Fighting Matthias’s second in command was a pleasure. Isaac had never trusted or liked the guy, and having a shot at the bastard had been an unspoken career goal.

Ah, the irony. Just as he was getting out, he got his chance—

Wham!

As right hooks went, the fucking thing was a bulldozer, and it caught Isaac square in the jaw, kicking his skull back and causing all kinds of trouble: Given that the brain was nothing but a loose sponge in a snow globe, his mental matter went haywire, banging around its hard bone home and rendering him senseless and off balance.

All things considered, he’d been more worried about a weapon of the metal variety, but knuckles worked. Fuckin’ hell, they worked—

That was the last thought he had as the floor of the octagon leaped up to greet him, its hi-how’re-ya just as much a rocket as his former comrade’s fist.

Good thing he was the Energizer Bunny.

He was up a second after he back-flatted—even though his legs were numb and loose and his vision was like a TV that needed its knobs adjusted. Lunging, he was all instinct and will, proof that the mind could override the body’s pain receptors—at least for a little while. He tackled his opponent around the waist and drove him into the ground; then flipped him over onto his stomach and wrenched his arm back, pulling the thing like it was rope.

On a crack, something gave out and Isaac abruptly had to catch himself from falling.

The crowd went nuts, all kinds of fuckin’ A ricocheting around the half-finished lobby until a shrill whistle cut through the roar. At first, he assumed the sound was just an extension of the chaos in his head, but then he realized that someone had stepped into the ring. It was the promoter, and for once, the bastard’s face was a little pasty.

“I’m calling the fight,” he yelled as he grabbed Isaac’s wrist and yanked it into the air. “Winner!” Leaning in, he hissed, “Let go of him.”

Isaac couldn’t figure out what the guy’s problem was—

His eyes finally focused properly, and well, what do you know. Matthias’s number two needed an X-ray, a cast, and maybe a couple of screws: His humerus protruded out of his skin like a snapped-off, bloodied stick, the arm broken and then some.

Isaac jumped off and backed up against the chain link, his breath pumping in and out of his mouth. His opponent was on his feet nearly as quickly and he held the hand that flopped casually, like he had nothing more exciting than a bug bite wrong with him.

As their stares met and the guy smiled in that way of his, Isaac thought . . . shit, this fight had been nothing but a warning shot across his bow.

A message that they were on him.

An invitation to run.