And the Sweet (Addiction Series Book 2) (15 page)

I get it. I get it all now.

But I won’t let her go. I can’t. And not because of my obsession. Or my lust.

I can’t let go because I
love
her. I legitimately
love
her and I’ve been without her before.

I
never
want to experience that again.

“You ready?”

I’m pulled from my thoughts as Cecelia comes to stand in front of me, freshly showered in cut-off shorts and a button-up blouse.

“Hey? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “Sorry, was just thinking about some things.”

“Is this about… is this about what we talked about?”

“No. Promise.” It’s a lie and I know she knows that. But I don’t want to rehash our conversation. Not only will it mean making her uncomfortable again, but it also means my head won’t be fully in the night. I have no desire to have her fidgety on me, especially tonight. And I really don’t need those thoughts crowding my head making me lose sight of the goal I have to accomplish. So I have to lie. For both our sake’s. “Just thinking about tonight is all.”

“Oh. Okay.” She sways back on her feet, unsure what to do.

So I end her torment as I stand and take her hand in mine, leading her toward the door. “Let’s go get this night over with.”

SIXTEEN

The crowd gathered is the largest I’ve ever seen it. To be honest, it seems like guys and groupies from other districts are here to watch. I don’t know how word got around or even why, but I can tell this is a big deal to these people.

“Holy shit,” Cecelia whispers against my side. I nod but don’t comment.

A look on his face of disbelief, Stretch jogs slowly up to us, his leg slowing him down a bit. “Can you believe this shit?”

“What’s going on?”

“Not sure. Somehow people heard about the challenges. I mean, you lose one it’s supposed to be over right?” I shrug but don’t reply. And it doesn’t seem like I need to as Stretch continues. “But no one here believes you’ll lose. From the numbers I’m getting from the other heads, damn near everyone is placing money on you for the win.”

“What’s the payout?” Celia asks, her brown eyes wide as she sees money being handed over in small groups.

“Shit. That’s the thing.” Stretch pulls out a notepad full of numbers. “It’s like fifty right now. And that’s not even final count.”

“Holy shit,” Celia says again. And once again I nod but don’t comment.

“We had to start writing out the bets to keep track of them all.” As Stretch says this, a funny smile crosses his face. “And it was pissing the three jackasses off,” he laughs. “They were bitching about how you probably tried turning everyone against them even though we’re all pretty sure they’re the ones who spread the word about tonight.”

“Fucking morons.”

“Anyhow. I came over to tell you that because of the three challenges thrown down, and the expectation for you to fight them all, there won’t be a final fight nor a Saturday showdown. Each district has agreed it wouldn’t be worth it especially since they’re all here anyhow.” Stretch looks back toward where the make-shift ring is set up. The whole thing is damn near surrounded by people waiting to watch me fight. “And to keep that newbie douche quiet, we drew names. He goes first. Then Brutal with Fife finishing out the night.”

“I’m sure he loves that,” I tell him with a chuckle. “He’ll think I’ll be too tired to take him. Course that just means if he were to win, he’s beating a worn-down opponent.”

“Nothing he does can make him not look like pussy. Fuck him.” Celia squeezes my hand and I nod at her. “You got this. No matter what. You got this.”

Her faith in me brings back my guilt. Even with everything that went on, Cecelia Santos never gave up on me. I resolve that no matter what, I will not let her down. Not just tonight, but forever. “I love you. Tonight is for you.”

I walk away from her wishing I didn’t have to. But also wishing Marshall could be here to keep tabs on her. I don’t trust anyone here and while I know she can handle herself, I don’t trust
anyone
here.

As Stretch shouts out what’s expected for the night, explaining the challenges, explaining how the night will go and what to expect should I win or lose – apparently it was decided if I were to lose, the challengers still want a shot – I keep my eyes on Celia. She’s ventured closer to the group, but is staying on the fray. She’s standing tall, her eyes on mine, not allowing anyone to penetrate whatever wall she’s chosen to build for tonight. I see her mouth
I love you, too
back to me and feel a sense of calm wash over me.

She’s right; I got this.

James is first to go. He talks shit but still doesn’t know how to back it up without being a punk. I yank my shirt over my head and as I’m tossing it to Cecelia, he tries to take a swipe at me. I hear the crowd jeer him for the action, especially since he got close to striking. Fortunately I was able to duck away just in time.

“Gonna be pretty fucking embarrassing for you to lose in front of all these people,” James growls as he tries for another strike. Once again he misses.

“You think I’ll lose?” I taunt.

“I know you will.” He aims for my jaw but I lean back just out of reach. “And then these ass-kissers will realize how much of a bitch you are.”

Once more boos ring out at James. He doesn’t get it. He’s pissing off the wrong people, especially since any one of these guys could be a potential opponent. That is, if he ever fucking wins a match.

“You’re a funny guy,” I tell him and land a hit to his side. He curls in on himself for a moment, cursing the hit. I don’t allow him to get his bearings though. He wants to act like he’s a big shot, he’ll get beat like one.

I continue my assault. My fists hit his cheeks, near his eyes. They slam against his jaw and his nose. And I double my hits against his torso. He’s not talking now. He can’t. And in twenty minutes, he’s completely silent, resting on his knees being counted out.

I have a split lip and a sore shoulder from the couple hits he managed to sneak by. But I’m otherwise unscathed. As James is helped up by a couple of dog district guys, I hear one of them ask him, who the bitch is now. I can’t help my laugh.

“They really don’t know when to shut up, do they?” Stretch asks standing next to me again. “I mean all that energy spent talking.”

“Eh, fuck ‘em.” I take the bottle of water Celia has brought with her and take a big swig. Not too much so I don’t get a cramp, but enough to cool down. As I swallow, I feel eyes on me. Putting the lid back on the bottle I connect gazes with Brutal. He’s next. He’s angry.

He’s fucking ridiculous, is what he is.

“He’s bitter. You have what he wants.”

I look down at Cecelia and frown, not expecting her commentary on the matter.

“Not me. Not really,” she shakes her head for clarification. “He’s bitter because you win. He thinks you act entitled. That you think you’re better than everyone. After everything went down with…well, you were supposed to fall from grace. You weren’t supposed to make it back to this point. I was supposed to hate you. You were supposed to hate me.”

“He has Penny. He has a family.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she tells me. “He wants glory. You won’t let him have it.”

“How do you know all of this?” I cock my head to the side, studying her.

“Because I can see it. He doesn’t have to say a word. It’s written all over his face. He’s nothing but bitterness.”

It’s with that thought I part from Celia and head to the ring to take on Brutal.

I look upon him with new eyes, see him for what he is. Bitter. Jealous.

He’s got a family, kids, and a woman who sticks by him even though she probably shouldn’t. Still, he has these things and where most people would be good with it, complete with it, I can see what Cecelia is saying. He works a boring-ass job, has, according to him, a boring-ass family, and needs something to make himself more important. Fighting is how he does it. Too bad he’s such a bitch that he doesn’t realize the mistake he’s making.

This victory over him will be sweet for me.

Brutal bounces on his toes until Stretch counts us off. Then he charges. He charges and runs right past me. I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing or why. Brutal has never been a bad fighter. Misguided, yes, but not bad. For whatever reason, either he’s hyped himself up in his head too much, or he’s too jittery too focus, he’s not fighting how he usually does. Even the night two weeks ago when I took him down easy.

But right now, he’s acting just like my first opponent all those years ago, Toad something or other.

He tries swinging, tries getting a hit in, but he’s sloppy. I get a punch to his back and as he turns around swinging, I’m able to get a good shot in against his nose. It hasn’t healed from our last match and I hear it crunch again.

“Fuck!” Brutal yells out and tries to cover his face. He’s got one hand over his nose and the other out to ward off any punches I might try to land.

“What’s the matter, Brutal? Thought you were gonna take me down?” I know I shouldn’t taunt. It’s not my style. But he seriously thought he would defeat me. “What happened?”

“Fuck you, Delane,” he spits at me. Blood lands near my shoes and I shake my head, glad I’ve traded in nicer shoes, like my old Jordan’s for the less costly stuff now.

“Fuck me? Really? You’re the one who told me I was going down tonight.”

He comes at me again. But either I hit just right to knock his vision loose, or the hit to his nose has taken his balance, because he bypasses me completely. And with a fall to his knees, I hear the jeers begin again. It’s embarrassing, what Brutal is trying to do here.

“Count him out!”

“Give it up, man.”

“Tap out, already.”

People from the crowd start shouting at Brutal, and I know it’s only pissing him off further. He’ll look at this moment as a bash against him personally, even though he set up this match. Wanted it because of some ridiculous sense of offence.

Taking another swing as he rounds around toward me, I catch him just right, holding his arm, knowing he won’t pull the other from his face. “Give it up, man. It’s not worth it.”

“Fuck off!” His leg comes up to kick at me but I jump back just in time.

“You’re making a fool of yourself.”

“You think you’re shit don’t stink. You ain’t nothing.”

Shaking my head, I dodge another swing and once more grab his arm. I twist it up behind his back, knowing I could probably snap it if I put enough pressure, though I have no intention of doing so. “Give it up.”

His arm still bent back, he falls to his knees and starts coughing. I’ve no doubt the blood is pouring down his throat. “Give it up, Brutal.” He coughs some more and then I hear Stretch call out the count. Everyone knows Brutal won’t give up. But he’s down. Rules are rules. He’s down on the ground, and can be counted out.

And since I’m not letting him go, there’s no way for him to get back up.

“Four. Three. Two. One.” The final number rings out in the silence of the night. The flickering streetlamps are even quiet. The only noise comes from Brutal and his attempt to breathe.

Carefully, I release his arm and take a step back. I watch him and wait for what he’s going to do. The match is over but it appears he’s lost his sanity a bit. There’s no telling what he’s willing to do.

After a moment, he staggers to his feet. I see him look around at the crowd. I see him take in the scene set before him. The realization of what just happened seems to hit him and he sways on his feet. He’s lost. But not just the fight. He’s just lost his respect. He set down a challenge he was never fit to give. And more than that, he showed how his ego was bigger than his strength.

Staggering away, pushing off those attempting to help him, Brutal disappears into the night. I can’t help but wonder if he’ll be back to try once more to beat me or if he’ll finally wise-up. Knowing Brutal though, it really could go either way. Guess it will just depend on how bruised his ego is from tonight.

“Alright, fuckers. Fife is up next. You got five.”

Stretch claps me on my back before walking away to chat with some of the other fighters.

“He was so foolish.” Celia gazes up at me with a look of disbelief on her beautiful face. “It’s like everything I said. What he has is so important and what does he do? Throws it away and all for nothing. Penny loves him. As shocking as that is. And he just…doesn’t seem to care.”

I nod because she’s right. I don’t understand Brutal’s mindset. The only thing I can come up with is pride. More than pride. Fife threw down a challenge. Brutal had to follow suit. In the end, it didn’t even matter.

Time passes quickly and before I know it, Stretch is telling me my fight with Fife has come. I shake my muscles out, trying to loosen them up though I don’t feel tight or tired. Considering the night I’ve had, mentally I should be exhausted. But I’m alert. I’m ready.

Fife has been silent through the first two matches. I’m sure he’s been trying to figure me out, a way to beat me. But I work best under pressure. And three fights back to back to back, that should make me weak. It should make me easier to beat. But again, I’m ready.

“Alight. Last fight of the night,” Stretch begins his ramble. I ignore him and instead concentrate on the death-glare Fife is giving me. I want to laugh because he is staring at me like I’m some piece of pussy that turned him down. He’s staring at me like I’ve dishonored him somehow. “No cheap shots. No bullshit. I will call this fight if anyone gets out of hand.”

I smirk at that. He’s definitely talking to Fife and the gathered crowd seems to agree.

“Alright, let’s fight.”

My final fight of the night feels like it’s in slow motion. Fife has remained quiet, watching me, seemingly trying to unnerve me. To be honest, I appreciate not having to listen to him talk about Cecelia or me. I’ve appreciated not having to tune him out.

As the fight commences, so does his mouth.

“You had it easy. Those two were nothing.”

“And you think fighting a guy with two fights under his belt for the night when you’ve had none makes
you
the dominant one somehow? That any win you get means you
earned
it?” I laugh at him, I can’t help it. “Keep dreaming.”

Before he can speak again, I take a swing and connect with his cheek. Then I follow it up with a strike to his side. Fife turns and manages to catch me against my right shoulder. It stings my arm a bit, making it feel like I’ve hit my funny bone. But I shake it off. Using my left, I lay another hit against his body, this time, catching his chest. It seems to knock the wind out of him a bit, but it stings my hand hitting on his sternum. We’ve always done this bare-knuckle, which leaves us wide open for injuries, split skin being the least of our worries. Good thing the feeling in my right has come back. I block a few more punches and get one more against his jaw.