But that fight had been a tea party compared to this one.Alejandro fought with a single-minded intensity the likes of which she had never seen, seemingly impervious to the blows that he received. Blood oozed from a cut on his lower lip, and another on his right cheek. McCrory looked far worse. He was bleeding from his nose and mouth, his right eye was turning black. Cheers and catcalls rose from the crowd as the two men exchanged blows. Beside her, men were taking bets on the outcome of the fight. The odds were five to two on Alejandro. She would have bet on him herself, had she been so inclined. Even to her untrained eye, it was easy to see that Dade McCrory was no match for Alejandro. McCrory was tiring rapidly, his punches were badly timed and falling short. Alejandro hit him again, and McCrory went down on his hands and knees. When he came up, there was a knife in his hand. Alejandro stared at him a moment, and then there was a knife in his hand, too, pulled from the inside of his right boot.
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