Chapter 6 · Round Two. Don't Die.

Ryan's left leg was still numb when they shoved him back into the cage.

The gate slammed behind him. Metal on metal, loud enough to rattle his teeth. His opponent was already waiting on the far side—bigger than the last guy, augmented shoulders that didn't quite match his frame. Cheap grafts. The kind that rejected if you looked at them wrong.

Ryan rolled his neck and felt the current prickling under his skin. Too soon. Way too soon.

The crowd was thicker tonight. More bodies pressed against the chain-link, more phones up, more cash changing hands in the back rows. Someone had spread the word about the burnout case who cooked his last opponent alive. Ryan could see it in their faces. They weren't here for a clean fight.

They wanted the fireworks.

"You good?" Derek's voice crackled through the earpiece Natasha had jammed into his hand five minutes ago. "You look like shit."

"Go to hell," Ryan muttered.

"Already there, man. Just keep it together for three minutes."

Three minutes. Ryan had lasted ninety seconds in the first fight before his regulator shit the bed and turned his opponent into barbecue.