Uncaged (An MMA Stepbrother Romance) (65 page)

Chapter Thirty

She’s not here!

It’s midway through the fight, and I’m bleeding from a cut above my brow. There’s a doctor on site, and he dabs away at it.

“I can see your bone,” he says. “I need to close this cut.”

“Fine. No shots.” My voice is hoarse. I took an upper cut that missed my jaw, but got me in the throat. My vocal chords feel bruised.

“You hung over, Pierce?”

I stare at the doctor. “No.”

“You sure? You coming down? You pop some pills last night?”

“No. I don’t do fucking pills.”

“If you have, I’m going to have to disqualify you. Fallon and that Russian gave me specific instructions. I can’t let the fight go on if it’s not a fair fight. If you’re not all there—”

“I’m all there,” I tell him frostily.

“You’re lucky they’re letting me patch you up. You wouldn’t be able to
see
otherwise.”

I glare at the doc and bark, “Close the fucking cut!”

Breath comes rushing out of my mouth, a frustrated exhale.
She didn’t come!

I look around the stands again, scan the faces. I recognize a lot of people, but I can’t find Penny anywhere. I honestly thought she’d come to this fight. I honestly believed she’d fucking come.

The crowd is silent, a far cry from the usual atmosphere of one of my fights. They’re silent because I’m getting beat. They’ve never seen Pierce motherfucking Fletcher bleed like this before.

And I can’t even feel the pain in my head, nor do I even notice the worried or even disappointed looks of the people who came here to see me win.

All I can think about is whether or not Penny will turn up.

God fucking damn it, she’s shaken me.

“You’re not doing too well tonight, Pierce.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Then why am I looking at a cut that will need eight stitches, a half-dozen bad bruises, and a busted lip?”

“Just off my game.”

“Off your game? I’ve watched you fight two dozen times, mate. Off is an understatement.”

“Great,” I say. “A fucking fan.”

“Never seen you like this. Talk to me, son. What’s up?”

I glare into the forty-something man’s eyes.
Son.
That’s when I notice his body; wiry-thin. That’s when I notice his hair; all-white. That’s when I notice his nose; he looks like a fucking toucan.

“What are you?” I spit. “My fucking therapist?”