Page 58 of Player
I grimace. What a liar.
“Go on. Let a fella warm up.”
He goes through a series of awkward Jackie Chan moves followed by wild air-punches and kicks with no height. Amateur MMA, even I know that. A pre-school kid has more skill. The fighters warming up next to us turn away. They sized him up, took notes—pages—of his many weaknesses, then wrote him off.
He makes it so easy for them, doesn’t he?
I speak up, feeling the sudden need to defend him. “I’ve got two hundred dollars on you, baby. So, get in that cage and kick some Irish ass.”
“That I will. That’s a promise.”
The men snicker.
Finn winks.
And I suck in an excited breath, hoping he proves them wrong without getting hurt, while I focus on discovering everything I can about O’Brien.
