Page 103 of Wilde's End
Hudson’s prepared to get his ass kicked in order to save mine.
Which makes it so much harder to hurt him.
But this is Peril.
And Hudson’s going to learn it’s all or nothing.
Where Foley and I fight with weight behind us, Hudson’s got agility on his side. He avoids my hits by narrow margins, and the ones he sends my way are sneaky backhand shots that I don’t see coming. It’s been so long since I fought someone new that it takes me longer than I’m comfortable with to adjust.
The next time Hudson swings at me, I’m ready for him though. His post connects with my palm hard, but I refuse to let go, even as he tries to tug it from my grip. His blond hair has darkened with sweat, cheeks flushed, but there’s a brightness to his eyes that I’ve never seen before.
“Do it,” he goads.
I let go of him roughly, which almost throws him off his platform, and his only option is to jump across onto the next one. The highest one. I box him in, and when we lock eyes, I smile.
“Lesson number one: you’re standing on what we call the suicide platform. The only place you’re going now is down.”
“But you so love it when I go down.” Hudson winks, and then before I catch what he’s doing, he jumps, catches the bar overhead, and swings himself across to a large platform in the middle, out of my trap.
I chase him around the arena, platform to platform, and every blow of mine leaves a shocking red mark in his skin. I know from experience they’ll turn into bruises, and even though I said I wouldn’t hold back, I definitely am.
That can’t last long though.
It feels like we’ve been fighting half the night, but in reality, it’s probably only been a few minutes. Mine and Foley’s record was twenty, and that ruined me for a week.
Both taking and throwing the hits have more impact on your body than you’d think; then add the agility on top of that, and it’s a whole-body workout.
Hudson tries changing course, but I’m already expecting it. He gets his post up too slow as I go in for the killer blow, and as soon as my post collides with his chest, I take the wind from him.
Hudson pitches backward, losing grip on his post as he slips. For one second, he catches the edge of the platform, but it’s not enough.
He drops. Thefoofof the padded floor bursts out, and then the buzzer sounds.
Like that, Hudson’s first Peril match is over.
And I won. Which secured a nice cash bump for the town.
All thanks to him.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN
HUDSON
“I’m going back to your place,” I tell Wilde before we’ve even stepped foot out of the Lair. “I’m sore. Don’t make me go all the way home. No arguments, just this once, okay?”
My whole body is burning up and covered in welts, but damn, that was fucking fun. I don’t think my adrenaline has run so high in … forever. I’m bouncing on my toes, ready to go another round, even as my shoulders are bunched up and tightening uncomfortably with all those hits I made.
I’m going to besoretomorrow.
“I didn’t drive,” he warns, but that sounds like a yes, which I wasn’t expecting.
“I’m okay with walking.”
He takes off into the forest, and I follow him like a good little puppy. My blood is pumping after tonight, and the last thing I want is to go home and sleep. I want to fucking skydive. Or sing karaoke. Or … Or … “Shit, I’m buzzed.”
“Why do you think I always end up in Wayward after a match?”
