Page 38 of The Masks We Burn

Amora must see the plea in my eyes—the urge for her to take a chance, because she relaxes more and sighs. “I really fucking enjoyed that.”

A smile blooms across my face as a small chip falls from her mask, showing me a small victory. “Me too.”

* * *

It’s been a week.An entire seven days since the last time I saw her, and just as I predicted, I want more. I try to remind myself more than once, it’s only because it’s been so long, and I only want her because I know it’s not a good idea, but it doesn’t help the cravings.

Hell, the only thing saving me from giving in and just texting her first is the fight scheduled for tonight. Maybe the adrenaline will come back with this next fight, and the pull I have with Amora won’t feel as strong anymore.

But also, the lack of communication on her end makes me feel obsessive. It’s obvious when we’re in the same room that she feels the same attraction, but maybe now that she’s gotten her needs met, she no longer has any interest.

A pang of disappointment shoots through my chest, tightening around my heart. Whether I want to admit it or not, her smart-ass mouth is starting to grow on me.

Have I mentioned how fucked I am?

Mr. Jameson, the in-house trainer that was assigned to me, checks my wrapped wrists before fastening my gloves. “Don’t forget to watch that boy’s right leg. You’re getting better on your feet, but it’s noticeable that you keep your weight off your left knee. If he notices, he’ll try to take you out.”

I nod at the older gentleman, taking a quick swig of water. “Yes, sir, I remember.”

Mr. Jameson and I have met a few times this week, and every time he’s sent me home with clips to watch my opponent’s old fights. The guy’s an inch shorter than me, but has a two inch longer arm span, not to mention he also wrestled.

Pros? He’s disproportionate and his legs will be easy to dodge.

Cons? He’s already well-established in MMA, plus he has the ability to get out of any wrestling tricks I may have up my sleeve.

Knowing this won’t be easy makes my heart start thrumming. Jitters rock through my limbs and in seconds, that high is settling over me.

Yes, this is what I’ve been looking for. This is what I needed.

When it’s finally my turn, I follow Jameson down the long corridor, down the elevator and through the large metal doors into the arena. Like before, the spectators make noises like they’re at a fucking auction rather than a martial arts fight and stare down at their screens to make their bets.

It’s not as appealing as it was during my first fight.

Dipping into the cage, I see the other guy across the octagon, stretching his arms as he nods to something his coach is telling him. He looks like a grungy Star Lord fromGuardians of the Galaxy—I can only hope he’s as sloppy when he gets mad.

The announcer makes his way to the center of the cage, a mic at his lips. “Joining us for a second time in our last preliminary match, we have a one-and-oh champ. Coming in at six-four, two hundred and twenty pounds, William Cassidyyyyyyyyy.”

He adjusts the sleeve of his dark tailored suit before gesturing to my opponent on the other side. “And coming in at six-three, two hundred and thirty pounds, with a record of thirteen-and-four, Jafine Conwayyyyyyyy.”

We both meet the announcer in the middle, bumping our fists together as he mutters a few of the house rules we already know. After a ring girl parades across the front, adingsounds twice to start the match.

Jafine instantly takes a step back, his shaggy black hair flopping over his forehead as he bounces around on the balls of his feet. There’s a smug ass smile curving his almost nonexistent lips that grates on my nerves.

When I shuffle the weight on my feet, he takes notice, lunging forward and shooting an arm out in a pathetic attempt at a punch I dodge with ease. But I know better. The throw was meant to put me right in his path for a swift kick from his left.

I jump back in time, but only by a fraction as his jagged toenail scrapes my shin.

Well, that’s fucking disgusting.

I grimace, forcing my attention back on the fool that’s acting too cocky for someone who only landed a scratch. After the song and dance of missed kicks and dodged punches, the bell sounds for the end of the round. I trudge to my side, my heart thumping in my ears and sweat pouring from my temple. Mr. Jameson coats my face in another layer of petroleum before squirting half a bottle of water down my throat.

“He’s mirroring your evading technique. There’s little known about you, especially considering your last fight lasted all of two minutes, and he’s trying to pin down your weak spot. With all that jumping around, you probably got one more round before he starts to notice you lean off that knee. Get him in a corner. All you need is one hit, then don’t let up.”

Nodding in agreement, I rise, watching as Jafine does the same. After the ring girl passes, the bell sounds, and I charge. This surprises him and he moves back too fast, nearly tripping back into the gate.

Gotcha.

He throws his hands up, assuming I’m aiming for the face, but leaves his core open when I body check immediately. I get three hits off before he doubles over, foolishly leaving the side of his face exposed.

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