Uppercut Princess (The Heights Crew #1)(82)

So have I, though.

I fake him into moving forward. I catch a right hook to the jaw for it, but I also come up on the inside, punching him in the gut and then coming up on the other side of his body, giving him a backfist to the neck. He cranes his neck this way and that, and then we both circle again. Cheers erupt on both sides. Each one calling out words of encouragement for their chosen one.

I fake a punch, wait for his reaction, and then move inside, punching him square in the jaw three times before getting back out again. It’s a bare-knuckle fight and my knuckles split for the pleasure of it, but his lip is split too. He reaches up, wiping a smear of blood over his lips and grins.

I know that feeling. You smile, even though it hurts like hell.

Evan rushes, trying to use his strength against me. I know if this goes to the ground, I’m done for. All he has to do is use his weight to hold me down while raining blows down on my head. I sprawl, my forearms cutting into his shoulders, allowing me time to get out of the way. He wasn’t ready for the force of my stop, so he puts his hand down to steady himself. I take the opportunity to knee him a few times in the face before getting back out of his reach again.

He bounces around, shaking his head like what I just gave him didn’t bother him at all.

“Is it wrong I’m fucking turned on right now?” he asks.

My gaze narrows. Shit like that pisses me off. Don’t demean me in a fight between equals, motherfucker.

He comes at me. I block his punches until he kicks me in the gut, and I stagger back. Even with the adrenaline pumping through me, that fucking hurt.

“Come on, Kyla,” Johnny says from behind me. His voice is low, growly.

He’s rooting for me.

I step forward again, Brawler’s words repeating in my head. Do anything necessary.

Evan kicks me in the gut again. “How’d that feel?”

“Like you’ve got a weak kick.”

His face tightens. He wipes at his lips, which trickle blood from the center. This time when he comes in, I round house him in the stomach. He groans but catches my foot.

Fuck!

He brings his elbow down into my calf, connecting with a crack. I suck in a breath, wrenching my foot from his hold. As soon as I put my foot down, my leg buckles, a fierce pain emanating from the point his elbow connected with my bone. It’s not broken, it just hurts like a bitch.

I flex my toes and absorb the pain as I step back on it again. I need this foot. It’ll hurt way worse after the fight is over when all the energy has died down and I’m not hyped up on the fight itself.

Seeing that I’m injured, Evan goes to kick the same leg, but I block it by bringing my knee up, then faking a kick high to get his guard to rise while I get in another body shot on him.

He starts sucking in air. I wouldn’t be surprised if I broke a rib with that one. At the very least, they’re bruised, and it’s super difficult to breathe with a bruised rib.

“Time to stop playing,” Roza says behind Evan.

I hate to say this, but the girl’s a dumbass. We’re not playing. Unless she really thought he was just going to be able to walk through me, and now she’s worried I’m actually still fighting.

We trade blows, each of us getting some solid punches to the face. I have a goose egg on my forehead like the one I got the first day of school.

Aww, Nevaeh. Back when my problems were easy.

I expect Evan to retreat like we’ve been doing, but he doesn’t this time. He stays inside, using me as his personal punching bag. I block and retaliate, waiting for him to make a mistake. He gets overconfident because of the amount of strikes he’s been able to get in that he leaves his head unprotected. I elbow him across the nose and blood spurts from it. I get in another blow to his forehead, cracking the skin open before he finally wises up and steps back.

Blood drips down his face and into his eyes. He swipes furiously at it, but I use his lack of vision to my advantage. I step forward, blasting him several times in the nose, and then once to the throat, making him choke.

“Fucking bitch!” he roars as soon as he gets his breath back.

He moves in blindly. His arms moving furiously. I sweep his leg, tripping him, but grab onto his arm, so I can use his leverage to spin me to face him so I can continue to hit him. I drop hammer fists onto his face until he’s able to wrangle his arm free and cover up.

Everything goes in underground fighting. And I mean, everything.

When I retreat, I kick his balls, then stomp on his hip.

His hands move to cover his family jewels, and I pounce on him. I use the sharp point of my elbow to do the damage. My focus moves to a pinpoint. I’m on top of him, his arms trapped. As long as I can keep this spot, I’m fine. I don’t let up. I don’t let him squirm his way out of this. He tries to buck, but I return to what I was doing. Elbow after elbow rains down on him. I split the cut he already had on his forehead wide open. Blood splatters everywhere. I know it’s all over me. It’s all over his face. It’s dripping to the ground.

I go and go and go. I don’t let up. I don’t stop. I need this. I let my hate for Big Daddy fill me up and fuel my strength. I yell through clenched teeth, like a caged animal, not caring about anyone else but my own safety.

I don’t stop for a long time until strong arms grip me. It’s then I realize that Evan is limp. As I’m being pulled away, the bloody mess I made comes into focus. Evan isn’t dead. He’s just knocked out cold. The cut on his head is nasty. His short hair is practically coated in red.