But something in me just refused to stop. Somehow I found another burst of energy. I didn’t even know where it came from. I arched my back and threw him off me, and then sprang to my feet as he charged forward again, like a bull. I stepped back and fired three or four hard uppercuts that landed.
Malcolm stumbled backwards, his face a mask of surprise. Now I was coming forward. I hit him with a body shot and he sagged to the mat. I jumped on top of him. I was outwrestling him—outwrestling one of the best wrestlers in the country.
“Time!” Shouted Quarry, just when I was about to finish him off.
Malcolm got up and slowly walked out of the cage.
The crowd outside was murmuring with surprise and discomfort. I was standing there, swaying a little on my feet. I could hardly lift my arms.
Quarry was looking at me, and he had a strange gleam in his eyes. “This is our last man on the team,” he told me. “I think you probably know him.”
As I turned to the entrance to the cage, I already knew who it would be. Tim
“The Sting” Young. They called him “The Sting” because of his incredibly deceptive speed and power. For a heavyweight, he was on the smaller side, but when he hit guys, he hurt them. And although he might have been small for a heavyweight, he was much bigger than I was. And he held the title belt in the UFF. That meant he was pretty much the baddest man on the planet.
He looked at me with a serious, watchful expression. Now he’d seen what I was capable of.
“Let’s get it on,” Quarry said, and motioned for us to fight.
Tim slowly stepped forward, in no rush to meet me. I stayed back as well, hoping just to avoid him for the two minutes. My legs were like jelly and I couldn’t catch my breath. I was soaked with sweat, and shaking from exhaustion.
Nobody in the crowd was uttering a peep. It was the quietest I’d ever heard things during a fight.
Slowly, Tim shuffled toward me, throwing a long jab to keep me at bay. I stayed away from him, circling first to his right, and then to his left as he stalked me.
Soon, he was getting more confident. His long jab started to hit me. Even when I blocked it, the punches sent shivers of pain down my arms.
He threw a one-two combination and the right hand landed on my jaw, snapping my head back. And it hurt. It was sheer pain. I tried to move away, but he threw a kick at my midsection that landed with terrorizing force.
He threw another kick that smashed into the meat of my thigh and buckled my leg. Then he threw punches to my body that took my breath away.
I slowly realized that Tim was punishing me for what I’d done to his teammates.
He wasn’t trying to finish me—he was trying to give me the most pain he could.
That filled me with anger. Anger was all I had left.
I hadn’t wanted to fight like this. I had just wanted to join their team, and they’d insisted I fight. Now they were angry that I had done my best and that they couldn’t beat me.
Well, fuck them. And fuck Tim, too, I decided. Let him knock me out. Nobody ever had, and I was willing to let it be now, if that was what needed to be. But I wasn’t going to just stand there and be Tim’s punching bag.
I started throwing my own punches back at him, and he wasn’t expecting it. I caught him with a shot on his nose and his nostrils flared.
“Don’t like getting hit, do you, Timmy?” I shouted, firing another few shots his way. He avoided them.
“You little shit. I’m going to wreck your face.” He started winging punches at me, but now he was angry. He started missing.
I easily avoided his punches and started showing off. “What’s wrong, Tim?
Getting beat by a little guy hurts, don’t it?” I laughed.
I threw a kick that hit his thigh and he grimaced. I threw another and hit him in the stomach. He took a step back. “Okay, motherfucker. Let’s go.”
And then he came at me with everything he had.
I didn’t realize he had another gear. In fact, I understood too late that he’d actually been going easy on me.
But now he truly was punishing me. He landed a flying knee into my ribs and I cried out in agony.
Then he threw a left and right hook and I fell to the ground. He backed away.
“Get up. Get up, motherfucker.”
Slowly, I got up.
Tim walloped me with a right hook in the jaw and I staggered backwards. The cage held me up. He punched me again, and I couldn’t defend myself. My head flew back into the cage.
He hit me again and again.
I heard the calls, dully, from the crowd. They were asking how the hell I was taking these shots. They were starting to cheer.
They were cheering for me.
Tim hit me again and again, but I never fell.
Finally, Quarry called time. I was still standing.
Tim was just looking at me like I was some alien being. As the rest of the team streamed into the cage, he finally came over to me and embraced me quickly before letting me go.
People were slapping me on the back, congratulating me.
I couldn’t respond. I could barely even think.
They got a stool and sat me down on it, brought me water to drink.
After a little while, Quarry came over and knelt down beside me. His expression was serious, but clearly impressed. “You made a statement here today,” he said.