It's crazy how you can spend such a huge amount of time preparing for something important but when the moment finally arrives, you feel anything but ready. You question if you could have done more or prepared better. You wonder if you should have put all your time and energy towards it because what if you do a shit job and it was all a waste? What if you're in over your head and it isn't meant for you?

These are the exact thoughts eating away at me as I wind the wraps around my hands and carefully eye my opponent from across the ring.

Kevin Wong—first time pro, like me, but a beast in the ring. I've seen his previous matches and studied his plays obsessively. He's going to be a tough motherfucker to beat. He's more on the lightweight side than heavy and that makes him an agile fighter. He's fast as hell on his feet and that makes up for where he lacks in strength. I might pack more force behind a punch than him but the problem will be landing one on him at all.

"How you feelin'?" Coach asks and kneels in front of me. I shift uncomfortably in my chair.

"Honestly?" I wait for his nod. "I think I might shit my pants."

He barks out a laugh at that and claps my knee. "Then you're ready."

"Now you're just saying shit."

"If you felt ready and like you've done this a million times before, I would personally go to Wong right now and tell him he won the match. The worst way to compromise your fighting is to be in over your head. Staying humble about your capabilities in the ring is the ultimate weapon. Know why?"

I shake my head, hanging on to every last word.

"Because fighting is a mental sport. You can use your fists all you want but if you're throwing blind punches for the hell of it, then that's no different from a fucking middle school scrap. Boxing is about strategy. Your mind should lead you—never your body. Whatever your body carries out cannot be done if your mind isn't control. Same way a car can sit in a garage looking like a damn beauty but it's essentially useless until a driver gets it going. You can't use your head to its full extent if you're too busy patting yourself on the back and boasting. The more humble you remain, the more clear your head will be when you fight. So yeah, shit your pants all you want. You're ready, kid."

"You think so?" I swallow the boulder in my throat. "I've never seen Jaxon or Cameron get like this before a match."

"Are you kidding me?" He raises his brows. "Jaxon almost threw up the first time he got into a ring and Cameron was so nervous about his first pro match he was doing vocal exercises in the break room."

"Why?" I ask quizzically.

"Said something about needing a good throat to scream for mercy."

I snort into my fist. That's definitely something Cam would say.

"But I still feel different from them. I don't know...they just seemed so sure."

"That's because they were both passionate about boxing in a way that they weren't about anything else. You're a man of many passions, Hunter and you've chased them all. This is the first time you're chasing this particular passion so yeah, you're bound to doubt yourself."

I nod. That makes a lot of sense. "Thanks, Coach. Sorry for being such a pussy."

"As long as you're a pussy that's going to win this match." He levels me with his infamous stare that could makes grown man cry. "Keep your shit together and remember everything that I've taught you. We didn't waste countless hours on training for you to get cold feet. You get in that ring and you prove yourself, you hear me?"

My nod is solemn. "Yes, sir."

"If I didn't think you could win this match I would have the decency to tell you." He stands up and ushers for me to do the same, retrieving the folding chair. "I haven't said anything to you, have I?"

With that he ducks under the ropes and leaves the ring just as the ref signals the two-minute warning.

"Yo!" I hear someone call from below me.

I tip my head down and spy Asher peering into the ring, his hands separating the ropes so he can look at me.

"How you feeling, brother?" He raises a brow. "And don't fucking lie about it."

I give him a wry grin and go to the edge of the ring so he can hear me better. "Let's just say I feel worse than when you got food poisoning and threw up on Katie Meyer's shoes."

He winces. "Did you have to bring that up, asshole?"

"Too bad. It's making me feel better about myself."

"Fucker." His lips twitch. "You know you got this, right? You're a beast in the ring. Aside from me you could take down anyone, no contest."

I bark out a laugh at his smug tone. "You better humour me with a one-on-one after this match, Pryce."

"As long as you win this one, Hunter." He reaches his fist up and I bump it with my own. "You're ready."

"I am." There's no hesitation on my end. I may be nervous as fuck but who isn't when they're doing something for the first time? I remember when I sent a request to my local bank for a loan to open up the first Aria that I was going to pass out from my anxiety. I didn't think I would get it but, with a lot of faith and even more hard work, I got it. And I got this, too.

"Wait!" I hear a shrill voice.

Asher and I startle and turn towards the direction it came from. I want to say I'm surprised to find Cameron running towards us, arms flailing and all, but really—it's Cameron.

"Wait!" He repeats when he reaches us.

I raise a brow. "Does it look like I'm going anywhere, dumbass?"

He halts. "Huh. Good point."

Asher snickers and throws a friendly punch to his side. "You're somethin' else, West."

It's Cameron's turn to grin. "Thanks, sugar."

"Any day now, Cam." I remind him and gesture to the ref who's making his way to the centre of the ring.

"Right. Sorry. I wanted to warn you about Wong."

"What about him?"

"He's not a fair sport, Neuter. He plays dirty and talks even dirtier."

"How do you know that?"

"One of his former opponents reached out to me through Instagram. He saw my story—the picture I put up of us wishing you luck? The one where I'm pretending to grab your ass?"

I cringe at the reminder. Asher busts out laughing with so much force he keels over.

"He said that I should warn you about Wong. Apparently Wong dug up some information on him—personal shit related to family—and used it to taunt him through the whole match. He was so floored that Wong somehow knew everything that he lost focus and started fighting in anger. He didn't make it past round two."

"What a fucker." My lip curls up in a snarl. I glance behind me and see Wong standing alongside the ref, saying something that makes the ref laugh heartily. I wouldn't put it past the little shit to cozy up with the judge of our match to earn brownie points. I turn back around to find Asher and Cam watching Wong with matching grim expressions.

"I fucking hate fighters who play dirty." Asher shakes his head. "Let me kick his ass when you're done with him. I can play dirty right back."

"Not worth it, Pryce."

That comes from Coach. The three of us swivel our heads toward the obviously fuming man. He's eyeing Wong with so much heat I'm surprised he doesn't catch on fire. "If if were that easy, I'd kick his ass too."

That gets our trio grinning. Coach is a beast in the ring and age hasn't slowed him down in the least. I lose to him on a daily basis in training.

"I called up Kohl's trainor—the guy who reached out to West—and had a little chat with him. Kohl is a big guy and Wong felt threatened that he wouldn't compare in strength so he resorted to a pansy ass technique. You're a big guy too, Hunter. And let's face it—you got a lot of shit from your past so you listen to me good."

He gestures for me to lean down and I do. The ref blows his whistle, shouting a "let's go!" that Coach acknowledges with a tip of his chin. He holds a finger up to signal that he needs a minute before looking back at me with a stare that demands my undivided attention.

"I know fighters like Wong all too well. Faced countless of 'em throughout my career. I'm gonna call his bluff and say he'll probably trash talk what matters most to you."

"My sisters." I answer immediately. My fingers curl into my palm with barely contained fury.

Coach nods grimly. "Your story is no secret, Hunter. The tabloids still aren't past it after your release conference three months ago. My guess? Wong is going to say some shit about Aria. I wouldn't put it past him." He pauses. "Cut it out. Get your head straight right now."

My body is humming with frustration and he knows it. I swallow down my rage and try to clear my head. "I don't think I can make it through the whole match if he tries that shit, Coach. I'm giving you a genuine answer here."

"You won't have to make it through the whole match." He taps a finger to his temple. "Not if you psych him out first."

My brows draw close and he elaborates.

"You just need to keep your cool for the first few rounds. Don't react or give him the satisfaction of him messing with your head. Just hold it together for the first few rounds and you'll have him. Your indifference will make him falter. He's already an insecure bitch otherwise why would he do this? You psych him right back and he has absolutely nothing going for him. A damn shame too. I know he's a great fighter and he'd be one of the bests if he played fair but there's a reason his success has a limit. He doesn't depend on his capabilities to take his career far and that's why he's been stuck in the same place ever since he entered this industry. You? You can one-up him no problem. You've just got to hold off the first few rounds."

"He's right." Asher adds. "And if there's anyone here that actually has a sliver of patience it's you, bro. He says anything at all then just think about how much your sisters are counting on you. You know they're all at home watching the match so they can see their big bro win. Do it for them. Win for them. Wong thinks your sisters are your weakness but they're your strength."

"That was beautiful, man." Cam flicks away an invisible tear.

Coach rolls his eyes, looking back at me. "What's it going to be, Hunter?"

I might have smirked a little. "I'm going to wreck this son of a bitch."

A chorus of agreements greet me and my smile widens. The ref blows his whistle twice to get my attention and I back away from the ropes, giving the guys a thumbs up.

"Wait!"

"Oh, Jesus. What now?" I think my eye actually twitches as I watch Jaxon running in our direction.

He barely halts in time and crashes against the ropes. "Wait! Wong is a little fuck! He—"

"We know." All four of us answer. Jaxon frowns.

"Oh." A shrug. "Then good luck, man. Fuck him up."

"Noted." I laugh.

Giving the guys a final wave, I jog off before any more distractions mess up the zone I'm in. The biggest distraction being a head of soft blonde hair I can see peeking through the crowd in the second row that I promised myself I wouldn't think about until after the match. Otherwise I'm going to get hung up on that fucking wedding night when she didn't mind having my hands on her, leaning into all of my touches with her soft smile. Nothing like that has happened since and that night was two weeks ago so maybe we were both just caught up in the moment but that didn't mean I couldn't stop thinking about it. Especially when she voiced her feelings for me in her own discreet way that only Del could do. I'm still digesting the fact that she actually fucking likes me. But just because feelings are involved it doesn't mean Del will be on board to do something about them right away. Knowing her, she'll be honest with me about her intentions until she's ready. And I'll wait.

"I like the moon-eyes." One side of Wong's mouth curls. "It's a cute look."

So we were just going to get right into it, huh? I cling onto Coach's words to fuel me. I don't do anything but shrug, keeping a lazy smile in place. Wong blinks and then frowns a little but before he can say anything else, the ref blows his whistle to signal the start of the match.

My fists go up as I put some distance between my legs when I get into stance. The form itself transports me into a whole other world where nobody but my opponent and I exist. Everything else fades away into white noise and there is nothing beyond who is front of me and what I have to do to win. My body buzzes with barely restrained need—the need to not only fight, but dominate. I meant what I said about wrecking this guy and I had every intention of following through on my words.

I don't waste any time striking first with a punch that Wong easily side-steps. I know getting my hands on him will be easier said than done so I've got to learn his tells right away. What can I use to my advantage that'll let me know what his next move will be? That's my only objective as I throw continuous and clean punches that aren't meant to so much as graze Wong. Each time he side-steps me, my eyes catch on to him and try to analyze why he did what he did and how I can be warned the next time he does it. The first round is nothing more than a game of cat-and-mouse and our spectators are not happy, if the booing is any indication. Wong hasn't said anything either and part of me is hoping Kohl was lying about his trash talk. When the first round ends, I'm really counting on that to be the case.

"Come on! Let's go!"

"What the fuck was that?"

"We came here to see a fight!"

I catch a few more of the angered shouts the audience is throwing but I don't give a shit. They're riled up for a fight and it's true that we've yet to give them one. It's coming, though. I think I figured out how to kick this fucker's ass. I glance behind me at Coach who's watching me with arms crossed and a little smirk on his face. He knows what I'm doing. I have his trust and that's all I need. Neither Wong or I take long prepping for the next round since we're not even close to out of breath. The ref blows his whistle in a few short minutes and it's on again.

This time, I don't I initiate anything. I circle Wong and wait for him to say or do something, dangling the bait in front of him as best as I can. I'm not disappointed when he takes it.

"What's wrong Magic Mike?" He snickers. "There need to be music for you to put on moves?"

I'm not surprised he takes a jab at my stripping profession. This, at least, is something I expect from any opponent I'll face in the pros. I'm unfazed when I respond with, "Something like that, kid."

A muscle in his cheek twitches. He didn't like that little goad. "I wouldn't get too cocky. You haven't even landed a punch on me."

"Right. Because I'm so bruised and battered from the punches you landed on me?"

There's that twitch again. I'm honestly trying not to laugh at it. It makes him look like a squirrel.

"I would say you're too scared to throw a punch but I know you're not unfamiliar with ass-kickings. Didn't you put a guy in a hospital once? Same guy that used your sister as his punching bag?"

Kohl wasn't lying after all. If I wasn't prepared for this before the match started, now would be when I absolutely lose my shit on him. I'm tempted to do that even now but I manage to inhale through my nose and force my blood pressure to stay where it is. Just a few rounds, Coach's words remind me.

"Actually, that asshole is in jail. I put the other guy in a hospital just for helping. So you see, I don't take it easy on anyone." I say as I level him with a stare and make my implication clear.

He snickers again. "That supposed to scare me?"

"Nope." I ignore the ref who's shouting for us to get on with it. "It's supposed to warn you."

And then I strike.

He doesn't see me like I'd counted on. The dumbass was so focused on getting a rise out of me that he didn't realize I'd inched closer to him, just enough into his space that I wasn't too close to send him back but not too far that I couldn't throw an effective punch. My arm swings up and comes around to the side of his face where my fist meets the flesh of his cheek. His head snaps to the side and he loses his fighting stance when he tries to keep his body balanced. His arms drop slightly and that's all I need to take a jab to his chin. His head bows back from the force and when his throat is exposed to me, I throw a punch right at it. His swift intake of air followed by the sound of wheezing makes me more smug than it should. When he's left wide open and unable to keep his eyes on me, I throw a left hook at his temple and he goes down to the floor. The ref blows his whistle for me to back up and I do, shaking out my fists and eyeing Wong as he coughs into his forearm. The ref blows his whistle to signal the end of round two and Wong's coach barks some kind of order to him. Wong gets back on his feet with obvious struggle as the announcers quibble over points.

"Not bad." He has the nerve to say, as if my three-punch combo didn't just knock him down.

"You sure do like to talk out of your ass, kid." I chuckle. His eyes flash with fury and something akin to embarrassment.

"At least I don't go around shaking my ass for a couple of bills."

"It's a pretty great ass." I tell him seriously.

"Not interested." He smirks. "Your sister though...I can't lie. I kind of want to know what had that dude so obsessed with her. You know, besides being an easy target."

It's harder to get myself under control but I manage not to say anything back. It's even harder to keep my face passive when all I'm feeling on the inside is red hot rage that's itching to burst out. The fucker continues as if I won't hesitate to break him in half.

"Maybe she was like that in bed, too. Maybe getting hit turned her on."

Keep it together, Hunter. Don't give this little shit the satisfaction of winning the match too. Don't let him get away with it.

The logical part of me has always been the one to lead my emotions and I've never been more thankful of that than now. If I operated on my emotions alone, I would likely be arrested in the next two minutes for murder. The urge to kill this bastard is so real, it would scare me. But I'm familiar with this feeling. It's only half of what I felt towards Robbie and if I could handle that dick, I can handle this one too.

"Your mom must be proud of you. She raised a great man." I tell him with such a solemn voice he blinks because my statement actually sounds genuine. I continue. "If you're so passionate kid, maybe I should have the announcers hand you their mic and you can share your thoughts with the audience. Maybe I can use my connections in the business industry to get word around that you support women abuse. Anything you need, kid. I'm here to help."

There's no mistaking that flash of fear in his eyes. He tries to put on a tough front and squares his shoulders but I don't miss the slight tremble of his hand. The whistle blows again to signal the start of round three but I don't stop there.

"Maybe we should call the match quits since you're not even fighting." I shrug. "Sucks. I thought my first pro match would be against a decent fighter."