Page 126 of Rapunzel Is Losing It

He was free and he didn’t know it.

And those red numbers on the elevator didn’t change fast enough.

I paced the elevator because I had to keep moving, running my hands through my hair, and muttering the next steps to myself. “Out the elevator, to the right. Second door. Out the elevator, to the right. Second door.”

As soon as the little bell rang and the doors slid open, I sprinted out, sharp right turn, second door. And I froze.

People. The arena was filled with hundreds if not thousands of people. I stood at the side exit of block B, with roaring stands to either side of me, dozens upon dozens of rows filled with individual people. It was one thing to hear a crowd, but these were actual… this was a whole arena full of… and it was in Paris and…

“Keep walking.” A hand wrapped around mine and tugged me forward. I looked down at Irina’s burnt skin. “Don’t look at them. Look at me.” I did and once my eyes found hers, the next few steps were a little easier. “I didn’t make it in time. I’m sorry. It’s a maze back there. It’s good that you’re here, because that means we’re going to stop the fight, okay? We’ll tell them it’s a family emergency. Just stay that pale.”

“Irina, I can’t. There’s too many- we’re outside. It’s loud. It’s so loud. And there’s lights. I can’t.”

“Look at me.”

I wanted to, but I couldn’t, because she tugged me a few more feet forward and then there was the octagon. Just like when he kissed me, everything besides Victor fell away. He was all ink and muscle, and he was moving fast to keep up with Silver’s fists.

Victor’s biggest strength in the ring was that he knew he could take a beating. He never flinched. He was never nervous even when it looked like his opponent was leading the scoreboard. He stayed upright through hits that would take other fighters down. He outlasted, and then he struck.

The problem was that Emanuel Silver hit twice if not three times as fast as other fighters. Which meant outlasting him was twice if not three times as dangerous for a man with a ticking time bomb in his skull. And Victor already sported a bleeding cut on his forehead.

“He’s tired,” I mumbled, not sure if Irina heard me over the roar of the crowd. Not sure if it mattered that I could see the slope in his right shoulder being off by half an inch.

“…family emergency. Do you know who this is?” Irina was yelling at some guy with the official UFC logo on his shirt. I hadn’t even noticed that she’d started talking to him. But looking at him, meant looking at the other men in the same uniform behind him, and there were too many, and that meant we were outside, where there were people - and I flicked my eyes back to Victor.

Everything else fell away again, and I watched Victor lead Emanuel in circles through hit after hit. That was good. If he kept their feet moving, Emanuel would tire faster without actually doing damage. Something else was off, beyond the angle of Victor’s shoulder. I narrowed my eyes at the two men, covered in sweat and blood.

“Cordelia, walk!” Irina yanked on my arm and I stumbled forward, being pulled off to one corner of the Octagon. She started yelling at someone else, but I watched Victor keep his arms up to block any hits flying at his head. He was trying to keep himself safe. He was trying to stay alive. Silver was trying to win, one fist after the other.

“He’s not using his legs.”

“Are you listening? It’s the last round. They’re not stopping.”

I blinked at Irina and at the big clock behind her telling me that this would go on another four excruciating minutes. Four minutes in which one bad hit could take Victor out.

“Victor isn’t letting a single hit through, but his lower half is wide open,” I said, “Silver’s not even trying to land a kick.”

“What?” Irina grimaced.

She wasn’t watching and she wasn’t thinking fast enough. I twisted my wrist from her grip and beelined for Victor’s side of the octagon. A cameraman swung around and I barely dodged his equipment. My socks stuck to some spilled drink on the floor. But I kept my eyes on Victor. Because Emanuel Silverwasn’tfighting like he was trying to win. He was fighting like he was trying to stay on his feet.

“Kneecaps!” I started yelling when I was two corners away. “Kneecaps!”

Victor’s body slammed into the corner post. I ducked under the arm of some guy trying to herd me back.

“Victor, the kneecaps!”

Someone’s hand wrapped around my arm, and another memory of being grabbed threatened to well up. I whipped my hair back, and the man behind me spluttered at the blonde whip. Surprised just enough for me to wrestle free and close the last few feet.

“Kneecaps,Montgomery, kneecaps!”

I saw the exact moment he heard me. His right shoulder lifted that half inch. He was back in the fight. One beat later, Victor dropped low, and cross-jabbed Emanuel Silver in the knees. Left, then right, and the whole man collapsed like a Jenga tower.

Victor was on him in a split-second, knees, fists, elbows. Silver tried to twist out, but Victor shoulder-barreled his face into the floor. Emanuel grunted, face turning red, and he gave one last shove before the air spluttered from his lungs.

Three little finger taps and it was over.

The referee pushed Victor back.

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