Right when our glasses hit the table, the ringmaster called the current fight and the entire crowd went wild.

As everyone's attention turned forward, I watched Toby behind his dark shades, glancing sideways at Ridley. She sucked the lime into her mouth, chasing the bitter taste of tequila. When she swallowed, Toby tracked the movement down her throat and his eyelids faltered for a brief moment before he forced his focus back down.

"How many of these do you think I could knock down in a minute?" He cocked his head to the side, looking drunk already. His gin-soaked wolfish smile made his white teeth look sharper than usual. "I'm thinking ten."

"You're a risk to society, Tobias." Ridley muttered, placing the pulpless lime down in front of her. Toby's eyes fixated on the slice. 

"And a coward," Temper said. "Do twenty."

A loud, roaring cheer interrupted our giddy banter.

We all spun our heads back to the ring, watching the ringmaster waltz up to the center of the platform. The metallic bleating of a bell cut through the thick air and everything suddenly became warmer; a stark comparison to the cold haze outside. The anticipation amidst the hustle and bustle was tangible. The crowd falls silent, awaiting the man's announcement.

"Welcome to the last fight of the night at the slaughterhouse!" The short, bulky man bellowed into his corded microphone. "A cautious reminder that all bets are void if there's a draw and betting ceases as soon as the fighters enter the ring. It's two men to a fight so there will be no touching, assisting or trespassing the ringside."

The lights faded out and the entire club went dark before a red spotlight filtered onto the ring, illuminating the platform and energising the surrounding swarm of people.

"And now...It's the moment you've all been patiently waiting for, the one man we're all here to witness in the flesh."

I turned to Ridley and gave her a bemused look. She rolled her eyes, looking deadpan and mouthed ridiculous. I smirked and forced myself to look away.

"Weighing in at one-hundred and fifty pounds," the announcer called. "With an unmatched amateur record of forty nine fights and forty nine victories, including thirty five fucking knockouts. He's our greatest contender."

My heart pounded beneath my rib cage as the fevered cries heightened.

"He's the baddest of the bad. The undisputed, undefeated, reigning terror of the town. The God of Russia himself. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you," he said, and exhaled. "Freddie 'The Vanquisher' Volkov!"

The crowd became hysterical at the sound of his name alone. The volume in the club reached an all time high as cheers, money and drinks shot through the air.

The sea of patrons parted as Volkov entered through a doorway and strode towards the ring, shirtless, emotionless and unimpressed. He was all toned muscle, cut into hard and defined lines throughout his body. His face morphed from annoyed to bored as he looked intensely onward. The mob shouted, taunted and goaded him, but he remained unaffected by it all.

Freddie started fighting as a freshman at Dalton and quickly became the most vicious and violent contender at The Cut; a crowd favourite. Like Ridge and I, he was now a senior and carried an unbreakable reputation across the entire town. His buzzed head, greenwood eyes and stern expression looked venomous in every space he invaded.

He ducked under the ring ropes and strolled to the middle of the enclosure, red light glistening down his pale skin. He cracked his neck to the side and pulled his shoulders back.  Volkov snarled, baring his teeth like a crazed, starved animal; a hot-blooded villain in the arena. The crowd chanted his name like it was an orchestrated chorus.

"This is barbaric," Ridley muttered, sounding none too pleased but her eyes were transfixed to the scene in front of us.

The ringmaster waited for the crowd to dull down before bringing the microphone back to his lips. "Looks like there's fresh meat on the counter, folks." he exclaimed. "Because tonight we have a new challenger who dares to face the Russian God."

"What the fuck?" Toby whispered, confusion gripping at his voice.

The crowd wasn't too happy either. A low hum of disapproval sliced through the incendiary atmosphere as everyone awaited the rookie fighter who was about to make the biggest mistake of his life. Someone obviously had a death wish if they were cocky enough to go up against The Vanquisher.

The announcer cleared his throat and smiled slyly at the audience. "Please give a warm welcome to Graycott's very own, returning to his home soil after much too long..." Another long pause.

"Sunday," Temper's voice broke, and my blood ran cold as the name was finally announced.

I fell off the edge that I didn't know I was hanging onto. Everything blurred around me. Ridley took in a sharp breath and immediately called for me over the noise, voice trembling. A slew of fading curses spat from Toby's lips but I heard nothing.

Everything around me blurred. 

I didn't respond, nor moved an inch from where I sat; my eyes glued onto the powerful, sinewy figure that steadily made his way to the ring. Out from the shadows and into the red light, my eyes found what they were looking for, what they were constantly looking for.

The oxygen I inhaled became intoxicating, carving its way through my begging body.

The crowd hollered, standing and craning their necks to catch a clearer sight of the new fighter. His lean muscles rippled underneath all the ink from his tattooed skin and his gaunt features looked steadily ahead at his opponent. He was older, he looked older. His clenched jaw remained unmoving, unnerving. The determination set in his thin, sharp and miserable smile as he studied Volkov.

Everything about him was disruptive, intense. I forgot, for a small moment, how to breathe. My palms were sweating and my heartbeat hammered at an unhealthy rate. 

It's not him. 

My eyes had to be deceiving me, but there I sat, fracturing and oozing at the seams, feeling everything all at once and nothing at all as my hands balled into fists at my side, nails carving and craving for blood. 

It can't be him.

He turned towards the audience and I watched painstakingly immobilised as the pair of grey-blue eyes danced across the room until they found mine.

The bell rang through the room, signalling the start of the fight.