Page 22 of The Devils They Are

Nope.

Definitely not one of those.

The rest of the week goes smoothly oddly enough. I barely cross paths with any of the Three Musketeers, except for classes like gym, and as I later found out, chemistry with Hunter. Even worse, apparently, we all share graphic design. But despite the odd glares here and there, they didn't actually try anything.

Friday night rolls around and even though Arch asked me to reconsider, I put my name down for a fight.

It’s not my first time in the cage, but usually I let other people volunteer so everyone gets a fair turn.

Unsurprisingly, this week we had a record-breaking number of requests from people wanting to fight. Apparently, I’m not the only one that needs to blow off some steam.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Arch asks, the two of us standing outside the cage door.

“Absolutely.”

I’m listening to him, but my eyes are locked on the opponent in the ring. The girl waiting for me looks like she could be the younger version of Miss Trunchbull in a spring production of Matilda. She’s not quite as tall as me but damn she’s fit and muscular. I bet she slings around athletic weights as part of her chosen sport.

“Alright,” Arch concedes with a sigh. “Go get her, Tiger.”

Giving him a wicked smile, I step into the cage, looking around.

It’s been months since I last fought, but the feeling still gets me every time.

The first time I ever circled these metal walls, I wondered how people could concentrate with the surrounding crowd and noise. But then it all faded. The faces vanished, my ears fell quiet, and all I could focus on was my opponent.

It was a thrilling rush. Addictive, almost.

Miniature Trunchbull sizes me up with a smirk, already thinking she’s got this one in the bag. But she’s mistaken. What I lack in muscle size is compensated by speed, height, and best of all, the ability to read my opponents.

Sparring isn’t about who can throw the hardest punch. It’s a strategic dance and battle of wits. And if you walk into the cage underestimating your opponent, you’ve already lost.

I know she’s going to make me work for it. And hell, I bet I’ll be sporting some nice bruises tomorrow. But the pain is worth it. The escape is everything.

The crowd of blue cheer loudly and I can’t help but smile. They love seeing me fight as much as I love fighting for them.

This is what a good leader does–she faces the enemy straight on. No hiding or sitting on makeshift thrones like you’re scared to get hurt.

Unable to resist, my eyes dart over to them, wanting to see their reaction. They’ve seen me fight plenty, but this time, it’s personal.

This time, I’m out for blood to make a statement.

Hunter’s mouth twitches as he mutters something to Rylan. He nods, Tai leaning in to join the conversation. Their eyes stay on me while they speak, and I give a little satirical wave, lifting an eyebrow.

“I’m going to kick your ass, Spencer,” the girl snarls.

Glancing back over to her, I shrug. “We’ll see. What’s your name so I can add it to my list?”

“Fuck you.”

“Odd name, but okay.”

She curses at me just as the bell rings, and immediately, goes straight for my face. It's clear she wants to make a statement too. Fists swing at me, and I jump into action, darting and blocking all of them. But I don’t throw a punch back yet. I wait.

Calculate.

Fuck Youtries again, switching tactics and faking a punch before slamming her knee into my ribs. The crowd groans as if they feel the pain of her blow too, but I keep moving.This was all premeditated. You can't get a read on an opponent if you don't take a few hits.

Right. So, that’s her plan. She’s going to go for lower extremities since she knows I’ll block the face. It means she’s going to toss uppercuts, side hooks and knees into the grapple. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

---