Page 52 of Change
Chapter Ten
Bianca
Punch
“You see that?” Maria placed her hand on my shoulder and pointed to the muscular man holding his face. He fell to the ground an instant later, screaming profanities at the top of his lungs. “Sure, it worked, he’s out. But look at his opponent,” she added, nodding at the still-standing man covered in green paint. His arms were raised in victory, but the grimace on his face told a different story. “He must have broken his hand with that hit.”
I nodded in response to her observation, for, in fact, Ididsee. The closed-shaved blonde with angry eyes was physically the same class as his foe, but had clearly underestimated the necessity of proper form regardless of being evenly matched.
He might have won, but at what cost?
It was fair to say that things were much different here in the underworld street fighting rings than I’d expected. For example, professional boxers knew how to correctly hold their fists when punching, but these street fighters were clearly a different breed.
“You could do it better,” I told her.
“I know!” Maria raised her hands in the air in exasperation. I’d never seen her so passionate about anything except maybe our slumber party andPretty Pretty Princessand…
Well, actually, this seemed to be a normal state for her.
“It just pains me to watch.” She shook her head.
“So, what do we need to do?” I was half-asking, half-talking to myself.
The extent of my knowledge about the moreillegalfighting rings camefrom a bear-shifter comic I’d once read. The underestimated hero provoked fights simply by existing. And, despite his misplaced confidence in his self-taught boxing, he’d always been pummeled during the first half. However, usually an illogical burst of strength—along with an inspirational self-monologue—would give the hero the strength to win the day.
It was quite popular, but I couldn’t imagine why.
“We need to find out who’s in charge.” Maria crossed her arms as she glared around the room. “There’s usually some sort of payment to enter these things, and—”
“Go punch that guy.” I pushed at her shoulder, nodding toward a giant, hulking brunette half-hiding in the other end of the busy room. He didn’t notice that he’d become the subject of our attention and chose that moment to spit his chew onto the floor.
His aim was off—which bode well for us—and the tobacco landed on the shoe of the person standing next to him.
The spit-on person took offense, rounding on the offender. But it seemed our target could, at least, throw a proper punch, and he’d knocked his opponent into the wall within a second.
The saliva-covered man fell to the ground, unconscious.
“He’s perfect,” I told the lioness. He wasn’t a weakling either, which would cause Maria’s popularity to fabulously skyrocket.
She could have the violence and recognition she longed for, while I could stay safely hidden in the background, making our dreams a reality.
My pulse was soaring already, and my stomach fluttered with nerves.
This was so exciting.
“I don’t know.” Maria pursed her lips, giving the man a once over. She didn’t seem to be impressed by his prowess. “It seems too easy. I’m looking for more of a challenge. What about him?” She flippantly motioned toward a banner hanging over the ring as if even that wasn’t enough. On it was a fuzzy picture of a man in a red suit. He had multicolored hair, streaked with variations of purple and orange, and his facial features were covered by a striking black mask. Under the photo, in a zig-zag font that was more childish than impressive, was the alias:Skull Crusher.
I was hesitant to break it to her, especially seeing as the newly formed bonds of our friendship were so new, but…
“He’sokay, I guess.” And he probably could fight too, since he appeared to be the reigning champion and all that. But usually those who had the most respect weren’t the ones who posed in flashy costumes for badly illustrated banners.
We needed someone like our tobacco spitting friend.
As we’d been watching him, he’d already turned down at least three offers to step into the ring. Yet was strong enough to knock a man out with one hit. If Maria wanted to start somewhere meaningful, she had to get him to spar with her. It would show that she was particular about who she fought while showcasing her strength.
“Ignore him for now,” I told her, pulling her attention away from the banner. The room was loud, and growing louder, but she seemed to have no trouble keeping up with the conversation. “Challenge the spitter.”
“The spitter?” Maria raised her eyebrow as she gave me a dubious look. “Is that his name?”
