Free Fighting to Forget by Jenika Snow Page A

being knocked up.”
    Her father breathed out in exaggeration. “Do you have to be so crude when you speak?”
    She closed her eyes, ready to just leave. This was the same routine every time she came here, yet she still visited, hoping one day it wouldn’t be like this. “Dad, I just wish you and Mom would understand and accept that I’m happy.” She opened her eyes. “I made mistakes when I was younger, but for how long will you hold it against me, tell me I’m going to hell unless I ask for forgiveness?”
    Her father didn’t respond.
    “A baby was created, a new life. How much of a sin can that be?” Before her father could respond, she grabbed her bag that was on the floor by her feet, stood, and slung it over her arm. “Bye, Dad.”
    He still didn’t respond.
    “Bye, Mom,” she said, turned, and left her parents’ house, feeling even shittier than she had when she decided to come visit. Her happiness was overshadowed now, and she hated that, hated that she let them control that part of her.

Chapter Ten
     
    The crowd went wild right on the other side of the wall Larson leaned against. He pushed away from the crumbled brick and plaster of the abandoned building where the underground fight was currently being held, cracked his knuckles, and felt adrenaline fill him. He was full of energy tonight, would fight and get the hits in instead of the other way around. He was happy, damn happy, and fighting to let off that steam was just what he needed. He’d also been challenged, and because of that he had to uphold his reputation and therefore not back down.
    He thought about Tasha, but promptly pushed her out of his mind. She had no place here tonight, no place with this violence and gore. There was a knock on the rusty door, and a bouncer pushed it open, stuck his head inside, and told him it was time.
    Larson pushed the people out of his way once he left the small room where he waited for his turn to hop in the cage. Tilting his head in acknowledgement toward a few of the fighters he’d seen throughout the years, he made his way toward the crudely erected cage in the center of the room. He got himself pumped, anticipating what was to come.
    He moved forward just as the other fighters dragged their sorry asses out of the ring. Larson faced off with the fighter that stepped forward.
    Come on, motherfucker, let’s do this.
    The other guy wasted no time and charged forward. Larson slammed his fist into the other fighter’s face, and felt the surge of adrenaline flood his body from the impact. It felt good to deliver violence and felt fucking fantastic to see the blood pour out of the other man’s nose because he had just broken it.
    Larson slammed his fist into the other guy’s face again and again until blood covered his knuckles, splattered across his bare chest, and made him feel even more alive. His energy kept building, kept taking control until there was no sane and logical part of him left. He hit the man again and loved that his eyes rolled back and he fell to the ground. Larson was still so juiced up, still needed to kick another motherfucker’s ass because he wasn’t nearly done yet.
    He turned in a circle, staring at all the guys lined up to fight and at all the people crowed in to watch the mayhem. He lived for this shit, had done this to get out his aggression, and of course make his living. These fights were straight-up street rules, and that was exactly how Larson liked it.
    The crowd went wild when they had to pull the fighter out of the cage because he was out cold. The next fighter to take the center stage grinned. The end result would always be the same. Larson didn’t prance around what was happening, just held his fists up, prepared for another win, and threw a left hook. The other guy fell back on his ass without even being given the opportunity to throw a punch.
    A total knockout as they said in boxing.
    Sweat dripped down Larson’s temples, and he tasted the metallic, tangy flavor