Page 4 of The Devil's Wrath

He struck a lightning-quick jab that I slipped by a hair’s breadth. I countered with a right cross, but he was already gone, dancing away. The crowd yelled its approval at the opening exchange.

Near the end of the first, I feinted left and smashed an uppercut into his chin. His head snapped back, and he stumbled.

The bell rang.

Back to our corners.

I glanced at the front row. The dark-haired girl was still there, her eyes boring into me. Her red-headed friend with big tits and nothing between her ears was chattering away, but she paid no attention. Where had I seen those eyes of hers? It felt like it had been in another life. I couldn’t place it. The memory was just out of reach, like a word on the tip of my tongue.

“Beautiful work,” Cavan said, squirting water into my mouth. “Stay on him. Be first to the punch.”

I nodded, already eager to get back out there and finish what I’d started. This fight was far from over, but I felt the momentum shifting.

I was good.

Undefeated.

The second round began much like the first, with both of us circling, probing for openings. My opponent was more cautious now, keeping his guard high, wary of my speed. I feinted a jab and then launched a blistering combination, left-right-left, that drove him back into the ropes. He clinched, trying to smother my punches. But I dug hard shots into his body, feeling his muscles tense with each impact.

The ref separated us, and we went back to circling. My opponent’s face was beginning to swell, his breathing heavy. I could sense his frustration growing. He lunged forward, throwing a wild overhand right. I slipped under it and cracked him with a counter left hook that sent him reeling.

The crowd roared as he staggered back, his legs rubbery. I pressed forward, raining punches, looking for the finish. He covered up, trying to weather the storm, but I was relentless. A straight right hand found its mark, and his knees buckled before he crashed to the ground. The ref slid down onto the mat and began counting down, giving him time to get back up.

“One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . six . . . seven . . . eight . . . nine . . . ten!” The ref jumped up, waving his arms, signaling the end of the fight.

I raised my hands in victory as the arena erupted. The announcer grabbed my arm and shouted into the microphone.

“The Bronze Devil wins by knockout!”

My eyes immediately locked on the girl in the crowd, and she looked at me with the same intensity. The announcer said something to me, pulling my attention from her, and I gave him some half-assed response and then looked back, but she was gone. Her seat was empty, as if she had never been there at all. I scanned the crowd, hoping to see her dark hair moving through it, but she’d vanished as quickly as she’d come. I felt a pang of disappointment and frustration because I couldn’t recall where or how I knew her, but the rush of winning promptly overshadowed it.

In the locker room. Cavan helped me remove my gloves and tape. I couldn’t shake the girl from my mind.

“You were on fire out there,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “That guy didn’t stand a chance.”

“They never do,” I muttered, and I took a swig of my water bottle.

He chuckled. “That’s the attitude of a champion. Keep it up, and we’ll be headlining the MGM Grand in no time.”

I nodded absently.

I showered quickly, letting the hot water soothe my aching muscles. As I dressed, Cavan told me about an afterparty being held at one of the houses nearby.

“It would be good for you to make an appearance.”

I stayed silent while he continued.

“Word on the street is that Connor McKinley will be there.”

I lifted my gaze to look at him. “TheConnor ‘Lights Out’ McKinley?”

“The same.” He grinned. “Might be worth a few minutes of your time to scope out the scene and size him up.”

Connor McKinley was the top-ranked and undefeated underground middleweight champion in my weight class. A match between us was inevitable, and he was the talk of the underground boxing world. It wasn’tifI could beat him; it waswhen, and I was itching to bring that prima donna trust fund kid down a peg or two.

Or maybe even kill him and rid the city of that waste of oxygen.

His dad was a high-ranking leader in the Collectors’ ranks, moonlighting just a short distance below Abel Benson, the kingpin. Connor was in line to follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d integrated himself into politics while winning every collegiate tournament—which made him dangerous in more ways than one.

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