Brawler (11 page)

TWENTY

Jaz

Day fifty-nine.

It was the day before the fight. I’d been in the ring for almost an hour, and I was exhausted. I was barely able to lift my arms, and my legs felt like rubber. I knew what Ripp was trying to do, he was attempting to break me, preparing me for the
fight of my career
from what he said.

The problem,
his
problem, was that I’d keep going even if I had to hit the mitts while standing on my knees. I might have been a lot of things, but one thing I wasn’t was a quitter.

“Right to the head.”

I swung my right into the mitt.

“Left to the body.”

I swung a left hook.

“Right,” he barked. “Again. Again. Again.”

I pounded the mitt, wondering if at some point I’d just collapse. Soaked in sweat, and bouncing on my toes in a puddle of sweat, I felt like I’d lost ten pounds, and I didn’t have ten pounds to lose. Maybe Kelsey was right. Maybe I worked out too much and ate too little.

“Again,” he snapped.

I pounded it again.

“Left, right, right.”

I pummeled the mitts as hard as I could. 

“Stop!” he shouted.

He lowered the mitts. “God damn, Jaz. You’ve got stamina.” He glanced at his watch. “Hour fifteen straight. Most men would have quit thirty minutes ago. Maybe sooner.”

I braced my gloves against my knees and tried to catch my breath, hoping he wouldn’t ask me to continue for at least a few more minutes. “Drink, Boss?”

“Hell yeah, my bad,” he said, reaching for the water bottle at the edge of the ring. He squirted a drink into my mouth. “So this girl’s fought damned near a hundred and fifty times in seven fuckin’ years. That’s damned near one every two weeks straight for seven years. Her total record is 112 wins and 34 losses. Most of her losses are early, and with the trainer she’s got now, she ain’t lost one fuckin’ bout. Seventy wins in a row.”

I stood up straight. “Sounds like a good fight.”

He scrunched his brow and shook his head. “You’re her last fight before she goes pro. She’s already got offers for some pretty big fights. Win or lose, you’ll get some fuckin’ attention. But I don’t want you all down and depressed when she beats ya.”

“
When
she beats me?” I snapped. “Don’t you mean
if
?”

“She’ll beat ya.”

She’ll die trying.

“Why do you say that?”

“112 and 34, that’s why.”

“Pfffft. That doesn’t mean shit. She hasn’t fought
me
yet.”

“You’re right,” he said. “She hasn’t. But you need to be prepared to lose.”

He was wrong. I needed to stay positive. His talk of my certain loss was making me mad as fuck, but I didn’t want to be disrespectful. “
She
needs to be. Why won’t you give me some credit?”

“I give you credit where and when it’s due. You’re a damned good fighter, but like Kelsey said, you’re a brawler. The tougher the fight gets, the tougher you get. Going up against a true fighter, you’re an easy target to beat. A slow steady fighter will get you on points every time. A strong fighter will beat you by knocking you out long before you get mad enough to fight, and another brawler will be hard to find. This girl’s a boxer. A damned good one. She’ll be tough to beat,” he said.

It pissed me off that he didn’t think I was a good boxer. I realized I was under the impression I was a pretty good fighter, and it was hard to give myself an honest critique, but I truly believed I was pretty damned good.

I was sure I had more heart than almost anyone, and that had to be worth something. “I’ve got a lot of heart,” I said. “More than any other girl in the ring.”

He nodded. “I’ll give you that much.”

“It’s worth something,” I said.

He tossed the mitts onto the floor. “Just remember, no fucking on fight night. And, if something happens, and you just so happen to catch her on a bad night, the win’ll get you a shot at the pros. People are already talkin’ about that Thunder Rose win. So, another, especially against this girl? Well, they’d really be talkin’.”

“What if I knocked her out?”

He shrugged. “Bad ass.”

I wanted to prove him wrong. Freddy used to tell me I had to
earn
all the respect I ever got, and that no one
gave
respect. I needed to not only beat this girl but to knock her out. Then, I’d earn Ripp’s respect.

I pounded my gloves together. “I’ll give it my best, Boss. It’s all I can do.”

“Can’t do better than that,” he said. “And, just so you know, the champ is gonna watch the fight.”

I wrinkled my nose. “The champ?”

He nodded. “Dekk.”

Shit.
The thought of him watching my fight made me nervous. He was all anyone at the gym talked about, and he was a local legend. Hell, he was the Heavyweight Champion of the World, he was a
global
legend.

“Why’s he coming?”

“Comin’ to watch her.”

Makes sense.

“Oh.”

“Alright,” he said. “Hit the showers. And like I said, no fight night sex.”

Whatever.

Fucking Ethan before the fight would settle me down, and make sure I fought a good fight, but I wasn’t about to tell Ripp that. Boxers and their stupid superstitions. I didn’t believe in any of them. I didn’t need lucky charms, a certain amount of wraps in my tape, or to lace my boots a particular way to win a fight. All I needed to do was have a clear mid, remember what Ripp taught me, and give it my all.

“You got it, Boss,” I said.

And I hit the showers.

TWENTY-ONE

Jaz

Day sixty.

With the rhythm of a dancer he gyrated his hips, bringing the pleasure of his thick cock with each well-timed movement. On my back with my heels high in the air, I mentally embraced each powerful stroke.

I craned my neck and looked at the alarm clock. “Five minutes!”

He lifted his head. “What the fuck?”

The fight was thirty-five minutes away, and the drive would take fifteen. Time wasn’t on my side. “I can’t be late,” I said dryly.

The movement of his hips stopped and he shot me a look. “
You
can’t be late and
I
can’t keep having you barking out time limits. It’s fucking me up.”

“Alright, I won’t say anything for ten.” I said. “Now get back to work.”

Hovering over me with his hips wedged between my inner thighs, he flexed his chest muscles and shot me a glare. “What?”

I wagged my eyebrows and grinned.

He cleared his throat. “Get back to work?”

“Uh huh.”

He pulled himself from inside of me and flipped me onto my stomach in one quick movement. The change was fast and unexpected. I was really enjoying our previous position, but before I had time to protest, he shoved me full of cock.

I heaved out a breath.

Jesus.

“Get back to work, huh?” His hand came down hard against my right ass cheek.

Fuck.

The unexpected slap startled me. With my butt burning from the pain and my mind closing in on sexual euphoria, I closed my eyes and bit against my lower lip.

He began to fuck me like he was working against the clock. I guess in some respects he was. After each three or four strokes, his hand would slap my ass again, providing me a painful yet pleasurable experience. He repeated the process over and over, his rhythm becoming steady and foreseeable.

I closed my eyes and separated myself from everything except his predictable movements. Lost in the magic of being one with Ethan, my mind drifted away. My concerns about the fight, finances, and my fear of commitment vanished.

Encompassed in my bubble of bliss, I became lost. Separated from the often abusive world of reality, my fears, my past, and the worries associated with my future all drifted away and I began to tingle from head to toe.

Although my thoughts and feelings appeared to be lucid, I wondered if somehow my mind had become stuck between what was real and what was imaginary. The tingling from within me rang throughout my body like an electric shock, and I opened my eyes.

The orgasm caused my muscles to spasm. My entire body shuddered in response. I stretched my mouth open wide, wanting desperately to cry out, but doing so was impossible. With wide eyes and a warm heart, I allowed the tremors to run through me until they diminished to nothing.

The room smelled like sex with a spritz of Ethan’s cologne. I rolled onto my back, closed my eyes, and inhaled the wonderful scent.

I opened my eyes. “Oh. My. God. That was intense.”

Still catching his breath, Ethan grinned. “Agreed.”

I glanced at the clock.

Fuck!

“Oh my God! The fight starts in thirteen minutes!” I screamed.

“Grab your bag.” He jumped from the bed and grabbed his jeans. “I’ll get you there in time.”

It was a fifteen-minute ride to the gym, and it’d take a few more to get inside, to the ring, and geared up. There was no way.

Fuck.

“There’s no way we’ll make it.”

“Grab your shit, Jaz,” he demanded, pointing at my bag.

“I said I’ll get you there, I’ll get you there.”

I rolled off the edge of the bed and attempted to stand. My legs – exhausted from the orgasm of epic proportion – folded beneath me.

And I fell to the floor.

TWENTY-TWO

Jaz

Day sixty.

“God damn it. You two idiots are makin’ me look like a fool. Gimme your fuckin’ hand,” Ripp growled.

Ethan shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why?”

Ripp grabbed Ethan’s wrist, pulled his hand from his pocket, and raised it to his nose. “You smell like fuckin’ pussy.”

He turned to me and shot me a laser sharp glare. “Did you fuck him? Is that why you’re late? Don’t fucking lie.”

I didn’t want to disappoint him, but there was no way I could tell him a lie. I swallowed hard and gave an almost indiscernible response. “Yes.”

His eyes narrowed even more. He was fuming mad.

“But I was late because of a leg cramp,” I explained. “He had to carry me to the truck.” It wasn’t the
entire
reason I was late, but at least it was true.

He turned toward Ethan, stared, and then shifted his glare back to me. After a few very intense seconds, he tossed his hands in the air. “Get her gloves and headgear on her, kid. You can help her through this one, I’m done.”

Shit.

“No. I’m sorry. I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” he asked. “You’re supposed to listen to your trainer, right?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

He pressed his hands against his hips. “Follow his instructions?”

“Yes.”

“Did I tell you no fight night fuckin’?”

I sighed. “Yes.”

“And you fucked anyway, didn’t ya?”

I sighed again. “Yes.”

“Ripton, is your fighter ready?” the referee asked.

“I don’t know,” Ripp responded. He motioned toward Ethan. “Ask him.”

The thought of fighting without Ripp as my trainer was gut wrenching. I felt terrible for disappointing him, and wished I could do something to fix it.

“She’ll be ready in a minute,” I heard Ethan respond.

“Please,” I begged. “I swear. I’ll do whatever you say.”

His jaw muscles tensed. “If you make a fool of me again, I swear, I’ll…”

“I won’t.”

“Ripton!”

“We’re comin,” Ripp snapped back. He turned toward Ethan. “Gimme those gloves, dip shit.”

Ripp snatched the gloves from Ethan’s grasp, and within a few minutes, I was ready to fight.

Ripp slid the headgear down, pounded his fist on the top it, and gripped the sides of my head in his hands. He held my face firmly and looked me straight in the eyes. “Disappoint me? I’ll get over it. Disappoint yourself? Hell, I don’t give a fuck. But him?”

He twisted my head to the side. Twenty feet or so behind the ring, the man from the picture in Kelsey’s office stood with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a hoodie. The Heavyweight Champion of the World, and he was looking right at us.

I swallowed hard at the thought of him being present for my fight.

“Don’t disappoint
him
,” Ripp said. “He owns this fucking joint, and he makes dreams come true for anyone willing to fight hard enough to fuckin’ achieve ‘em. Now get your skinny little ass in there and show him what you’re made of.”

I pounded my gloves together, eager to begin. “Box her or brawl her, Boss?”

“Get in there and box, Kid,” he said.

He released my head, clenched his hand into a fist, and held it at arm’s length. I pounded my glove against his fist.

Win or lose, I’ll make you proud.

He slipped in my mouthpiece. I turned toward Ethan and grinned. He mouthed the words
good luck
, and lifted the bottom rope for me. Nervous, but for some reason feeling rather confident, I climbed into the ring and walked toward the referee.

He exchanged glances between us. “Touch ‘em up.”

We pounded our gloves into one another.

“You’re going down no-name,” she whispered.

I cocked my hip. “Excuse me?”

The referee pressed his hand into each of our shoulders, separating us. “There’ll be none of that.”

He turned and glared as me.

I glared beyond him and locked eyes with her.
No-name?
I’ll make you remember it, you fucking bitch.

His eyes narrowed to slits.

I met his gaze, grinned, and nodded.

He looked at her. She grinned and nodded.

As the referee talked, I didn’t focus at all on him or what he was saying. Instead, I glared at her the entire time. She returned my stare, but in her eyes, I saw a glimmer of what I hoped was uncertainty.

She may have fought a hundred and fifty fights, but she hadn’t fought me yet. If she planned on beating me, I’d make sure she at least remembered my name for the rest of her miserable fucking life.

Get ready, bitch. When that bell rings, I’m coming and I’m coming hard.

The referee directed us to our corners. I went to mine, turned to face her, and pounded my gloves together while I waited for the bell to ring. All of the sounds outside the ring faded away and she became my only focus. Eventually, the only remaining sound was that of my beating heart.

Ding!