Chains by Kelli Maine Read Free Book Online

trance, pounding on Striker with blood-covered fists.
    She dropped her eyes to her lap and didn’t respond. I stroked her hair one more time before following the dealer back through the kitchen and out the door to the courtyard. The size of the crowd had grown to nearly fifty if I had to guess, but my opponent was nowhere in sight.
    Unease crept inside my veins and teased my nerves. There was something about this situation that wasn’t right. Something the dealer wasn’t telling me.
    Then I spotted the guy I was supposed to fight. He was an ex-MMA champion. He was kicked out of the league for too many disqualifications.
    His last fight resulted in his opponent’s death.
    He was an animal in the ring, and training him was Mike’s biggest regret.

FOUR
    Mike’s voice rang in my ears. “I trained Rex The Renegade Rollo. I took him in. I made him the man he became.”
    “You didn’t make him like this,” I’d said, standing next to him after the fatal fight. The body was being carried from the ring by paramedics. Police and arena crew ushered the crowd out of the building as fast as they could.
    “I trained him,” Mike said, hanging his head in shame. “I took him in and taught him how to fight. This is my fault.”
    “Rollo’s insane ,” I said, desperate to get Mike to understand this death had nothing to do with him. “He should’ve never been let out of jail on parole. He’s a sociopath. And you’re not his trainer anymore. How long’s it been since you’ve even seen him?”
    “Over a year.”
    We both stood watching the cops question Rollo and his current trainer who had a reputation for training aggressive, violent fighters. “Let’s get out of here,” I said.
    I left the arena that day with an understanding of how all of my training could be twisted and if not used in the way that it was meant—with sportsmanship and honor—the unthinkable could happen.
    Rex The Renegade Rollo was a beast, and he was standing across the courtyard staring fucking daggers at me. We met before. Briefly. He knew I was one of Mike’s fighters. That fact alone would add fuel to his fire.
    “You can take him,” the dealer said, sidling up next to me.
    “He’s fucking insane. You know he killed a guy in a fight, right?”
    Dealer whacked me on the back. “That’s why he’s here and not in the cage.”
    Rollo wasn’t any bigger than me, and we’d been trained the same way by the same man. He has nothing on you but crazy, I told myself. Crazy was a big edge, but being rational and thinking your way through a fight—picking the right moves at the right time—was crucial to winning. Even if he fought dirty, I’d fight smart.
    My mind might have been clear on the matter, but my pulse pounded and I broke out into a sweat. My stomach clenched, and my chest tightened.
    He fucking killed somebody.
    I didn’t want to fight a guy who beat the life out of a man and didn’t think twice about it.
    Then I thought: I could’ve beat the life out of a man—out of Striker—and not thought twice about it.
    Did that make me like Rollo? Maybe. Maybe not. Was it insanity if it was justified? God—if there was such a being—would be the judge of that, but tonight I’d do whatever it took to win and get out alive. With Danny.
    “I thought you said one five minute round?” I asked the dealer.
    “The rules changed,” he said, his eyes skittering over the cluster of people. “If the cops show up, you’re on your own.”
    I followed the scan of his eyes. “More people here than you wanted,” I said, guessing that was what was making him skittish.
    “It’s too risky, but I can’t call it off now.” He looked at me. “End it fast.” He gripped my hand and put something sharp in it. I opened my palm and looked down at a shaved piece of metal the size of a small file. “Tape that onto the back of your hand so the point sticks out,” he said. “Jab him in the neck—hard and clean.”
    I wrapped my fingers around