I was beginning to think this camp had the slowest soldiers in history. But I was wrong. A surprising number of people made it to the fight in record time. The only problem is that they’re acting like kids in a schoolyard—running to watch the fight rather than to break it up.

My surprise costs me. Boden jams his elbow into my right breast.

The intense pain just about kills me. I curl as best I can with two hundred pounds of muscle on top of me, but that doesn’t protect me from the bitch-slap he whips across my face.

Now he’s adding insult to injury because if I had been a man, he would have hit me with a closed fist. Great. If he just slaps me around and I still get beaten, then I’ll only prove that I’m someone everyone can push around.

Where’s Raffe when I need him? Out of the corner of my eye, I see him among a blur of faces, his expression utterly grim. He writes something down on money, then passes it to a guy who’s collecting them from everyone around him.

It dawns on me what they’re doing. They’re taking bets!

Worse, the few who are cheering for me aren’t cheering for me to win; they’re screaming for me to last just one more minute. Apparently, no one’s even betting that I’ll win, only on how long I’ll last.

So much for chivalry.

CHAPTER 19

While I’m taking in the scene, I block two more hits with Boden sitting on top of me. My forearms are taking a beating and my bruises are getting bruises.

With no rescue in sight, it’s time to get serious about the fight. I lift my butt and legs off the ground like a gymnast and wrap my legs around Boden’s thick neck, hooking my ankles at his throat. I rock my body forward, jerking my legs down.

Boden’s eyes widen as he’s yanked backward.

Entwined, we swing like a rocking chair. He lands on his back, legs spread around my waist. I’m suddenly sitting upright with my ankles wrapped around his throat.

The instant we land, I slam my fists into his groin.

Now it’s his turn to curl.

The cheering crowd instantly mutes. The only noise I hear is Boden’s groaning. Sounds like he’s having trouble breathing.

Just to make sure he stays that way, I jump up and kick him in the face. I kick him so hard his body spins halfway on the dirt.

I wind up for another kick, this time to the stomach. When you’re small enough to have to look up at everyone around you, there’s no such thing as a dirty fight. That’s a new motto for me. I think I’ll keep it.