Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“Don’t fuckin’ come at me like that again,” Venom warns. He releases Bull, who cradles his arm to his chest and falls flat on his back.
“You still can’t knock me out! Your wussy little hand holds are nothin’!” he screams from the floor. “No one knocks out The Bull!”
I step forward. “Dropping you to the floor wasn’t enough punishment? You’re begging for a KO, too?”
“Fuck off, Stonewall. No one asked you.” Bull kicks out at me, missing my shin by a mile.
The other guys hoot and jump around. The camera guys zoom in on Bull’s pained expression. I shake my head and back away.
“You couldn’t go a little more?” Jordan asks Venom.
Venom snarls. “Would breaking his arm make good television?” He walks off before Jordan comes up with an answer.
Outside the gym, Woolly and I catch up to Venom.
“That was epic.” Woolly thumps Venom on the back. “Been dying to shut that motherfucker up all day.”
“What got into him?” I ask. “Seemed more agitated than usual all morning.”
“Producers probably had a talk with him.” Venom glares at one of the hallway cameras as we pass it.
“They’ll keep pressuring us to get into these petty fights outside of the ring,” Woolly says. “You did good, Venom. Chose the time and place.”
Venom scowls. “I didn’t really choose either one. I wasn’t gonna let him hit me, though. I ended it the quickest way I could think of.”
“You’re going to need to show me that wrist lock.” I bump my elbow into Venom’s arm. “You moved so damn fast, I couldn’t see how you rotated your hand to trap his wrist.”
“It’s a waterfall lock. I wouldn’t try using it in the ring when you’re both moving so fast. You can really hurt someone if you’re not careful. But it can be good in certain situations.”
“Like a bull comin’ at you?” Woolly quips.
“Yeah, like that.”
“Food’s here!” someone shouts, the words echoing through the house.
“I wanna get there before Deadass touches my sushi.” Woolly slaps my shoulder and jogs ahead of us. “I’ll guard your grub!”
Venom stops a few feet from the turn that will lead to the kitchen and dining area. It’s a dead zone where there don’t seem to be any cameras. “Grab our food and meet me out back. Behind the pool house, there’s a table. None of the camera guys are ever out there. Leave your mic inside.”
“That where you go to meditate in the afternoons?” I ask.
“Yeah, so don’t tell anyone about it.”
“Okay.” I glance down the hall. “You want me to bring Woolly?”
He stares in the same direction. “Not yet. You seem like you need to unburden yourself. The fewer people you have observing, the easier it’ll be.”
“Unburden?” I lift my eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”
He flicks his gaze to me and tilts his head.
“Yeah. All right.”
I have to trust someone here eventually.
Twenty minutes later, I slip out of the house, carrying a bag of food. Feeling like a criminal, I walk a wide circle around the pool, hoping to avoid the cameras. I clear a row of low hedges and dip into a garden area with trees and flowering bushes that provide privacy.
Seems like the perfect setup. Make us think we’re safe from the microphones and cameras, then catch us talking strategy.
This place is turning me into a paranoid lunatic.
Venom’s sitting cross-legged in the grass, head tilted toward the sky, eyes closed.
Not sure how the fighter will react to being startled, I clear my throat while I’m still out of striking range.
He slowly opens his eyes and lowers his chin. A faint smile ghosts his face. “Feels good to touch grass after being cooped up all morning.”
“It does.” I wiggle my toes in the thick, cool, green carpet.
He gracefully stands, then plops onto one of the picnic benches. I drop the bags of food on the table and start pulling items out of my bag.
If nothing else, the show feeds us well. We’re able to ask for whatever we want and usually have it by the next mealtime. We still have to prepare it ourselves. No fancy chefs or anything like that. But I’ve been feeding myself since I was eight. Some of the other guys have never seen the inside of a kitchen and it shows.
I hand Venom a round container of salmon, quinoa, and sweet potatoes that he measured and prepared last night. It’s cold but he doesn’t seem to care.
“Thanks.” He rips off the lid and grabs a fork.
I dig into my own container of spinach, chicken, and hard-boiled eggs.
“Kelly makes this for me all the time.” Venom taps his fork against the pink fillet of fish. “She does it much better.”
The mention of his wife brings a stab of unease to my chest. It must show on my face.
“We don’t have long. Tell me what’s going on?” Venom asks.