Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 474(@250wpm)___ 395(@300wpm)
You don’t get that from a babysitter. You get that from the street. It’s not something that’s taught. It’s something that’s learned. You figure out how to navigate the world most people never see by keeping quiet and watching, listening, and knowing who is in control of a situation.
“Heya, Crew.” Will smirks while Blondie next to him plants drunken kisses on his neck, letting her tongue trail up his five-clock shadow.
“What’s up?” I pull out a chair and sit. Blondie looks my way, eye-fucking me through her lashes.
“Hey, Crew,” Adam says, feeling me out. “You watching the Pampa-Reyes fight this weekend?”
I shrug. Fighting is my passion . . . or it was. Sometimes I can watch it and enjoy it and sometimes it just tastes too fucking bitter.
“My money’s on Pampa,” Will says, his eyes going wide at something Blondie is doing to him beneath the table. He is a huge fighting fan and always knows what’s going on in the fighting world. Back in the day, Will fought alongside Gage and me a time or two. He wasn’t bad, but he had a mom and dad at home to report back to. That kept him out of a lot of trouble.
“Yeah, I agree,” Dane says. “Pampa’s ground game is strong. If he takes Reyes to the mats, I don’t think he has a chance.”
“Pampa will never get to the mats. Reyes will knock him out first.” I grab a cigarette out of Will’s pack on the table and work it over with my fingers. “Even if he doesn’t, Reyes needs this more. He lost his last two fights in close decisions.”
“Reyes, huh?” Another guy whose name I don’t know appears beside Adam. “They both suck ass. Whoever wins will fight Davidson and that motherfucker is a beast.”
Will and Adam both look at me immediately, waiting for my reaction. “Easy there, Slick,” Dane warns. “You’re ’bout to step in a pile of shit and you don’t even know it.”
“That’s fact as fuck,” Will laughs.
Black, spiky hair and a diamond stud in one ear, Slick grins like he’s just seen two whales fucking. This goofball is why I normally try to avoid the masses—too many motherfuckers runnin’ around with a Hit-Me face that I can’t tolerate.
I probably should’ve stayed home tonight, but I had to find something to occupy my mind. I dreamed about Gage last night. We were sitting on the beach, watching the waves come in, and he told me I needed to get my shit together. I laughed because it was something my brother always said to me. He took a handful of sand and let it run slowly through his fingers. I watched the grains drop onto the pile of shells below.
“Get your shit together, little brother. It’s time you man the fuck up. I’m counting on you.”
I’d woken up in a cold sweat. I didn’t dream about Gage much, not at all, really. But there was something about the way he said it, the clarity of his voice, the intensity of his gaze that left me feeling light in my stomach all day. I couldn’t shake it. I couldn’t get the sound of his voice out of my brain.
I look up at Slick. He grins and tosses an arm around Dane’s shoulder. Dane sidesteps him and watches me nervously.
“Davidson? Is he a fighter?” I twirl the cigarette in my hand before flicking it to the table.
Slick snorts. “Is he a fighter? Are you serious? He’s the baddest motherfucker I’ve seen in a long time. He doesn’t just win fights; he wins by murder. They’re saying he’s unbeatable and I believe it.”
I tilt my head and look up at him, chuckling.
“You’re probably gonna want to shut your suck.” Will smirks.
“My suck?”
“You know, your suck. Your mouth. Your cock sucker.” Will laughs. “Don’t let your mouth buy something your ass can’t pay for.”
“Dude, do you even know who this is?” Adam interjects, shaking his head. “This is Crew Gentry, man. The only man to beat your so-called ‘baddest motherfucker.’”
“No shit? You’re Crew Gentry?” He laughs. “I thought you’d be bigger.”
“Now is the time Slick stops running his suck and buys Crew Gentry a beer.” I smile, a warning buried just under the surface.
His face pales. “Hey! Whatever Gentry’s drinking is on me,” he shouts to Jordyn. He turns back and looks me up and down. “Yeah. I can see it now. You’re still solid as a rock. Man, I still can’t believe you didn’t go Pro—”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, cutting him off. I’ve been over it so many times in my head, not even counting the times I’ve spent reliving it through my trainers, or the doctors, or random guys that think they know something about fighting. I don’t need to hear his gibberish about what went wrong or right or what-the-fuck-ever. It’s obvious this punk knows nothing about fighting besides getting a foot up his ass.