*FREE WITH PAID BONUS CHAPTER*After being dumped by her boyfriend, Elodie Shepherd resigns herself to loving her older brother's best friend from afar, just like she always has, even though he only sees her as his best friend's immature kid sister.
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My vision blurred as salty sweat burned into my eyes.
Muscles practically screaming at me to stop, my arms continued their memorized motions: uppercut, jab, side swipe, leg sweep, fake out, and then finally a knockout worthy punch delivered to the man in front of me with such force that it sent him keening over in pain.
A long string of bloody drool hung down his chin as he stared with jagged rage consuming his features. He'd try to go for a quick takedown, would try to tackle me and pin me beneath him for a humiliating defeat, but I was smaller and much quicker than him.
He had brute force and stamina, but I knew how to make every single hit count.
He stood once more and the energy in the crowd surrounding us reached a fever pitch, some of the onlookers pushing in tighter and closer until I couldn't breathe without inhaling the scent of a clove cigarette clogging up my nostrils or the scent of cheap body spray permeating my lungs.
The energy buzzed in my veins and, while I was vaguely aware of some of the watchers in the crowd filming the ordeal, I blocked it all out, not caring that my newfound 'famous' status would land me on the social media sites, not caring that Eli would likely see this, and so would Matthew--
My opponent landed a cracking blow against my jaw, and for a moment, my vision clouded over so precisely that I didn't notice the swinging kick to my stomach before I was already doubled over on the ground, coughing and wheezing and barely able to breathe.
The man circled me from above like he was relishing in the roaring applause of the crowd, amping up the energy and using his arms to get them to keep cheering.
He stalked closer to me while I caught my breath, suffocating from the pain and reveling in the blossom of a bruise on my cheek.
He didn't expect me to reach out and grab his ankle while he was milking the attention and staring at a woman up front with an extremely low cut top.
He went down like Goliath, and I was David as I stood atop him and pummeled his face down into the ground.
Once, twice, three times and blood sprayed the stained concrete beneath us, the cold seeping into my knees from where I sat straddled atop him.
My knuckles split open on the fourth hit, right as he tapped out and declared me the winner of the match.
My head was spinning and I was pretty sure I had a cut on my cheek and some sore ribs, but it had been a victory...so why didn't I feel any better than I had before fighting two people?
Where was that rush of adrenaline that accompanied me like an old friend whispering sweet nothings into my ear as I obliterated the negative voice in my head with each fight?
Where was the hit of happiness following a victory that I chased like an addict, ignoring friends and family and coming here completely alone and isolated?
