Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 151765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Once the guys grabbed their food, we headed off.
Cohen led the way to a section elevated above the others. We climbed up.
It was weird, I thought as I looked around.
Girls were walking around, wearing Scout’s name on their shirts. Some had his name spelled out on their faces or cleavage. A lot of guys were drinking, all talking, laughing loud, and pointing to the ring, which was smack dab in the middle of the entire warehouse. The place just kept getting fuller and fuller, which made me thankful to be standing where we were. A few people tried climbing up, but Trenton and Clint weren’t letting them. A few shared words with them, but knowing Clint liked to get into trouble and Trenton had a little bit of a crazy switch in his head, I figured neither boy cared. They were welcoming it. There was one situation that I thought would come to blows, until another guy pushed in, tapped one of the men on the shoulders, and said something to them. Whatever he said worked wonders because the other guy shared with his buddies, and then he yelled up, “You’re Raiden’s friends?”
Clint smirked. “My brother’s his best friend.”
That settled them and they moved along.
When the announcer climbed into the arena and grabbed a microphone, Clint got close. “You okay with this?”
I glanced at him, then did a double take because there was serious concern there. “Are you okay?”
“It’s—” His mouth got tight, and his shoulders hunched forward. “I didn’t think. We didn’t think. It’s violent . . .”
I shook my head, touching his arm. “I’m good. I promise.”
“We just didn’t think, then I realized maybe this isn’t a situation you want to be in.”
“It’s fine.”
When the announcer finished announcing and a guy got into the ring, I stopped thinking altogether.
This guy was huge. I knew they did the same weight classes, but no way was he the same weight as Scout. Fear trickled through me, but that shifted quickly to something else. Something way more distracting because Scout had gotten into the ring too.
He wasn’t wearing anything but shorts, and oh my God, the tats. The tattoos. They were everywhere on him. Not in a bad way, but in a very-hot and so-not-legal hot way. The crowd was going nuts, but I was dumbstruck.
On both arms, there were tattoos of wings, and as he turned and lifted his arms, they were wings. The detail was incredible, even from where I was standing, I could see it, and down the middle of his back was an eagle. When his arms were up, the wings were stretched out, intertwining with his tribal tattoo on his one arm. When they were down, it looked like a normal tattoo of an eagle. He had other tattoos on him. They were perfect.
My heart was pounding.
Good gracious, this attraction to him was going to kill me. Maybe literally. It was annoying, and distracting, and I wanted it to go away. Seeing him like this was like lust had been injected with three shots of adrenaline.
His eyes were dark, stormy. His face was fierce. The other guy was jeering at him, trying to get a reaction, but not Scout. He wasn’t there to put on a show. He was the show, and everyone knew it. The crowd’s volume was incredible when they said Scout’s name, and then—they rang the bell.
The match was on.
I totally understood why people thought violence was hot. Because it was. If it was controlled. If it was a spectator sport. If the guys looked like Scout and his giant opponent as they swung on each other. Jabbing. Dodging. Kicking.
The guy tried to kick at Scout’s head, but he took the opening to tackle him. It was a takedown, his arms and legs wrapped around the guy, and the other guy was trying to twist free. He was struggling, struggling, until a whistle sounded.
I didn’t know what happened, but they were going again. This time, the guy came straight at Scout. He was pissed and sloppy. Even I could tell.
Scout capitalized, ducking and then bam! He gave him an uppercut, then another, and another. He had the guy against the ring’s cage and was pummeling him.
Scout knew how to move. He did it effortlessly. With perfect precision. He darted when he needed, danced back when it worked, and then moved in for the kill ruthlessly. He did it over and over again, and the crowd was loving it. They were eating it up.
They wanted more.
He was going to win. That was obvious from the first big move, and the opponent’s giant size no longer worried me.
My pulse was racing. I was breathing fast.
I lost time because I was locked in on watching Scout.
They went three rounds before Scout delivered a hit that the guy didn’t get up from. He was declared the winner, and everyone went nuts.