Mercy (Atlee Pine #4)(104)

“Okay, I’m sure you both know the rules. Knockouts and armbar stops are in my sole judgment. Your level of fighting is up to him. And Carol is already bleeding some, so keep that in mind.”

Both women looked over at Blum to see her pained face and the swelling patch of blood leaching onto her torn sleeve.

Pine stared at her sister. Mercy looked back at her, with not a shred of hope on her features.

“Well,” said Pine. Her voice was garbled because of the mouthpiece. “He was right about this being something I’ve never faced before.”

Spector said, “Okay, step back and then commence fighting on the sound of the horn.”

Pine looked once more at Mercy and shook her head.

“Shit” was all she could think to say.





CHAPTER





71


WHEN THE HORN SOUNDED, they marched forward, and each assumed a defensive stance. Mercy looped a kick; Pine blocked it and then threw an awkward punch.

The scream froze them.

Blum’s gag had been removed. And the man standing next to her had made a large cut on her upper arm, where blood was streaming down.

“Carol!” screamed Pine.

Buckley called out, “I warned you. Now fight!”

Spector stepped between them and whispered. “Do it, ladies, or she’s dead. Just make contact and absorb the punishment. He’s not an expert in MMA. Come on. You can do this.”

Pine gave her a curious look as she stepped back.

Mercy eyed her sister and said, “Let’s give the asshole a show.” Pine launched a right hook at Mercy’s left oblique, and she fell back. As Pine charged forward Mercy pivoted and landed a side kick to Pine’s jaw. Had her sister unleashed her full power, Pine’s jaw would have been broken. It still hurt like hell.

Pine clinched and then pushed her sister off. They landed solid blows with their fists and feet. They kept doing so until the horn sounded and the round ended.

They retreated to separate sides, where a bottle of G2 with a squirt top was hanging from a hook on the fencing next to a white towel. Spector held the bottle to Pine’s mouth and let her suck on it. She wiped Pine’s face, arms, and legs off with the towel.

While she was doing that Spector said in a low voice, “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Pine eyed Spector curiously.

“Just hang in there,” said Spector. “And trust me.”

She went over to Mercy’s side to provide hydration and toweling off and relayed the exact same thing.

Buckley called through the fence. “Well done. Now keep it up. I want more!”

The horn sounded and the second round began.

They met in the middle of the ring and started kicking and slugging. During a clinch Pine mumbled, “So do we trust her?”

Mercy said, “Hell, do we have a choice?”

They heard another scream and both turned to see the man slice into Blum’s arm again. Then they both turned to Buckley, who was now standing at the chain-link fence. “Not a single knockdown yet?”

Pine looked at Mercy, who tapped her chest. A silent communication occurred. It was like they were kids again playing in the backyard in Georgia.

Pine stepped back and then exploded forward with a looping kick that slammed into the left side of Mercy’s head. Mercy staggered backward, impacted the fence, and went down to one knee, her taut belly sucking in and out.

Pine sprang forward, but Mercy had already risen and she drove a fist right into Pine’s gut. She staggered back and dropped to her butt. Mercy was on her, and the two women struggled, each trying to arm-bar the other. Pine finally kicked free and rose with blood streaming down her face.

It was with both pride and envy that Pine had to admit that though their strength levels were about equal, her sister was bigger, more limber, and a better MMA fighter than she was.

The third round went just like the second did. Mercy and Pine pounded away, but Pine could tell Mercy was holding back on her blows and Pine did her best to both do the same, and physically react as if she was getting the shit kicked out of her, which wasn’t all that far from the truth. Both their faces were bloody, their limbs and torsos lumpy with bruises, their breathing ragged, and their bodies, despite the chilly air, dropping copious amounts of sweat.

Standing by the fence, Buckley took all of this in and seemed to be enjoying himself. He even did a bit of shadow boxing, to the amusement of his men, who were hooting and clapping and stamping their feet the whole time.

Before the fourth and final round started, Spector again administered hydration and toweling. As she did so she relayed to each of them the same message.

“Listen for my signal at a minute to go. At the thirty-second mark fight like hell. I’ll need the distraction.”

Then she had stealthily pressed something rubbery into their ears while drying off their heads with the towel.

Both women readied themselves for the final round. Spector glanced subtly at the knapsack she had hung on the chain-link fence, then stepped back with her hands hanging loosely at her hips. She looked behind her once, first at Buckley, at whom she smiled triumphantly, and then at Blum, who sat there, her arm bloody and a horrified expression on her face at what she was watching.

The air horn sounded and the two women went at it with gusto. They had five minutes, maybe, left to live. They landed blow after blow, arm bar after arm bar. Each of them went down twice, but for both it looked far worse than it felt. To their audience, they looked near death. In reality, they had a lot of gas left.