Pushing the Limit

Dash

Isit on the barstool as Skylar tapes my knuckles. My focus is on Owen, who’s getting his knuckles taped too. He’s shirtless like I am, and has a good twenty or thirty pounds on me. I didn’t realize there was such a size difference. Doesn’t make me nervous. Just puts more pressure on me to win, especially when Peppermint is the prize.

“I want to wish you luck,” Skylar says. “But I also want to tell you, you’re a damn idiot. Peppermint is a good woman. Scratch that, she’s a great woman. And you may not think so, but you deserve that. Every Bastard does.”

“She told you about us?”

“Yes, and about how you ended things. Ghosted her. Really?”

“I don’t need a lecture.”

“I’ll give you the same advice I gave Hunter about Allie. Pull your head out of your ass,” she says, and I laugh. “And beat the shit out of Owen. I don’t like that arrogant jerk.”

I give her a nod, and she pats my back as I head to the fighting area. Owen is already waiting, waving his arms in front of him as a way to stretch. Lina hands him a mouthguard, then brings me one. They hired a professional referee to ensure no one cheats. The rules are clear. No shots to the junk, no kicks to the head. This isn’t MMA, though. This is street brawling — the only way we know how to throw down.

“Keep it clean,” the ref warns right before the bell sounds.

Owen is quick to the punch, landing a right hook. Pain explodes through my jaw, and I stumble, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. I remind myself what’s on the line here. Peppermint. The woman I love.

Jesus. It’s true. I do love her. She accepts me for who I am, even if she thinks I’m too young for her. She is rock fucking solid, having my back no matter what. And she’s everything I want.

With that acknowledgment, I fire back, landing two back-to-back punches. We exchange blow for blow, neither of us wanting to give in — neither of us wanting to give her up.

Blood pours from my nose and mouth. Owen has a nasty gash above his eye that’s starting to swell. My knuckles ache despite the tape, and I’m pretty certain I have a cracked rib. But I’m not giving up. This asshole will have to kill me.

I close my eyes for a split second, and he’s on me. His arms go around my neck in a fucking chokehold. I struggle to breathe, blinking back the darkness. I claw at his arm to no avail. The thought of defeat makes me sick to my stomach, but there’s nothing I can do. My eyes drift shut even as I ram my elbow back into his gut, trying to put a stop to this — trying to finish this fight as the winner.

He lowers me to the floor as I start to lose consciousness. I can’t get my limbs to work. Can’t force myself to throw any more punches. The distant sound of the bell rings, signifying the end of the fight.

I lost.