The crowd starts screaming, and I fist my busted knuckles. I’ve tried not to use them, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “Give it up for Law!”
I make my way to the center and look at the guy opposite me. It’s the same guy who Scout fought the night Lacey came and got me when Nicholas and Steve had my little doll up in the chapel. Bending my knees, I lift my fisted hands and smile. Let’s get this over with.
He smirks, and the song comes to an end, changing to “Bodies” by Drowning Pool.
He doesn’t waste a second. He swings at me, and I pull back. His momentum has his body twisting to the right, and I swing from the left, hitting him in the open and vulnerable ribs. It knocks him back, and I take a step forward, spinning around and picking up my right leg and swinging it at his face, knocking it to the side.
The crowd roars. I have an urge to look for Henley but push it out of my mind. The guy shakes his head, blinking, and I don’t give him a second to recover. Instead, I punch him in the face, pushing him back into the crowd. Instead of shoving him back into the ring, the spectators part like the Red Sea, and I punch him again and again, ignoring the pain that shoots up my hand and arm from hitting the bones in his face.
I’ve shoved him so far back that he’s in a corner. The crowd gathers around us, so even if I wanted to look for her, I wouldn’t be able to see her.
Gritting my teeth, I continue to punch this piece of shit in the face like it’s his fault everything seems to be falling apart. He falls to the ground, and I jump on top of him. I punch him again, and I see teeth fly from his busted mouth. I do it again, and this time, blood splatters the floor.
I’m grabbed from behind and dragged a few steps back. Matthew screams into his microphone and holds up my right hand. I can’t hear anything over the roaring of blood in my ears. The floor rumbles under my feet, and I’m gasping for a breath. A couple of guys come and pick up their passed-out friend.
Matthew pulls me back to the other side of the ring and hands me a wad of cash. “Well, you most definitely haven’t lost it.” He laughs.
I take the cash, shove it in my backpack, and look at the crowd. I spot her immediately, and without saying another word, I walk over to her, grab her hand, and get the fuck out of here.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
HENLEY
HE’S DRAGGING ME through the crowd faster than I can keep up, but I don’t say anything. I know he’s on a high after winning five fights. At least, Scout used to be after beating the shit out of someone.
He rips his keys out of my hand and presses the alarm button on it. The moment it goes off, he stops it and starts dragging me in that direction. “You could have just asked me where I parked it,” I mumble. Coming up to the car, he opens the passenger door and just stands there. “What are you …?”
“Get in!” he orders.
“Law.”
“Now, Henley!” he roars.
I jump in, and he slams the door. He rounds the front of the car and falls in the driver’s seat. He slams that door too and pulls on his T-shirt. Reaching over, he turns the A/C on and up to full blast. I move my vents to face him as well since I’m already cold, and he is disgustingly sweaty and covered in blood. It sucks coming to Death Valley and staying sober. If I had known he was going to drive, I would have had several drinks. I was going to drive him home since I figured he’d be tired after five fights.
“Hold this.” He throws his backpack into my lap.
I unzip it and look in it. “Holy shit, Law.” It’s full of cash. Mainly hundreds, but there are some fifties and twenties. Some are banded together; others are just thrown in there. “How much did you win?”
“Enough,” he answers. Throwing the car in reverse, he backs out of the parking spot I had created in the field.
I zip it back up and toss it in his back seat. He drives down the two-lane road. Cars pass us as they make their way to Death Valley. Pulling out of the old wrought-iron gates, he looks both ways on the two-lane road and pulls out, heading back toward Westbrook.
Looking over him, I see he has cuts and bruises on his bloodied knuckles. Scratches over his muscular arms, and I get to his neck. “Is that a bite mark on your neck?” I ask in horror.