As much as that annoyed Roni, she was also grateful to Jenna at that moment. Neither the bitch nor Lyle had realized it, but they’d actually helped Roni by letting her know he’d be on guard for that move. Now she knew to concentrate on her other moves.
She watched as he clenched his fists, dropped his chin slightly, and shifted one foot in front of him—and she knew he was going to hit her. Roni struck first, and she struck fast and hard, making it count, slamming her fist into his solar plexus, knocking the breath out of him.
Twelve years ago, her instinct had been to go straight for the groin. Now, she knew better. Knew it was a predictable move that was easily countered. Giving him no time to defend himself, she came at Lyle with a quick burst of moves. A hard blow to the ribs. A harsh kick to the kneecap. A palm strike to the face. She didn’t let up, keeping the pressure on, being careful not to telegraph her movements.
It was fast, it was brutal, and it was explosive. Lyle jabbed, punched, slapped, and repeatedly attempted to restrain her. She quickly recognized that he was trying to get her on the floor. No way. If he managed to pin her down, it would be very unlikely that she would get back up.
As she aimed for his nose, Lyle blocked the strike and abruptly swung his fist at her head. She jerked away to avoid the hit, but it managed to clip her jaw. The bystanders cheered. Damn, that hurt. And it was going to bruise. Marcus would lose his shit. The adrenaline dimmed the pain enough for her to keep moving. But she knew she’d feel the true brunt of it later.
Jenna screeched, “Make the bitch bleed!”
Lyle did just that: clawing her chest, raking over a nipple. Fuck. Pain knifed through Roni, making the bud feel like it was on fire. She could feel blood soaking her T-shirt, knew it was bad. But she fought the pull to check the wound. Refused to move her attention from Lyle. The moment she did, he would be on her.
Instead, she did as Eli taught her; she moved like water, flowing with Lyle’s moves as opposed to cowering from them. She never stopped. Not even for a moment. She hit, she ducked, she jumped, she dodged—ensuring she was too squirrely for Lyle to get a firm grip on her.
Aiming to obscure his vision, she crossed a little as she slammed her fist hard into his nose. An ominous crack was quickly followed by a roar as blood gushed from his nose and splattered on the ground. The audience booed and cursed.
Growling, Lyle wiped blood from his face and flicked it at her. The distraction cost her. He abruptly swept out his foot, knocking her feet from under her. She hit the tiled floor hard, grunting in pain, and he quickly advanced on her. She rolled before Lyle’s boot could connect with her ribs. Jumping to her feet, she parried his next blow. And the next. And the next. Seeing an opening, she rammed her elbow into his throat. He staggered back, cupping his throat.
With a loud cry of outrage, Jenna came charging over like a damn spider monkey. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Roni punched her breast hard—the bitch might now have an idea of exactly how Roni was feeling; her nipple was still throbbing, felt like it was on fire. Roni grabbed her by the hair and shoved Jenna’s head down just as she brought her knee up hard to connect with her nose. Another nauseating crack. Jenna cried out, and again, the crowd booed.
Roni had just shoved the whining jackal aside when Lyle’s hand locked around her wrist, squeezing painfully as he dragged her close. Instead of trying to pull free, she clawed his face, catching his eyeball. With a roar of pain, he backpedalled and reflexively retracted his hands to bring them up to shield his face. But he kept his cruel gaze locked on her. And Roni saw something in those eyes that hadn’t been there before. It was in his scent too. Behind the coppery tang of blood, the sour stench of sweat, and the burning whiff of anger was the metallic scent of fear. It satisfied her wolf.
With his eye red and watery, he again advanced on her. They went at each other, both merciless and thirsty for vengeance. Punching. Kicking. Slapping. Clawing. She was fast losing her breath, but she didn’t let up. Even though her chest heaved, sweat dotted her forehead, and blood was trickling from several wounds on her body, she kept on going. Lyle was in no better shape than she was, which only served to further incite the crowd.
At that moment, she sensed Marcus, knew he was close. Knew he was desperate to get to her, fighting and killing his way through the hyenas and jackals who were surrounding the lodge. But she didn’t want him anywhere near Lyle Browne or his pack of sick fucks.
Cupping her hands, she slapped them hard over Lyle’s ears. He roared and staggered as his eardrum shattered. She moved to attack him again, but an arm came around her from behind. Motherfucker. Using her claws, she sliced the arm from wrist to elbow. It released her. She twisted her hips and delivered a side kick to the bastard’s kidneys.
That was when she heard a bellow of rage coming from Lyle. She turned, but she turned too late. His punch caught her ribs, and there was a sickening snap. Ripples of sheer agony rushed through her. Son of a bitch. Her hand flew to her body as she sucked in deep mounds of air, trying to catch her breath. The heel of his boot slammed into her shin, and she stumbled, almost losing her footing on the slippery, blood-covered tiles. He took advantage, charging at her. The impact sent her sprawling onto her back.
The bastard straddled her and wrapped his hands around her neck. Instantly, she tucked her chin down to prevent her windpipe from being obstructed. Ignoring the reflex to try to pry his hands from her throat, she punched him in the dick. He made a choking sound as his hand cupped his groin and he curled over her.