
I kicked my leg forward, connecting with his chest as he attempted to charge into me with his shoulder. His mouth flew open, and his eyes screwed shut as pain laced his menacing roar.
I threw my head back and laughed as he struggled to get back to his feet. “I thought you were a fighter?” I asked with disappointment. “You’re supposed to be a tough guy on the streets, taking out the men who dared defy you, but all I see is a man getting his ass whooped by his kid. What will they say about that?”
“I’ve gone easy on you,” Roy growled, swaying on his feet, his pathetic attempt at a defensive stance making him look drunk. It wouldn’t surprise me if he were. “And now I’m going to break your scrawny neck!”
I swiped my hand down my face, bringing congealed blood with it, over the cuts and swelling I’d taken for the last time from this man. I smirked and threw my arms out to the scream of the paying audience. “What are you waiting for?”
He swung his arm around, and I batted it away. His other arm followed, and just as easily as before, I slapped his forearm, sending his arms flying back where they came, watching in amusement as Roy continued his attack.
Fists flew fast, sailing through the air, desperate to do damage to me like in the past, only more, wanting to see me fall to my knees and beg for him to stop, to stop hurting me, to stop breaking my tiny bones, to stop making me bleed so much that a bandaid couldn’t fix it.
After dodging his maniacal attack, I stepped to the side, avoiding his hand, and gripped his chin. I moved forward, taking his head with me as his weight carried forward. He landed on his back, crashing down, the back of his skull colliding with solid floor. Cheers erupted when I looked down on him, standing next to his slowly moving form, waiting for him to get the fuck up so I could go home with Kinsley.
