Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Magic throws a punch that Griff ducks, throwing the guy off balance.
Cocky as all hell, Griff walks right up and slaps the guy across the face.
“Yes!” Murphy laughs maniacally. “Stonewall Slap.”
More punches and kicks are thrown. Griff goes flying into the cage wall.
“Oh my God.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I can’t watch.” How do people do this? How is Molly sitting right there in the front row, watching the man she loves get punched? Repeatedly. And kicked. And choked.
I force myself to open my eyes and watch, afraid it’s bad luck to miss a moment.
Hope clasps my arm. “Jeez, no wonder he needed me to write up a will for him.” She winces but can’t seem to look away from the screen either. “This is brutal.”
“Yeah, I can see why he’d need a will.”
Every so often, the camera glides over the front row, catching Molly and Shelby’s anxious faces, Trinity’s stillness, Wrath’s coiled tension, and if it lingers long enough, I catch a glimpse of Rooster and Jigsaw’s stone-cold stares too.
Each time, my heart squeezes.
I miss him so much.
I don’t know if I could stand to be in the arena, though. It’s hard enough watching on television.
By the third round, sweat beads at my temples, and my nerves are wound tighter than a garrote wire. Magic plods across the canvas like a half-dead zombie, while Griff stays light on his feet, bouncing and sharp.
A spark of hope lights in my chest.
“Don’t get cocky,” Murphy says in a low warning tone, as if Griff can somehow hear the advice all the way on the other side of the country.
The same crowd that booed Griff now chants his name—“Stonewall!”—echoing through the speakers.
Magic ducks. Griff’s knee crashes into his face. Blood sprays.
My stomach flips.
A few brutal punches later, Magic hits the canvas like a rumpled blanket.
“That’s it!” Murphy jumps up, hands over his head, clapping wildly.
The front row on-screen erupts. I lose sight of Shelby’s glittering jumpsuit in the blur of movement.
Fans and team members crowd the steps to the cage. The camera pans over them.
“Looks like Stonewall’s crew is first on the steps. There’s his young girlfriend,” the announcer drawls with a dirty chuckle. “Look at that dress.”
“What a bunch of pigs,” Charlotte mutters.
“Winner by knockout in the third round,” the arena announcer shouts. “Griffin ‘Stonewall’ Royal!”
Seconds later, the broadcast announcer echoes the words.
“Yes! Fuck yes!” Teller jumps up, punching the air.
Charlotte whoops, clapping as he pulls her into a kiss.
I turn back to the screen.
Jigsaw and Rooster stand close, cocooning Molly as they wait to be let into the cage.
She’s finally waved in and bolts straight into Griff’s arms. Jigsaw, Rooster, and Remy hover behind them. Jigsaw glances down at something in his hand, flicking his gaze up every few seconds.
My phone buzzes.
Jigsaw: He won.
Me: I know. Still at the clubhouse watching. I see you.
A few seconds later, he lifts his head, gaze scanning the area as if he’s searching for me.
My throat tightens.
Serena leans over. “Are you texting Jiggy, now?”
Laughing, I tilt my screen toward her. “Yes.”
She turns back to the TV screen, smiling. I do too, but the ache in my chest stays.
He’s thousands of miles away.
Even though tonight was more fun than I expected, I miss him more than ever.
JIGSAW
I’m going to need a month at a secluded cabin to recover from this trip. Away from noise, dumbfuckery, and people. Way too many people in my face, crowding around us in the hallway outside the room where Griff’s supposed to sit down and answer questions from every dumbass sports “reporter” with a podcast. Rooster, Remy and I do our best to keep a circle of protection around Griff and Molly while fans push and shove to get his autograph or ask him obnoxious questions.
How can he stand this shit?
Griff’s already wobbly from the fight. He’s probably exhausted but he keeps a tired smile in place while he talks to people and signs stuff. Molly keeps tugging on the hem of her dress and swiveling her head like she’s searching for the nearest escape route.
“You all right, kiddo?” I ask her.
Her mouth pulls to the side. “Just tired.”
Griff glances at her, concern darkening his expression. “Almost done, muffin. Promise.”
Finally, we’re let into the room. Griff’s whisked away by a team of people. I plop into a chair out of the way and dig out my phone.
A flood of notifications lights up the screen—messages from damn near everyone I know, asking about the fight.
Nothing new from Margot.
I hope she had a good time at the clubhouse. Not sure the fight was her kinda entertainment but at least she got to hang out with everyone. Lilly and Charlotte had each sent a text letting me know Margot was okay.
My thumb swipes open the tracking app—her blip’s still parked at the clubhouse. Good. She’s supposed to crash at Z and Lilly’s place tonight.