Fight for Her#3 Read Online Free

to avert my eyes from anything I don’t want to see, while also looking for a phone. One is bound to slip out of somebody’s pocket. Or from a purse.
    The boy still has his pants on. There’s a promising bulge on his butt, sticking in the air, but I can’t be certain it’s his phone and not just a slender wallet.
    My hands are bound so tightly that I doubt I could grab it anyway. I need it to fall out, and for them to kick it close. I’m pretty sure I can dial 911 if I can just get it turned over.
    Of course, there could be a screen lock or a pass code.
    The view through the windshield is still clear. Wherever we are, there’s not a lot of people milling around. I wonder what has happened to Parker. He has got to be panicking. I don’t doubt that he was able to take down the other two fighters. They were just a delay tactic.
    But I don’t think I was part of their plan. Probably they’re all off somewhere arguing over what to do with me. Striker is unstable enough that I worry what he might decide. If something goes wrong, I believe he has it in him to dump me somewhere I might not survive.
    The couple keeps moaning like I’m not there. Or maybe because I am. I’m restless. I’m done with waiting for my fate. I’m ready to do something about it.
    A light outside the van catches my eye. It’s tiny, like one of those little squeeze lights you put on your key chain. Someone is in the corner of the warehouse, in the shadow of a pillar, and flashing the light at the windshield. It blinks on and off.
    I glance over at the busy couple. They won’t notice. I turn back to the light.
    A man steps forward, and it’s not anyone who was in the van. He’s older than us, dressed in a very sharp pair of black pants and a long-sleeved gray silk shirt. Classy. I recognize the cut of his pants from a competing fashion line. The shirt isn’t anything I recognize. A custom job.
    This isn’t any of Striker’s pals, for sure. Nor anyone I would expect to be throwing money at an illegal fight, although I don’t really know anything about that lifestyle.
    He moves with stealth and power, like a cheetah. He arrives at another pillar, hidden from the direction everyone went, but perfectly visible to me. He holds a finger to his lips. Then he drops low where I can’t see him anymore.
    I guess he’s here for me.
    But then a series of shouts break out. A bunch of the fighters come into the bay. Striker, the two guys who fought us, Blue Hair, and some others who weren’t here before. One is dripping blood out his nose, stumbling around but exuberant. Probably just came out of the cage.
    I hear a little tap just behind my head. Someone is outside the van on this side, out of view of the oncoming crowd. It’s a pattern, and I know this means he’s still out there, and not to worry.
    Someone knows I’m here. Maybe Parker’s sent him. Maybe he’s some sort of cop. But I’m not lost to the world.
    The back doors of the van pop open.
    “Aw, man, look at Chump Change, munching down on his girl,” Striker says. He’s got bandages on his face, and his arm is in a sling.
    The girl flips him off as the boy withdraws and wipes his mouth. I draw up tightly, keeping my knees together. Even if that sharp-dressed man is out there, he can’t take on this many fighters on his own.
    “You like watching that?” Striker asks me. “I can give you a show too.” He elbows the bloody fighter. “Crunch here just won a kick-ass fight and I promised him a gander at Power Play’s girl as a prize.”
    Crunch crawls into the van space. The couple who were guarding me scoot aside to make room.
    He looks bad. One eye is seriously swollen, purple and weeping blood. His face is mottled and red from the hits, his jaw misshapen.
    “You might want to get looked at,” I say reflexively.
    “See there, she cares!” Striker calls out. “Chump Change, you and your girl come on out of there and leave these two lovebirds alone.”
    My heart hammers. I’ve