Fight for Her#3 Read Online Free Page A

misjudged Striker, or else Blue Hair pitched a fit about his interest in me. I have no idea what this Crunch guy is like or what he might do. Will the silk-shirt guy intervene if he thinks I’m in trouble?
    The doors close and it’s just the two of us.
    “You’re pretty,” Crunch says awkwardly.
    I hope this means he isn’t around a lot of girls, that he’s shy. If so, I can probably handle him.
    “Thank you,” I say. “So you won the fight?”
    He nods. A drip of blood comes from his nose and he wipes it away. “Sorry,” he says.
    “Isn’t there a medic to patch you guys up?”
    “He was busy with the loser,” Crunch says.
    “The guy you fought?” The more we talk, the more time I buy.
    “Yeah. He wouldn’t come to.”
    “Are they going to call an ambulance?” I look out the windshield, thinking maybe I would get a shot if someone arrived to help.
    “Nah.”
    “Someone will take him in, then?”
    Crunch shrugs. “Not my problem.” His shoulders gleam with sweat in the dim light filtering in from the lights in the loading bay. I have no idea what he normally looks like. His hair is trimmed, blondish brown. He’s not as built as Parker, which probably makes him a featherweight. I don’t know. I never knew all the classes.
    “How—how long did the fight last?” I try to keep the anxiety out of my voice, but it creeps in anyway. I frantically try to think of things to keep the conversation going.
    “Got into the third round.”
    “Do all fights have three rounds? Even these?”
    Crunch reaches forward to finger one of the fluttery scarves at the bottom of my dress. I can’t suppress the way I flinch.
    “You ask a lot of questions,” he says. His knuckle grazes my knee.
    I’m coiled tight as a spring. Maybe he isn’t as shy or nervous as I first thought.
    His face is hard to look at, but I try to keep eye contact. I need to know what he’s up to, what he plans. The thought of his hands on me makes me feel sick.
    Two hard bangs on the back door make us both jump. “You finished yet?” Striker calls out. “We ain’t got all day!” Laughter trails behind. They must all be standing at the back. The windows are tinted too dark to know.
    I try desperately to think of something to do to slow this down.
    “So you know Power Play?” I ask.
    But this is totally the wrong thing to say.
    Crunch makes a growling sound. “Yeah.” He grabs the bottom scarf and yanks it hard, ripping it from the seam near my knee.
    I refuse to make a sound. As he grabs another scarf and yanks it free, I harden inside. This pathetic loser is not going to get anything easy from me.
    I’ve got the old Maddie back now, the tough girl from LA. If he thinks he’s going to have a piece of me, he’s going to have to pay for it. And I already know where he’s hurt.
    He tears off another scarf. Without them, I still have a skirt, just a short one. He seems amused by my lack of response. When he reaches for a fourth, I’ve had enough, and I unfold my leg, ready for him to lean in one more time.
    He does, a sick smile on his face. “You have cute thighs,” he says.
    “And you have a seriously fucked-up face,” I say.
    And I kick him right in that swollen, bleeding eye.
    He falls back with a terrible groan. His hands cover his eyes. I know I’ve made things worse, but this is how it has to be. I’m grateful my legs aren’t tied together because I can move. I careen to the front of the van, scoot across the driver’s seat, and fumble with my swollen, unfeeling fingers to open the door.
    As soon as it swings wide, I hear shouts. They’ve seen me. I take off in a dead sprint, holding my bound hands out in front so they won’t slow me down.
    I see a lighted hallway ahead and aim for it. My best chance is to find the fights, I think. Or make enough noise that the silk-shirt man spots me. He has to be close.
    I blaze down the hall and hear footsteps behind. Striker and company are probably fast on my heels. I come to a