When I finally came back to life after getting snuck, I woke up in our dorm room. Michael and Zachary were standing right near my bed.
“Damn, bro,” Michael said, looking down at me. “You good?”
“No...” I groaned, slowly sitting up. My jaw was throbbing like crazy. “I feel like I just got hit by a brick, clean on my chin.” I rubbed my jaw, testing the bone. “At least I know he didn’t break my shit.”
“I’m surprised you even managed to last that long,” Zachary said, leaning against the desk. “But he did knock your ass out good, though. You’ve been asleep for three days straight.”
Three days?!
the voice in my head gasped.
He must have been trying to kill us. That boy had me comatose.
“
Did anybody tell my boss?” I asked, thinking about Jacob and the store.
“Nah, he already knew,” Michael said, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Matter of fact, you gone viral.”
I snatched the phone from Michael’s hand. My thumb scrolled down to the comment section. Honestly, WorldStar comments never disappoint.
The top comment had over twenty thousand likes:
“Nigga in the joggers really took a running headbutt and got his toes crushed by a KFC line cook, and he’s supposed to be in the UFC? 💀”
I couldn’t help but chuckle, even though stretching my mouth made my jaw throb. I kept scrolling.
“MMA boy had to wait until his back was turned to sneak him. That’s pussy behavior. Big man stood on business.”
Another user replied right under that one:
“Did big bro really clap his ears? He fought like a cartoon character and still almost won. I’m crying 😂”
And then there was a whole thread about my mid-fight commentary:
“He really shouted 'STOP SPAMMING' while catching a calf kick. That’s a legend right there.”
“
See?” Michael laughed, patting my shoulder. “I told you. You might’ve got knocked out, but nobody is looking at you like a victim. You went up against a trained fighter with zero prep, took his best shots, and literally broke his foundation. You’re a local legend, bro.”
I handed the phone back, letting out a slow breath.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “A local legend who still has to take a midterm tomorrow with a swollen-ass face.”
“But his girl was pissed, though,” Zachary said, tossing his phone onto his desk. “She started straight crashing out on him the second you hit the grass.”
Yeah, he’s definitely talking about Jasmine being mad at me—Wait... she was mad?
the voice in my head asked.
“She was?” I asked, looking up.
“Hell yes, she was,” Michael said. “She was screaming at him in front of everyone, all like, 'Why did you do that?! He was walking away!' All types of shit, bro.”
“To be deadass, I honestly didn’t think she was going to defend the guy who held her boyfriend hostage just to force a fight,” I muttered, rubbing my chin.
“Shit... who you telling?” Zachary laughed. “I thought she was going to be mad at you forever or something. But maybe she’s not completely dick-whipped by him after all.”
“So I guess even though I technically won, it didn’t really matter. I still got knocked out cold in front of the entire campus. But I wasn’t planning on winning anyway. Hell, Harvey's advice got me way further than I should’ve gone. So maybe taking this one L wasn’t all too bad.”
“Bro, you have to go get your get-back after that shit,” Michael said, shaking his head.
“Nah,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s not even that deep anymore. Besides, I made my point. As long as it got across, then I don’t really care.”
“Yeah, that sounds like some of that 'stop-the-violence' type of timing,” Zachary muttered. “But I don’t think you have much of a choice anymore.”
I looked up, my jaw tightening. “What are you talking about?”
Michael and Zach looked at each other for a quiet moment. Just from that look, I already knew it wasn’t good.
Bro, this motherfucker was clowning Juliet all over social media. He was posting her private pictures on Instagram and Twitter, calling her a slut for the whole world to see.
I knew this bitch-ass nigga didn’t feel the slightest bit of remorse!
the voice in my head roared, my vision instantly tunneling.
I told you we should’ve blown his fucking brains out when we had the goddamn chance!
Then I saw the caption on his latest post:
“Cocky boy wants his get-back? Meet me at King of the Streets, and let’s see how cocky you are now.”
“
...I’m finna go and kill this nigga,” I said, my voice dropping into dead silence. I shot up out of bed, completely ignoring the throbbing pain in my face. “Where’s your strap?”
“Hold on now,” Michael said, stepping in front of me. “I know you borrowed my piece when you confronted him yesterday, but I don’t think that’s a good idea anymore.”
He showed me his phone, zooming in on some recent pictures of Nathan’s camp.
“How original,” I spat. “He’s so pussy he knew a nigga was going to try to kill him for doing some stupid shit like this, so he got himself some armed security strapped to the teeth. But what the fuck is King of the Streets?”
“King of the Streets, or KOTS for short, is an underground, bare-knuckle fighting organization,” Zachary explained. “It’s like the ultimate, unsanctioned fight club for street fighters. There are no rounds or time limits in that bitch. Every fight takes place on hard-ass concrete. There aren’t even weight classes—they try to simulate actual street fights. It is literally no-holds-barred. Biting, scratching, hell, even eye-gouging is legal. Pretty much everything you can think of besides weapons is allowed. The only way to win is by knocking the other guy completely out, or making him tap.”
I stared at him, incredulous. “So he expects me to fly to motherfucking Europe just to whoop his ass? Do I look like I’m made of money?!”
“But here’s the crazy thing,” Michael said, leaning in. “They’re not just in Europe anymore. They actually started holding matches in the States, and they just moved a branch down to Florida. Where they’re actually hosting the fights is a different question, but that’s pretty much all we know right now.”
“But I can’t fight him as is, though,” I said, holding my throbbing head. “The only reason my strategy even worked last time is because he was being a cocky asshole. If I go in and fight him as I am now, while his guard is up? It’s going to be a complete slaughter.”
“Well, there’s always one way,” Zachary said, shifting his weight. “You could actually start training.”
“What’s the point of even training?” I snapped. “This dude has been doing this shit for years. Let alone the fact that we don’t even know when the match is supposed to start. It could be next week, or it could be a few months at best. There is no way in hell for me to clutch up or win against someone who’s that experienced.”
“I think you can do it,” Zach said quietly.
“Did you not hear what the fuck I just said, Zach?!”
“Bro, you literally almost beat him just from watching how-to-fight videos and using some tips Harvey gave you,” Zach said, sitting forward. “You’re actually pretty gifted at fighting if you think about it. You might not be able to win a traditional match, but if you train, you’ll be able to catch him off guard when it matters. Plus, he just leaked your girl’s private shit and called her a hoe. You can’t let that slide. As much as it would be easier to just kill his ass or catch him lacking—if you’re going to win this, win it without throwing your life away.”
“Actually,” Michael said, leaning back on the couch. “I might know a guy. One of my plugs told me about this dude who lives a few towns over. He goes by the name of Isaiah Bone.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Isaiah Bone?”
“Yeah,” Michael nodded. “He’s supposedly the best street-level MMA guy around. I’ve never met him personally, but the streets say he’s a total dick when you first meet him. But there are two things he respects: conviction and determination.”
“Okay, and why the fuck would I want to train with some random dick instead of just going to a regular, sanctioned gym?” I asked.
“Because Bone used to fight in King of the Streets,” Michael explained. “Word on the street is he has a ninety-nine-win streak and zero losses. The man is formally trained, but he also knows exactly how to handle real-world, dirty-ass street fighting. He is the absolute best overall teacher you could go to. My plug says as long as you have money and dedication, the man doesn’t care. But you still have to win him over first, and that shit is not going to be easy.”
I sat back, letting my mind race through my options.
I could train for God knows how long just to get an upper hand, and even then, I could still potentially lose a bare-knuckle concrete match. Or, I could just take the easy way out and find a way to kill Nathan.
But as I thought about it, I knew the second option was just me being selfish.
Sure, I didn’t care what happened to my own life. Nothing good had ever happened to me anyway. But now? I actually had people who wanted me to stay free. The Walkers had taken me in and treated me like their own. Juliet was relying on me to be there. And I couldn’t help Juliet heal, or make things right with Jasmine, if I was dead or locked up in a cage again.
I still had a very strong urge to just go and end Nathan's life. I had to force myself to push that dark impulse to the side.
I decided I’d at least go try to meet this Bone dude and work out with him. If he said no... then fuck it. Plan B would go into effect.
Either way, Nathan was going to pay.
So I got my black ass up after a few days of letting my face heal, only to find out that this Bone dude lived six hours away from my hometown.
Six fucking hours, bro.
That is a lot of driving just to see
if
some stranger is even willing to train you. There was absolutely no guarantee. All of this was riding on a very big, very shaky
if
, and I hated it. But it was either this or just straight-up murder.
I didn’t see any other way around it.