Fate's Return (Twisted Fate, Book 2)

Chapter One

"You're not finished!"

"Are you throwing in the towel, Janet?" Gus asked, leaning over the ropes to hear her better over her own coach's denial.

Janet looked at her coach and back to Gus, and then nodded. "I'm done."

She focused on me and I sighed, allowing my body to relax. Would it be possible to have another last fight? I was just starting to warm up.

"Let's go, Janet," her coach ordered, scowling.

She nodded and glanced at me one last time before crouching to pass through the ropes he spread for her, saying, "Good win," under her breath.

Seven people became five, and the main door slammed shut almost as loud as the coach could be heard reprimanding Janet as they left. I watched them go until their backs disappeared, feeling sorry for her, and lucky that Gus had said yes when I asked for training. With a coach like that, I'd only be motivated long enough to learn how to kick his ass for being an ass before throwing in the towel.

But loving to fight didn't mean that I could fight.

There had always been prohibitions against matching up fighters in our town—that's why it was such a small crowd. This match, like all the others I had participated in, wasn't sanctioned. The authorities had always looked the other way, content to ignore it even though they wouldn't change the laws to allow it. But some mother on the PTA had found out about the fights and called attention to it, even going as far as bagging the training. "There are enough bullies at school without teaching children to fight," she had complained. Or shouted, or whatever it was PTA moms did to gain support.

For some asinine reason, mostly because he trained girls, Gus had been singled out, becoming the example for the gym owners in Hidden Springs.

Now, the restrictions parents had demanded for were being enforced. Gus had no choice: stop training fighters and use the gym for what it was meant for or lose his livelihood. I was just grateful to have been given the chance for one last match, as unsatisfying as it was, before the ring was taken down tomorrow.

"A-wys-sa! You were per-fect!"

I rolled my eyes as Gus gushed with my praise, and then stepped back into my corner, resting my arms on the top rung so he could untie my gloves so that I could take the towel and water bottle he held out for me as soon as they were off. Gus was a little old man with dark black hair and missing teeth that slurred his speech and was either younger than he looked or deserved a record for being the world's oldest living human still able to function on their own. Still, he was tough, his wrinkled skin hiding a lean muscle that he'd spent his youth honing within the ring somewhere fights weren't just sanctioned but celebrated.

I squirted a shot of the water from the bottle onto my head, shaking out my bob of shaggy, chin-length hair like a dog trying to dry itself off. After the exertion of the match, it felt good. I totally understood why athletes never appeared to drink the stuff they were handed—you can't swallow if you can't breathe. But even the effort it took to drag air into my lungs was a sweet kind of pain, reminding me that I was still alive.

"You are a nat-ur-al," Gus said, smiling.

"Yeah?" Lowering the water bottle, I squeezed a stream into my mouth and swallowed, nodding my head. "Then get me another match set up. That wasn't worth it, not for a final fight."

Gus's smile turned sad. "I'm sorry."

I looked around the gym, which was just big enough for a decent workout if you didn't mind using out-dated machines located around a huge ring positioned in the center of the room, and bleachers that pulled out from the wall on either side. Some called it homely; I felt at home.