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He reaches up, wrapping his hands around the back of my neck. He breaks my posture down, pulling my head flush against his chest. I smell the petroleum jelly. I feel the frantic, rapid beat of his heart thudding against my cheek.

“Is that all you got?” Micah pants. His breath burns hot against my ear.

“I am just getting started.” I grind my forearm into his throat, pressing my weight down to restrict his breathing.

He smiles around his mouthpiece. It’s a terrifying, glorious expression.

We speak a language nobody else in this building comprehends. We promised to give each other our best. We strip away the lies of our public lives and communicate the only way we know how.

He sweeps my leg. He rolls his hips with explosive power, using my leverage to reverse the position.

The world flips upside down.

My back hits the canvas. Micah postures up, raising his right elbow high above his head.

I brace for the impact, a fierce joy blooming in my chest.

Bring the violence.

Bring the truth.

26

MICAH

Idrive the elbow down. Zane catches it on his forearm and turns onto his side before I can throw another. I follow his hips, trying to keep the top position I just stole from him.

He traps my wrist, gets a knee between us, and shoves me back into his guard. I post a hand on the canvas to keep from falling forward.

The ten-second clapper sounds. I land a short punch to his ribs. He ties up my arms until the horn.

The horn blares, echoing off the stadium walls.

The referee waves us apart.

We retreat to our corners.

My chest heaves. I drop onto the metal stool.

Victor shoves an ice pack against my swelling cheek. The biting cold shocks my system back to reality. He drags a rough towel across my forehead, wiping away the pooling sweat.

“He leans heavy on the right,” Victor orders, his voice cutting through the ringing in my ears. “He leaves himself wide open when he throws it. You see the window?”

I spit a mouthful of bloody saliva into the plastic bucket at my feet. “I see it.”

“Then use it.” Victor grabs the sides of my face. His dark eyes demand focus. “Bite down. Make him pay for the real estate. Don’t let him dictate the pace.”

Eli stands over my shoulder, pressing a cold sponge to the back of my neck. He doesn’t yell. He leans in close.

“He is faster than the tape showed,” Eli murmurs. “Keep changing levels. Make him guess before you come in.”

I nod. My lungs burn for oxygen. I stare across the cage.

Zane sits on his stool. Dan stands in front of him, waving his arms and shouting instructions. Zane ignores his coach. His gaze drills straight through the chaos, locking directly onto me. The golden rings in his irises burn with a fierce, unapologetic heat.

The horn signals round two.

We meet in the center. The initial adrenaline wears off, leaving a heavy ache in my limbs. Zane circles left. His golden skin gleams under the intense spotlights.