Takedown Teague (Caged #1)(2)

He didn’t give me much time.

I kept my left hand up to block whatever blows he sent in my direction, while I jabbed with my right to punch him in the stomach. As he brought up his knee to connect with my kidney again, I wrapped my arm around his leg and held tight but didn’t let him fall. I turned to the side and followed the blow with my foot into his ribs. He fell backwards, recovered, crouched and jumped at me, landing a good blow across my temple.

I was stunned for a moment as lights flashed in the back of my head. I felt his arms wrapping around my chest and shoulders as he shoved me backwards and into the cage, his fist coming up and smacking me in the head again as my shoulder scraped against the chain links. I leaned back into the cage wall and lifted my feet to wrap my legs around his waist.

A fist landed forcefully against my thigh, causing the muscle there to clench, but I didn’t let go. I twisted to the right and then the left and smashed my forehead into his nose. He lost his footing, and we both toppled to the floor as the crowd screamed at us.

I landed on my back, but I kept my legs gripped around his middle. My vision blurred slightly as I twisted again and flipped us over. His feet were up in the air behind me, and as my thigh muscles gripped him tighter, I started raining open handed blows to his head and face.

Without gloves, closed fists hurt my hands almost as much as they hurt his face, but that didn’t stop me from switching to them. I could feel blood on my fingers, but I wasn’t sure if it was from my knuckles or his battered nose. His arms came up to shield him from the pounding, so I leaned back to punch his ribs.

Sweat ran down my back, and I had to work hard to keep breathing steadily through my nose. My ear was ringing a bit from the earlier punch to my temple, but my vision was clear again. My opponent tried to bring his leg up to kick at my back, but my hold was too strong. I kept up the punches with my right hand as my left arm sought his neck.

Once I had my forearm across his throat, the fight was all but over. I felt him struggling under me, but the intensity became muted and shallow. I hit him on the side of the head a couple more times before I felt the tap of his fingers on my bicep.

I released my hold on him, jumped backwards, and spit the mouthpiece out on the floor. I watched as he went nearly limp below me, a trickle of blood staining his cheek and forehead. I stumbled a little as I backed away, and the sting near my temple finally registered with my brain. My head throbbed, but I could still focus okay. I heard the door of the cage open behind me and felt Yolanda’s hand around my wrist, but I shook her off, still dazed.

The screams from those outside the cage filled my ears, and the sound rippled through my skin as I collected my thoughts, realized it was over, and reached up toward the ceiling. I screamed in victory as the fans chanted in unison.

“Takedown! Takedown!”

Yolanda’s hand reached up and grabbed my elbow, since at her height she couldn’t reach my wrist, and she shook at my arm as she cried out to the crowd.

“Takedown Teague—victor again for his twenty-seventh consecutive fight!”

The guy I was fighting rolled over and propped himself up on his hands and knees. Yolanda went to help him to his feet, and he moved over to toss his arm around my neck for what I guess was supposed to be a manly hug.

“One of these days, I’m gonna beat you, Teague. I swear it!” he laughed.

“Have we fought before?” I asked. The guy didn’t even look familiar, but then again, the fights all run together in my head.

He just laughed and shook his head.

“This is the third time you’ve kicked my ass.”

“I must owe you a beer,” I said, and we both grinned at each other.

Turning back toward the crowd, I was bombarded with faces and hands poking through the fence as well as cries of congratulations as I stepped through the cage door. I high-fived a couple dozen people on my way back down the ramp to the make-shift locker room on the lower floor for a moment of peace before I had to go out and meet the public again.

As the door closed behind me, the noise was at least partially cut off, and my head throbbed less as I made my way to the sink. Wincing a bit, I splashed cold water on the cut above my eye. It wasn’t bad and only barely bleeding. There was a place on my back where I hit the cage that was likely worse, but I couldn’t see how bad the cut was. Vanity was my main concern; I hoped it hadn’t f*cked up my tattoo. That shit cost me a lot of money.

I stripped and headed to the single stand-up shower in the locker room. The water wasn’t hot enough to feel very good or relax my muscles, but it was certainly better than nothing. I washed quickly and grabbed one of the little towels folded up on a table next to the wall. They weren’t big enough to be considered actual bath towels, so I just ran one of them over my chest, ass, and crotch before tossing it in the corner. It wouldn’t fit around my waist, so there was no point in even trying to cover myself. Crouching down in front of a group of metal lockers, I started rummaging through my gym bag for clothes.

“Nice...”

Yolanda waltzed in without knocking, as usual, and emitted a low whistle. I glanced at her over my shoulder before going back to the items in my bag. She just kept eyeing me, clearly checking out my junk as I squatted down in front of my locker.

Whatever. I didn’t have anything to hide.

Grabbing a pair of boxers, I stood and slipped them on before turning around and sitting on the little bench against the concrete wall. Yolanda knelt down in front of me and deftly removed the tape from my feet and ankles while I unwound it from my wrists. Once that was done, I grabbed a pair of ripped up jeans and pulled them on.