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fight was about to start. Two stocky guys, one in a white kimono, one in blue, faced off across a mat in
the center of the gym, waiting for the ref to give the signal.
And Danny thought that could be him someday? All because of one fluke practice fight? He
didn t know whether to laugh or start shaking.
He knocked back the rest of his Coke, his bare foot tapping the floor. Might as well keep busy.
Anything to keep his stomach from seizing up. I ll go hand these out, he said, reaching for a pile of
pamphlets.
Danny shook his head. S okay. Sit tight. Your bout s coming up in another hour.
Oh, great.
Now he started shaking.
* * *
The kid sat straight up when the announcer called the beginner s flyweight fight. Danny clapped a
hand on his shoulder. Jesus, it felt like a hunk of solid rock. Relax. You re not marching off to meet a
firing squad.
Tom s gaze darted around the room, finally lighting on the camera crew. They were interviewing
one of the welterweight fighters at the opposite end of the gym.
Ignore em. You ve got a fight to win. He gave the kid a push. Go.
It wasn t far away, just three mats down from the table. Danny would ve been able to see easily,
if not for all the people milling around. He caught sight of Rick and beckoned him over to watch the
table for a few minutes.
There were some empty seats about halfway up the bleachers on the north side of the gym, far
enough away that Tom probably wouldn t spot him. Danny sat down in time to see the ref give Tom
and his opponent the usual I want a clean fight speech, and . . . oh, holy Christ. The other kid
couldn t have been more than sixteen. Rail-thin just like Tom six months ago, with pizza-face acne
and a shock of curly red hair. He looked like a Q-tip in a kimono.
Then the ref called Fight! and Tom mowed the redhead down like a fucking freight train,
pinning him to the mat in seconds. Danny couldn t see Tom s eyes, but he didn t have to. He d
witnessed that angry, determined glow in them every time Tom showed up for a training session.
The redhead flailed around on the mat, kicking and writhing, for all the good it did. Tom already
had his forearm wedged against his throat. The crowd gasped as the redhead s eyes rolled back in his
head, then the ref stepped in, ending the fight. Tom rolled to his feet, and the ref lifted his arm in
victory. The audience exploded in applause.
His first official fight, and he won by submission in less than two fucking minutes. That look still
burned in his eyes, but something about it seemed different. Hungrier, more desperate. Like something
had taken the kid over.
Pure killer instinct.
Chapter Ten
Tom yawned and blinked hard as he came through the diner s back door, groaning when he saw
the state of the kitchen. The place looked like a fucking bomb exploded, dirty pans and dishes stacked
in the sink and spilling onto the counters. That s what he got for dragging his ass in late on Monday
after taking the whole weekend off.
He grabbed his apron, pulled on his rubber gloves and got to work. The steam rising from a sink
full of hot, soapy water didn t do much to revive him, though. After a long day at the competition and
an even longer Sunday training with Danny and Travis, he was ready to keel over. He d stumbled
home from the gym last night and went straight to bed. Gloria woke him up at the usual time, then
took one look at him and told him to go back to sleep.
Well, what did he expect after the righteous even cheerful ass kicking Travis had given him
yesterday? Payback, no doubt, for their practice fight on Saturday. Danny watched them spar, a smirk
tugging at his lips. Don t get cocky, kid, he said, giving Tom a hand up after Travis made him tap
the mat for the fifth time in a row. A couple wins don t make you the world champ.
Lesson fucking learned.
He d just finished drying a stack of plates when the double doors swung open, and in walked
Eddie. He glanced around, hands on his hips, as if he d forgotten what he came in back for.
Somebody up front wants to see you, he said.
Tom swung around, fingers digging into the towel in his hand. Who?
A lady. Nice-looking one, too. Don t know why she s wearing a coat in the middle of August,
though.
Oh, fuck, no. Not here. Not now.
Tell her to go away. Tell her I m not here.
But Eddie crossed the room before Tom could get the words out. C mon, he said. She drove
all the way down here. The least you can do is talk to her.
No choice, then, unless he wanted to make a break for it. But when his gaze flicked to the back
door, Eddie shot him a look that said don t even try it.
With Eddie trailing him, Tom headed for the double doors, gut churning with every step. No idea
what he d find on the other side, but at least he didn t hear her crying. Please, God, no tears, or he d
never be able to hold it together.
The diner was about half-full, with Gloria flitting around taking orders and refilling coffee. His
mother sat at the corner booth, hands wrapped around a mug. Morning sun fell across the table,
glinting off the big-ass diamond in her wedding ring. She had her sunglasses on, and that ugly khaki
raincoat Tom had always hated. It wasn t until he walked up to the table that he saw how it hung on
her. She d always been on the slender side, but he could ve sworn she d dropped at least ten pounds
since he saw her last.
But none of that mattered when she sprang up and threw her arms around him. Oh, it s so good
to see you, Tommy. I was afraid . . .
Her arms felt like matchsticks. He loosened his grip but still held her close, inhaling her sweet,
flowery perfume. One of the few things that didn t make him cringe when he remembered home.
Afraid of what? he whispered.
Nothing. She flashed a shaky, red-lipsticked smile and looked him up and down. You ve put
on weight. It looks good on you.
Yeah, well . . . He shrugged. I ve been on a training diet.
Sit down and tell me what you ve been doing.
He thought about getting himself some coffee first, but no, better not. His stomach was queasy
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