Chapter Four- Big Fight

Rachel’s POV

I was still exhausted when I woke up on Sunday morning. We partied hard Friday night and only stumbled home in the early hours, completely inebriated. Saturday was brutal—I worked the lunch-to-evening shift with a killer hangover. At least I have today off.

Yawning, I stretch and roll out of bed. I head to the bathroom, wash my face, and brush my teeth before throwing on shorts and a tank top. Downstairs, I start the coffee machine and begin breakfast: toast, eggs, sausage, bacon, fried tomatoes, and mushrooms. I set the table, then go call my brother and father.

Mom already left for her morning shift at the restaurant. On weekends, Dad helps Ryan with his physiotherapy.

We take turns cooking. Ryan’s recovery has been up and down these past six months. He spent the first three months in the hospital due to spinal cord damage, broken bones, and a brain bleed. After being discharged, he started therapy and trauma counseling—but then doctors found a tumor in his spine. Some days he’s strong enough to walk. Other days, he can’t even sit up.

Ryan spots me first as I walk into his room and greets me with a grin. “Morning, sis.”

“Morning, bro. Morning, Dad. Breakfast is ready.”

Dad smiles as he stands. “Morning, sweetheart. We’ll be right there.”

Back in the kitchen, I pour three cups of coffee—mine with milk and two sugars. The guys join me at the table, and I plate their food.

“How’s it going?” I ask Ryan.

He swallows and looks up. “It’s okay for now. As long as I keep exercising and taking care of myself, I should be fine.”

My heart aches. I wish I could take away his pain.

We chat casually over breakfast. Later, in my room, I check my work schedule and build a training plan. Two more weeks to prep for the fight.

Two Weeks Later

Today I worked the morning shift. Afterward, I ran errands for Mom, then crashed on the couch for a nap. I need my strength tonight.

Just after 11 p.m., I arrive at Club Craving and head down to the Underworld.

Hand-to-hand combat takes place on the first underground floor. The second level hosts two kinds of fights: weapon matches and death matches. I'm strictly hand-to-hand—less money, but I’m not suicidal.

I spot Rex at the bar, talking to a few people. Just seeing him knocks the wind out of me. The lights catch in his blond hair, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.

He sees me and waves me over.

“You ready for your fight?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m prepared. Who am I fighting?”

He glances at his tablet. “Sandy. She’s good—watch yourself.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.” I touch his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt.

I head to the back where the lockers are. I change into my black sports bra, tank top, red shorts, red sneakers, and black half-gloves. After a few deep breaths and stretches, I walk to the ring.

Crowds are already watching from around the cages. Okay, Rachel. You’ve got this. Even if she’s tough, we need this win—the bills won’t pay themselves.

This isn’t professional fighting. There are no rules, no referee. Just one round—winner takes all.

Sandy stands in the ring with a toned frame, piercing blue eyes, and blonde hair. She’s clearly confident, maybe cocky. She glares at me like she’s ready to devour me.

Rex signals the start of the match.

We circle each other, and she strikes first. I parry her punch and land a kick to her stomach. She doubles over and stumbles back. I press forward, aiming a punch, but she grabs my wrist and yanks me toward her, slamming her knee into my gut.

Pain explodes through me. I gasp, crumpling slightly.

She comes at me again, but I duck and deliver a roundhouse kick straight to her back, sending her flying into the cage wall. She rises with rage in her eyes.

She charges—fists flying. I block what I can, but one punch nails me in the ribs. She kicks my leg out from under me and pulls me into a headlock.

Shit. Not good.

I slam my fists into her gut, but she holds tight. She slams me face-first into the cage. Pain shoots through my head, and I feel blood run from a cut on my temple.

She straddles me, raining punches down as I shield my face. One hits my cheek. Damn it—enough.

Fueled by fury, I grab her shoulders, use my legs to lift and twist us, and reverse the position—now I’m straddling her.

I throw punch after punch, hammering her face. Her guard breaks, and my fist connects with her nose—crack. Then I slam my knee into her stomach. She groans and goes limp.

Breathing hard, I roll off her and lie back, arm across my face. That was brutal.

Rex rushes over. “Hey, Rach. You okay?”

His voice makes me smile. “Oh, I’m just peachy.”

He laughs and offers me a hand. “Glad to see your sarcasm’s still intact.”

I grin and let him pull me up. Pain pulses through every inch of me.

He helps me limp to the dressing room. I shower slowly—my ribs, head, and stomach all throbbing. After drying off, I change into loose sweats and a T-shirt.

I glance at the mirror and groan. My face is wrecked. Swollen eye, bruised cheek, a nasty cut on my temple. Mom’s going to have a meltdown.

I gather my things and make my way back toward the bar. Rex is on the phone, but when he sees me, he waves me over. He finishes the call and turns to me with a serious expression.

“My boss wants to meet you. Come with me.”

My heart skips a beat. Dante Voss wants to meet me?

“Why?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

“He’ll explain everything.”

I nod and follow him, nerves fluttering in my chest. What does Dante Voss want with me?

I’ve seen fighters meet him before, but I never expected to be one of them. I didn’t know I’d caught his eye.

But I have a feeling that meeting him... is about to change everything.