Chapter 1
They dragged me into the underground fighting ring in Detroit because I couldn't pay my mom's hospital bills—and told me I'd leave either with the money or in a body bag.
The cage door clanged shut behind me.
The crowd was screaming, bloodthirsty.
My opponent was twice my size.
A professional fighter.
They called him "The Tank."
"First knockdown," the promoter yelled from outside the cage. "Five thousand dollars. Knockout? Ten thousand. That's enough to cover your mom's bill, kid. If you survive."
I didn't want to be there.
But the hospital was threatening to cut off my mom's dialysis.
She had two weeks to live without treatment.
The bell rang.
The Tank charged.
His fist hit my jaw like a sledgehammer.
I went down hard.
The crowd roared.
I tasted blood.
My vision was blurry.
"Stay down, kid!" someone yelled. "Save yourself!"
But I thought of my mom.
Her smile when I visited her yesterday.
Her cold hand in mine.
"Don't worry about me, baby," she'd said. "We'll figure something out."
I pushed myself up.
One knee.
Then the other.
The crowd went quiet for a second.
Then they roared louder.
The Tank looked amused.
"Brave kid," he said. "Stupid. But brave."
He hit me again.
Right in the ribs.
I felt something crack.
I went down again.
Pain shot through my entire body.
I could barely breathe.
"Stay down!" the promoter yelled. "Don't be an idiot!"
I thought of the hospital bills.
$12,400.
The number was burned into my brain.
I thought of the doctor's face when he told me.
"Without payment by Friday, we have to discontinue treatment."
I pushed myself up again.
My legs were shaking.
The Tank stopped smiling.
He came at me a third time.
But this time, I was ready.
I ducked.
His fist sailed over my head.
I drove my shoulder into his chest.
He stumbled back, surprised.
The crowd exploded.
I didn't stop.
I hit him.
Again and again.
Not with technique.
With desperation.
With every ounce of fear and anger and love I had for my mother.
He went down.
Hard.
The referee counted.
"One! Two! Three!"
The Tank didn't move.
The cage went silent.
Then the crowd lost their minds.
The promoter opened the cage door, his face pale.
He handed me an envelope.
"Ten thousand," he said. "You earned it, kid."
I held the envelope in my shaking hands.
It wasn't enough.
Not quite.
But before I could say anything, a man in a suit walked up to the cage.
He was watching me with cold, calculating eyes.
"I have a proposition for you," he said. "Fight one more time. Tomorrow night. Same rules. Twenty-five thousand dollars. Cash."
I looked at the envelope in my hand.
I thought of my mom.
I thought of the pain in my ribs.
I thought of the way the Tank had looked at me before I hit him.
"Who's the opponent?" I asked.
The man smiled.
May you like
It wasn't a nice smile.
"His name is 'The Reaper,'" he said. "He's never lost a fight. And he's never left an opponent walking."
