Page 145 of Ruin

A second later, Zeus pushes back up onto his knees. The referee stands. And then Zeus jumps up to his feet.

And I breathe again.

The referee moves to the center of the ring. Zeus and Dimitrov are about to go in again, but the bell rings.

Zeus turns back to his corner, and there’s blood running down his cheek.

No.

“He’s hurt,” I say to Ares.

“It’s just a cut. He’ll be fine.”

“Has this happened before?” I ask.

In Zeus’s fights that I watched when we were younger, no one could get close enough to hit him hard enough to cut him. He’s had his nose broken. But I’ve never seen his skin split from a hit—except for that time in the club, and that guy used a bottle.

Ares’s eyes meet mine. If he’s trying to hide his concern, he’s doing a piss-poor job of it because I can see it loud and clear.

“He broke his nose in the Scott fight, but they went eleven rounds.”

We’re only six in, and he’s bleeding already.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My eyes flash back to Zeus, who’s on the stool in his corner, his eye being tended to. Vaseline is being rubbed around the wound to curb the bleeding. A member of his team squirts water into his mouth.

The bell goes.

Round seven.

Zeus goes in, blazing.

Hitting Dimitrov with a body shot from his left. A punch to the head with his right. Another. And another.

He pounds into Dimitrov, forcing him back onto the ropes.

“Yes! Hit him, baby! Hit him!”

Dimitrov wraps his arms around Zeus’s neck. The referee forces them apart.

But Zeus is straight back in, pounding into Dimitrov. Body. Face. Blow after blow.

Dimitrov stumbles back.

Zeus swings hard, connecting with his head.

The punch so audible, it seems to echo around the stadium.

Dimitrov goes down.

Zeus goes for him again, but the referee stops him, blocking him off.

Dimitrov tries to get up but can’t.

The referee moves over him. His arm comes up, ending the fight.

“Yeeesss!” I scream.