Chapter 45
I stand in the corridor, and the smell of the warehouse permeates the air.
The noise is a rumble that fills the entire space.
This is going to be a tough fight. He’s a brawler, an aggressive one at that, but I’ve been keeping tabs on him.
I know I can take him. It’s just not gonna be easy.
I close my eyes, taking deep breaths as I wait for my name to be called.
I try not to let the fact that Scott will be here, watching, cloud my focus.
I hear the crowd roar as my opponent’s name is called first, “Kong”. I shake my head. Heavy rock music fills the space as the crowd goes wild. Strobe lights flicker through the warehouse as he makes his way to the cage.
When he reaches the mat, the lights go bright, and he throws his hands in the air, yelling and beating his chest like a fucking gorilla.
The guy’s big. Older than me by a year or two.
His body is soft, but he looks strong. That kind of strength you get from life, not from the gym.
I stare out from the darkness as he roars, as he prances around the ring.
I smirk. At this rate, he’ll have no energy left by the time I get into the cage.
It’s gonna be a hard fight. Dude has hands like pan shovels. His size will make it hard to evade him. I’m fast, though. And while I do train in the gym, it’s not one of these fancy gyms; it’s grimy, back alley, dive bar kinda grimy, but I love it. It made me the man I am today.
The noise from the crowd fades. They call my name.
The crowd loses it, significantly more excitement than for my opponent.
Whooping and hollering, whistles ring out around the space.
I flick my hood up, tilt my head down, and stroll out of the darkness.
The crowd erupts, feet stomping, clapping and cheering, but I keep my gaze trained on the base of the cage.
People tap my shoulders as I pass through until I reach the edge.
I climb the few steps. When I reach the top, I enter the cage, ripping my top over my head and tossing it out of the cage.
My skin is slick with sweat. The heat in here is humid.
We step to the middle. The ref gives us his spiel, but I don’t take my eyes off my opponent.
He winks at me, blowing a kiss, but I stare stoically.
I’m not into gimmicks; my fights speak for themselves.
I’m seriously not to be fucked with. We bump fists and step to the edge.
I glance down to the roped-off section, quickly tossing Scott a wink before I turn to meet my opponent’s stare, and the bell rings.
He flies at me. Swinging and snarling, trying to dominate straight off the bat.
I step to the side. He clips my shoulder.
And I bounce in the opposite direction. He spins and kicks, meeting fresh air.
I bob and weave as he powers towards me, crashing into me and throwing me to the floor.
He wraps his thick arms around me, but he’s relying on his strength and his density.
I encircle my legs around him, grappling.
I tangle my arms around his neck, gripping tighter, and I throw my fist into his ribs.
In the temple. I grip him aggressively; he’s pushing and growling as he tries to buck me off him.
I give him a few kicks to the kidneys and another punch to the temple before rolling out from under him.
I bounce up and out of the way. He brings one leg up, kneeling, and exhaling rapidly.
His gaze flicks to mine as he stands. A snarl spreads across his face.
Kong lunges forward, swinging at me, and I meet him in the middle.
I slam my fists into his soft abdomen. He grunts and jabs at me. I take the hits.
Snatching at the back of his head, I bring my knee up, catching him in the ribs.
He yells out in frustration as he pushes me off him, flinging a stray fist out, catching me in the face.
A sharp pain floods my cheek, but not enough to knock me off my stride.
We exchange a few blows before the bell rings, and we separate.
I head back to the edge as Jerry takes out my gum shield and gives me a drink.
“Dude’s a wild card. Watch yourself, the way he swings, some of them are gonna catch.”
I just nod. It’s not my first rodeo. Undisciplined fighters, more street-style fighters, aren’t an issue in respect of style. It’s their unpredictability that can lose you the fight. We stand, and the bell rings.
He lunges again, and I meet him in the middle.
The crowd roars, chanting our names from the darkness surrounding the cage.
The bright lights focus on us, blocking out everything but the first few rows.
We meet with a clash of fists and testosterone.
Muscles flex, skin sweats, and we exchange blow after blow.
He slips into boxing moves, and I drop down, swiping his leg out from under him.
I jump on top of him. But as he falls, he catches me in the eye with an elbow.
I cage my body over his and wrestle for control.
The ref steps between us, ringing the bell and pulling us apart.
That’s when I feel the warm blood trickling down my cheek.
I step away as Jerry comes in to fix me up.
“You need to end this?” He gives me that look. The one that says, “We don’t want to lose because of a split eyebrow.” He presses hard on the cut before administering epinephrine. He assesses the size of the split while packing it with Vaseline. “If this opens up, they will stop the fight.”
“How’s it looking? He just caught me with a stray elbow.” I stare at him, trying to get a read on his expression.
“It’s good, just finish this. It’s not worth risking it to push it longer. You good, kid?”
I nod, and Jerry cleans me up. I spare him a nod.
My gaze flicks to Scott, whose hand is clasped over his mouth.
When I stand from the small stool, I give him a small chin lift, letting him know I’m good.
He exhales. The ref gives me the look, and I let him know I’m good.
Then he nods, allowing the fight to continue.
We collide in the middle again. He automatically aims for my eye, clearly wanting the fight to be ended rather than him winning it, but I won’t allow that.
A crash of sweat splashes out. Punches and kicks rain down on each of us.
We throw each other down, scrambling and grappling.
I protect my face, allowing him to struggle to deplete his energy reserves while I hang on.
If the cut opens back up, they will stop the fight.
I refuse to lose. The bell rings, and we separate again, making our way back to the edge.
“You need to finish this,” Jerry grits out again.
I nod; this has to be the last round. I blow out a breath, stand straight, crack my neck and stretch out my arms. The crowd erupts again.
I stare down at him, his cocky exterior waning as he blows out breath after breath.
His chest rises and falls heavily, sweat dripping from his chin and sliding over his chest. I wait for him to stand, but his legs look heavy, and there’s a knowing look that this isn’t going to go much further.
The bell rings, and this time, he hangs back, waiting for me.
I step closer. Moving around in front of him.
His right hand flies out, and I weave, punching with my left, flicking inside his guard and catching him on the chin.
His arm drops, and I lash out, punching him with an uppercut to the side of the temple.
I lift my leg, slamming his face forward and crashing it down.
He stumbles, and I rush forward. I lift my leg and kick out, thrusting and getting him in the chest, knocking him on his ass.
He tries to move, but his legs are like jelly.
I dive on him, his hands try to come up to cover his face, but he’s too slow.
I get two punches in, his eyes roll, and I know I have him.
I knock out punch after punch before he goes limp, and the ref rushes in, calling the fight.
I step away and wait for the ref. He heads over to me, lifting my arm, naming me the winner. I move away, but he just rolls around. His legs have fucked off, unable to lift his own body weight. Kong’s team rush in and lift him from the mat, carrying him away, while my arm is in the air.
The crowd is screaming, chanting, and stomping.
I stare down at Scott. Sheer worry paints his face, and I toss him a wink.
I accept my win before making my way back to the changing room.
Jerry will be there, ready to stitch me up so I can get home.
When I click the door open, he spins around and grins, stepping forward and clapping me on the shoulder.
“Nice work, kid, let’s get that eye sorted.” When I slide on the table, Jerry steps forward, gripping my face, turning from left to right.
“You’re gonna have a few bruises and a scar.”
I shrug.
“That pretty face took a beating.”
“Barely,” I grumble as he wipes my brow off, pinching the bits of flesh together.
I grit my teeth as he picks up the needle.
Concentration spreads across his face before he leans in and starts to fix me up.
His stitches are small and neat, and I’ll need to have them taken out after a week, but it’ll heal fine.
Scars are sexy, right?
There’s a knock on the door, and I can’t help the grin splitting my face. Jerry shakes his head as he steps to the side and shouts, “Come in, Scott.”