Liam's left forearm came up, blocking, but the impact of the brass knuckles sent a jolt of pain through his arm.
He stepped back, shaking his arm slightly.
'He's pressing. Getting more aggressive. And his punches are getting trickier—feints, angle changes, combinations I'm not expecting.'
Near the back of the crowd, Tasha stood with her hands crossed, her eyes locked on the fight.
Everyone around her was absorbed, shouting, cheering, their attention completely focused on Liam and Shay.
Her gaze landed on a man standing two feet to her left.
He was tall, maybe six feet, wearing a dark green jacket. His hands were raised, clapping, shouting encouragement at Shay. His wallet sat in his back right pocket, the leather worn and bulging slightly.
Tasha's eyes flicked back to the fight, then back to the man.
'Everyone's distracted.'
Her right hand moved slowly. She took a small step closer, her body angling slightly.
The crowd roared as Shay threw another combination.
