Page 20 of Sunny Undone

SUNNY

“Is that all you got?” I say to the guy whose glasses I just punched off his face.

He goes to hit me, but you can tell none of these men ever boxed. Sure, they’ve got some strength to their punches, but they’ve got no bounce in their feet.

They’re slow. Sluggish.

Heavyweights.

Unlike me. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee,” I say, because who doesn’t love a good Muhammad Ali quote in moments like this. “His hands can’t hit what his eyes can’t see.”

“You need to get the…fuck…out of here,” he says, his fists in the general vicinity of his face, but I’d hardly call it a guard. Blood drips from his nose, courtesy of my fist.

“And you should learn how to fight if you’re gonna come at me. Wait, does that rhyme? I think it rhymes. Ridge, I just rhymed with Ali.”

“Good for you,” he replies, before dropping his shoulder to run at the second man. He takes him airborne for three seconds before tossing him to the ground, landing on one of the healthy pickerelweed plants that Della pointed out to me earlier.

And suddenly, I’m pissed for her.

“Don’t kill the plants,” I say to Ridge.

He puts his hands on his hips, sucking in air after his exertion, and turns back to me. “You’re worried about the fucking plants?”

I glare at him, like, of course I care about the plants. And I care about what Della cares about because I don’t want to have to go back to the truck and tell Della we killed some more shit.

But I can’t say all that out loud because then they’ll know Della is in the truck and⁠—

“Fuck,” I mutter as the third guy’s fist glances off my shoulder. The hit lands hard, but not enough to knock me over or out.

I spin around. “What the fuck, dude? Poor form to hit someone side-on when they aren’t looking.” But I punctuate it with a punch to his face, and this one lands.

Hard.

I feel his cheekbone crack beneath my heavy rings. “Sorry about that medical bill,” I say.

“As entertaining as this all is, can we wrap this up?” Ridge says with a grunt.

Just as I’m about to reply, he gets the opportunity to kick one of the other guys in the gut and sends him into the two I’m attempting to hold off before they all stumble and go down like bowling pins.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Ridge says, grabbing my arm.

Together, we sprint up the trail toward my truck. I jump into the driver’s seat to get the engine started. Ridge pulls out his knife and stabs it into first one and then a second of the attackers’ tires before running to join us.

“You okay, Della?” I ask, looking back over the seat.

She’s crouched down uncomfortably on the floor. “Forget about me. What about you?”

“I’m fine. Like I said, Indy. It’s all an adventure.”

“But are you hurt? Because one of those men nearly landed you on your ass.”

I touch her cheek for a second. “Hurts that you didn’t think I could handle a sloppy punch like that. I channeled Muhammad Ali.”

“Sugar Ray Robinson is the real GOAT,” she says.

Ridge chooses that moment to jump into the passenger seat. “That should slow them down.”

They’ve found their feet and are headed towards us. Della slams her door shut.