Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
“Come on, Crew. Come on, baby,” I mutter, watching him stalk towards Hunter.
“And here we go,” the announcer says. “It’s Hunter Davidson in the red trunks, Crew Gentry in the black.”
Macie stands behind me, her hand resting on my shoulder. I can’t take my eyes off the screen as Crew and Hunter paw at each other.
“They’re feeling each other out,” the announcer comments. “Neither of these two want to see this go to the ground already. You must remember, these were two decorated Division I NCAA wrestlers. This just might come down to the better striker.”
“Come on, Crew.” I don’t know what else to say. I know very little about fighting. All I know is watching them circle each other is fraying my nerves one strand at a time.
“They’re both trying to set up their game plans. Each getting the other in position . . . Woah! Did you see that kick?” The announcer’s voice pierces the air.
My insides twist as Crew’s body takes the impact. He throws a hand and Hunter deflects it. Hunter throws another kick and Crew steps to the side. They trade punches and I swear I can feel every one.
“Davidson is trying to work his way inside . . . he ate a big one there!”
Crew lands a huge punch on the side of Hunter’s face and follows it up with barrage of shots. Hunter is knocked back a little but regains his composure quickly.
“Come on, Crew,” I say, pacing in front of the television.
“He’s got this, Jules. He’s got this,” Macie says assuredly, but it does nothing to make me feel better.
Crew stalks Hunter around the cage before they land against the fence. Hunter’s back is on the perimeter and Crew is against him, throwing punches against his body.
“Great hook by Gentry, but he got caught with a short shot from Davidson. Gentry appears to be the aggressor, Davidson the more reserved consummate professional, Nate. They’re in the clench position now, Gentry looking for a possible takedown.”
“I’m really impressed, Marv, by Davidson’s ability to stay calm. He’s not playing into the grudge match we all expected.”
When the announcer stops talking, you can hear the roar of the crowd. It’s insane and I have no idea how either of them is even able to concentrate, but they seem to be. They’re tangled up and I have no idea who is winning or what they’re doing, the stillness in the action a bit of a relief, yet it feels like it’s drawing out the inevitable . . . whatever that is.
“Davidson escapes,” the announcer says as Hunter tosses Crew off him and makes his way back into the center of the mat. “Smart choice by Davidson to disengage.”
The seconds tick on the clock on the bottom of the screen. Hunter throws a big hand that Crew barely misses as the bell rings, ending the round.
I blow out a breath in relief. One round down.
SIXTY
CREW
I head back to my corner and try to catch my breath. My nerves are settled down and I’m relieved that I fell back into the fight so naturally.
Will and Sal rush inside the cage, Will shoving a bottle of water at me. He smiles, his eyes alive. “Great job, man.”
“Crew, you look good out there. You have one round down. Davidson is hanging back and hasn’t showed you anything yet. Watch for the takedown and watch for the right leg. He’s gonna come out aggressive.”
“Yeah,” I say, wiping my face off with the towel handed to me by Will.
“How ya feeling, kid?”
“Good. Strong. I live for this shit,” I say, smiling confidently.
“Good. Go out there and do your thing.”
I give the bottle and towel to Sal. “I’ve got this.”
He pats me on the shoulder as they leave me in the ring for round two. I hear the gate close behind me, the crowd’s roar starting to build again as the referee comes back to the center of the mat. His hands go in front of him and we’re off.
Hunter comes at me aggressively, just like Sal said he would. He throws a right-left, which I easily block off my elbows. I counter with an overhand right that lands solid but high on his head. Davidson turns as the punch crunches into him and I don’t see the kick when it comes.
His foot smashes me in the back of the head, right beneath my skull. I bend slightly in response and he kicks again. It takes the wind out of me, sending a spiral of pain through my spine. My adrenaline is so high that I know I’m not registering all of it.
He starts to kick again, but I step inside and blister him with a few shots but I don’t feel the same strength behind my punches.
Something’s wrong.
He comes straight back at me again, smiling. We trade punches, half of them hitting, half not, but it makes for a good show because the crowd’s noise amplifies. We begin to break when he pulls my head forward and slams his elbow against my spine.