RIVAL’S POV
The pit always smelled like death before the first punch landed.
Sweat, piss, blood dried into the dirt — a graveyard no one buried. Samuel had stacked the night heavy. No distractions, no other fights. Just me. The draw. The only name on the board that mattered.
The crowd pressed so close to the rails I could see spit flying when they screamed. Bets slammed down faster than the bookies could mark them.
And Samuel stood in the shadows, smiling thin as a knife.
Because this wasn’t just another fight. He wanted a spectacle. He wanted me to bleed big enough to keep the pit addicted.
The slab of muscle they threw at me tonight was no rookie. He moved like he’d killed men before. Slow, patient, the kind of fighter who didn’t need to rush because he knew the damage would land e
