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“You like that?” I say against his ear, flexing my arm enough for him to feel it but not completely cut off his oxygen. “Ready to tap out?”
“No,” he grunts through clenched teeth.
He presses his palms into the mat, trying to throw me off but I stay on his back like a monkey. He’s always been a strong son of a bitch. But I’m stronger.
“Remy, I’ll choke you out.” I tighten my arm a fraction more.
He launches himself backward, throwing my shoulder into the cage wall. The fence is sturdy but not exactly up to safety standards. It buckles and rattles. I release him from the hold, brace my palms against his shoulders and shove him away from me.
He coughs and sucks in a huge breath, but whips around faster than I expected and fires off a kick to my midsection. I dodge the worst of it but his heel glances off my side and I stumble against the cage again.
I hurry to put distance between us. Regroup. New attack plan.
We circle each other slowly.
Remy runs a lot. He’s got endurance. I won’t tire him out easily. As furious as I am, I don’t want to hurt him more than I have to. But he’s obviously not giving up.
Fuck it. I move in, letting him think he has an easy shot at my face. As soon as he cocks his arm I duck and take him down.
“Fucker,” he breathes out.
I’m an octopus, wrapping my limbs around him. Locking my legs around his hips and my arm around his neck. A python, squeezing my prey.
He freezes for a second, then lets his body go limp.
“I’m not falling for that.” I squeeze him harder. We’re ending this now.
“I. Warned. You. Not. To. Hurt. Her.” He reaches up and behind, knocking his glove against my temple. Not enough to hurt. More like the annoying tap of a cat’s paw.
“I didn’t know…” The protest dies on my tongue. I’m tired of saying it. Tired of defending my actions. I’ve apologized to Molly and she forgave me. But I hurt Remy too and my pride wouldn’t allow me to admit it. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I never wanted any of that.”
He taps my arm three times.
Finally.
I release him so fast, his chin hits the floor. He rolls to his back, panting and staring up at the ceiling. I fall down on the mat an arm’s length away.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
He rolls his head my way. “You’re right. I should have known it was bullshit. I’m sorry too.”
My eyes widen and I flick my gaze to the ceiling. “Holy shit. Did you manage to knock me out after all? Am I hallucinating? The great Remington Holt didn’t just apologize, did he?”
“Christ, you came home a better grappler and a supreme asshole. Fantastic.”
“Hah. You admit I’m better than you. Finally.”
“That’s not what I said.” He groans and rolls to a sitting position, then glances over at me. “But yeah, you’re damn good.”
I sit up and stretch. “Thank you.”
“I hate that you’re doing the Vegas fight.”
“Why?”
He runs his hand over the top of his head and winces, then shakes out his arm. “I’m worried it’s another setup. I don’t trust anything that comes as a result of that damn show.”
He’s not saying anything I haven’t already considered. “It’s not the same company. But yeah, the way they got Underhill to agree to coach me, means they’re probably involved.” I stop and consider the bigger picture. “We both know I have a small window of opportunity, though. Once the second season airs, everyone will lose interest in me. Life will return to normal.”
