Free Flow (The Beat and the Pulse #6) by Amity Cross

but I wouldn’t put it past him to try to use the same tactic against me.
    Securing the wrap on my right hand, I glanced up as Rebel leaned against the locker next to me.
    “I’d be watching him,” he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “They’re dazzled by the bright lights now, but I give it a couple of days tops until there’s a huge target on his back.”
    “Don’t you worry about that,” I replied, closing my locker with a bang. “I plan to be teachin’ him a lesson he’ll not soon forget.”
    “Good for you,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Saves me the effort of doing it myself.”
    “Storm, Goblin,” a voice bellowed across the change room. “You’re up.”
    “Rip him a new one, eh?” Rebel said, moving off.
    Snorting, I ignored the eyes that watched my progress and followed the referee out into the arena. Out here, the air was filled with the same aura of bullshit that had been present among the other fighters. They wanted to see if the big-time UFC fighter could hold his own against the top placegetter on the leaderboard.
    It was like one of those stupid movies with the rich kid and the disadvantaged scumbag from the wrong side of the tracks. No guessing which one I was meant to be.
    I kicked my trainers off at the edge of the cage and padded into the light, the crowd beginning to get louder and louder as Storm approached from behind.
    Wearing his silky UFC shorts and fancy hand wraps, he was jumping around on the spot, loosening his arm muscles and throwing his head from side to side. I just stood on my side of the line and stared at him like he was a monkey in a fucking zoo.
    “Ready?” the referee asked, nodding at me.
    I narrowed my eyes at Storm. “Yep.”
    “Toe the line,” the referee barked at Storm, who stopped bouncing and stood before me. “Do you need a refresher on the rules?”
    “Nope, I’m good,” he replied, staring at me.
    The referee held up his hand. “Then get to fighting, boys.” He backed away, and it was on.
    Neither of us attempted to make the first move, so we eyeballed each other until Storm couldn’t hold in whatever smartass comment he was dying to tell me.
    “What do you think of those little sounds she makes?” he asked, his lip curling into a smile.
    I glared at him, waiting for him to drop his guard.
    “She’s a wildcat,” he said, licking his lips. “The sweetest pussy I’ve ever—”
    I sucker-punched him right in the mouth, effectively cutting off his foul tirade about Lori. His head snapped to the side, and the crowd cheered, their feet thundering against the bleachers. Storm spat blood onto the ground, and we began circling.
    “You say you’re friends, but your actions say otherwise,” he said, grinning at me, his teeth red with blood. “Just so you know, I saw her first. From behind, on top, from below… My face in her pussy, my finger in her ass…”
    I went to open my mouth, but he dived, and his fist clipped my eyebrow. He smiled in triumph as I stumbled from the lucky blow. It took a second for the blood to rush to the cut, but soon enough, I felt it drip down my face. Wiping the back of my hand across my brow, I hardly felt the sting.
    Storm circled with a grin on his face that said he thought he had the fight in the bag, but he was too cocky. One hit didn’t mean shit here. One hit had shocked me back into the bout with renewed energy. Seemed like he’d forgotten a great deal of things where cage fighting was concerned.
    He lunged again, going for a blow to my temple, and I raised my arms, blocking the punch and locking us together. Grappling, we wrestled one another until Storm’s foot slipped from underneath him. While he was off balance, I pushed him backward across the floor, the momentum growing and growing until we collided with the side of the cage. The crowd moved back from the fence as the entire structure rattled, and I pinned him in place.
    “You’ve gone soft, Storm,” I said, elbowing