Page 42 of Quiet Obsession
I shoo his hand away. “Aren’tyou?”
“Not at all.”
I turn back to the cage, my heartbeat on the fast side, stomach knotting tight. Creed rolls his shoulders in his corner—nearest to where we’re standing—as he tests the tape on his knuckles.
There’s no tension in him. He doesn’t look concerned about the size of his opponent. In fact, he looks almost bored.
Hyde calls his name and summons him with a lift of his chin. Creed comes over, stopping on the other side of the fence, close enough I can smell him again and I almost feel his muscles pressing into my back moments ago.
“My sister’s worried you’ll get hurt,” Hyde says, amusement and a hint of superior mockery clear in his tone.
“Is she now?” Creed’s gaze slides to mine as the whistle blows and the noise around us swells. “If you’re worried, I won’t let him land a single punch. Is that what you want?”
Who does he think he is? The Terminator?
But I nod anyway, hoping he means it.
My cheeks are on fire under his gaze, and so is my chest, the air growing hotter by the second as he turns toward his opponent, every move accompanied by people chanting his name. Those who can slam their fists against the cage, but the noise dulls beneath the sudden rush of blood in my ears.
Trevor comes at Creed with everything he’s got, his massive frame surging forward with enough force to make the cage tremble. He swings hard and Creed pivots smoothly, then drives his fist into Trevor’s ribs.
The sound of rattling bones makes me flinch.
Hyde’s arm comes over my shoulders, pulling me into his side, but I barely register it, eyes locked on his friend when, baring his teeth, Trevor throws another punch. Creed twists out of the way, inked muscles flexing beneath the sheen of sweat. The snake along his shoulder blades coils and stretches with every movement like it’s alive. He’s a sight.
Another tremor skitters down the inside of my thighs.
Trevor lunges, his moves growing sluggish. I guess his size is more of a disadvantage than I realized. Creed meets him head-on, his right hook connecting with Trevor’s jaw, and blood spatters the concrete beneath their feet.
A sharp breath leaves my mouth as my hand flies to my lips.
“He’s good, isn’t he?” Hyde says close to my ear.
That’s an understatement. Creed’s a machine, every move precise, no motion wasted. His eyes track Trevor andhis body adjusts before the guy decides where to aim next.
The punches keep coming, each one making me finch. Not one land’s on Creed while Trevor bleeds from his split lip, a gash on his eyebrow, even his nose, but he’s not done, swinging his fists left and right. Creed lands another blow to his ribs. Then another. Sweat beads at his hairline, catching in the dark strands falling loose across his forehead.
He catches my eye and my pulse riots in my throat, wrists, and low in my stomach.
Trevor swings wildly, growing more and more desperate with every passing second. I don’t know how much time has passed, but there’s not been another whistle. It feels like it should be time for the fifteen-second break Noah mentioned.
Trevor tries again, fails again and Creed advances fast. His chest glistens under the harsh lights, sweat trailing down his sternum and disappearing beneath his waistband.
I’m so hot I feel dizzy.
Right hook, left hook, one after another, each forcing Trevor backward until his spine hits the chain link. The cage rattles violently and Creed lands one final hit.
Trevor folds in on himself, his knees hitting the floor before he topples onto his side.
My pulse is wild, thrumming in my ears, temples, and the back of my throat as Brock moves in and the crowd erupts around us. People are shouting, chanting, losing their goddamn minds with Creed’s name on their lips.
“How long was that?” I ask, breathless and one-hundred percent certain they’ve been inside that cage for ten minutes straight.
“Forty-nine seconds,” Dash says, grinning. “Not a record, but not far off.”
I haven’t looked away once, but I double-check Creed for injuries, eyes roving every inch of him, noting how steady his breathing is despite the effort he’s exerted.
He looks untouched.
