As he tries to reach on me, I take a step into him, throwing him complete off his mental game. I’m sure he’s not used to someone just barreling in, seemingly unprepared. I always loving teaching a fighter a new fucking life lesson. Don’t expect every opponent to fight the same way.
That seems obvious, but to most fighters, they get used to the typical reactions people give them in fights, like a man knows to be guarding his boys while in a fight with a woman, a fighter learns how others perceive their body and judge their weaknesses.
He thought I would back up, out of his reach, because I’m expected to move slower being taller than him.
Instead here I am, in his face, sending my fist into the side of his face. He stumbles, but keeps his feet, not a lost cause like some might have been, and he quickly double jabs me in the ribs, but I keep pursuing, knowing just how much damage I can take, and this is not even a drop in the bucket. He wasn’t expecting me to keep my forward movement causing him to trip over his own feet.
But I don’t need to get him while he’s down, I don’t want a victory like that. It wouldn’t stave off my need for violence in this moment.
So I let him get back to his feet, some probably thinking it honorable, but if this were a fight to the death, I’d have beaten his face in while he was down. Dying isn’t honorable.
Once he’s back on his feet, I don’t rush him, like he’s expecting now, instead I stalk him, again throwing him off of his expectations. I can fight in many different styles, and many different mindsets. So I stalk him, until he throws out and arm, recklessly but with some power and socks me in the left eye.
I grin.
The more he’s reckless, the more fun tearing him down will be.
I punch him high on his shoulder, and while not an elegant or even initially painful move, it limits his own strength, and this is my long game. I chip away at my opponents strength and stamina, mentally exhausting them as well as physically.
He tried to go back for the same ribs he already hit, and I let him, because once I get him close, I snarl him up in my arm, holding him for a moment before slamming my fist to his face.
I feel my knuckles split once they hit his teeth, and I relish that pain. This is why I am here.
Blood spills from his nose, and I hear that crunch and I know it’s broken. Hopefully he has a woman at home who can patch him up. Maybe that’s why hes taking these fights in the first place, to buy her a dream house or a wedding ring.
The thought of a ring brings Gio and Alonzo’s plan back to the for front of my mind, so the next punch is even harder, the poor idiot in the fighting ring with me paying for all the trouble they’ve stired up.
I’m raging at the fact that I like her. I didn’t expect to like her. Didn’t expect a sassy bajan woman, ready and willing to throw down to protect her own. I dint expect to find a woman with every curve I have ever dreamed about in every right place, with an attitude, that I would have never seen coming from the daught of a stipper.
I never got to meet Lene, but if she was anything like her daughter there is no wonder as to why Alonzo had to marry her, difying his father. I would have done the same.
But what really had me going is that unlike any girl I have ever had, she didn’t seem to care about all the dicks in the room. Almost didn’t even seem to notice the difference in gender while dealing with us, and that was refreshing. Growing up in the masion with the other boys, we always had the wives hitting on us, fawning over us. What else do lonely woman have to do other htan fanticise about being a cougar, especially when leaving your husband usual ment a death scentance. I don’t blame them, but holy shit was it amazing to be looked at as anything other than a hunk of meat.
It probably has something to do with being around Bones and cobra and a male dominated crew. After a while I’m sure she got tired of all the male posturing and just saw us as people and not the dicks in our pants.
Something about those slightly up-tilted eyes looking at me in the DJ booth stares, and deciding I was worthy of trust…it was hard to keep my dick from saluting it’s new boss.
I keep pounding my first into his face, as he tries to get a hand under my arm to try to pry himself free. It’s another stream of blood that assists him to slop my hold, primarily because the blood slicked over my arm from the new cut on his eyebrow.
He stumbles away trying to gain distance, wiping at his face to try to clear the blood form his vision. I allow him to do so, even as I pursue him again, pushing him further and further toward the edge of the ring.
He must see an opening as he decides to rush forward, hooking an arm undermine, preventing me defense with my left arm. He strikes me with his left into my right cheekbone, and blood fills my mouth as my teeth cut the fleshy inside, but I swallow it down.
The next blow he lands is a liver shot that just glances, but that desperate move les me know just how badly he wants this fight over, just how tired he is.
When his hold begins to slip, I pull free, his blood aiding my own escape, and I hit him in the side of the face with my right fist, right above his left temple.
And he falls, no stumbling no stammering, just falls.
Lights out, you poor fool.
Slowly sound started to register, I could hear the agitation in the crowd that bet against me, and a few murmurs of triumph from those who sided with me.
Frank claps me on the back, and it takes every strength I have to prevent myself from decking him as my instincts tell me to.
He guilds me over to the bar, and hands me a sot of whiskey, costumery for the winners of these fights. And I sit down, and let my pain sink into my bones. I feel every blow he landed, and revel in it as I sip on my whiskey, slowly taking note of the buzz of people around me, but stay locked into my own thoughts.
I know I shouldn’t want to get to know Priest better. It’s not a good idea, getting personal in that way with the person who holds the purse strings, but something about her draws me in, and I know that I will spend the rest of my life pissed at Alonzo and Giovani if she ends up with Gio. The thought of it makes me sick.
“They really found Alonzo’s daughter?”
The sound of Lucy or Lily’s voice draws me out of my head.
No one should be talking about Priest here. There are too many unknown entities here. I want to tell her to shut her trap, but she’s not talking to me, and me saying anything will draw more attention.
But I do pay attention. She’s looking at Frank, and when he just shrugs, neither confirming or denying it, her eyes flash with something, almost like desperation, but I can’t pin it down before she has wipped her face clear of the emotion and continued on to chat about some deal her dad was making.
I hear my name whispered among the crowed, most people knowing who I am and how I am connected with Alonzo, but no one bothers me as I finish the shot and head to the locker room.
Kyrian text me to tell me the amount of money he’s electronically deposited into my bank account, and I slip my phone into my sweatpants pocket and pull the gray hoodie from my locker and keep the hood up.
When I exit the employes only door, I find Max there, smiling, and I am sure he’s made a tine of cash off that fight.
“I already called a cab for you, Boss,” he says.
I nod my head and head out the door, to find the cab already out front.
I have the cab drop me off three blocks away again, and I take my time walking, mostly because I’m now tired. It’s been a long fucking day, that doesn’t seem to have an end in sight as far as I can see. And while we could get lucky, I highly doubt Bones is going to let Priest out of his sight after everything that’s gone down.