Chapter 40: Fight To Forget
Chapter 40: Fight To Forget
Chapter 40: Fight To Forget
Roy
Preciser blows are smarter than the messy throwing of a dozen fists. It tires you out and you only have half a chance at hurting your opponent enough to stop them or stun them. Our precise punch can knock a man out.
“Gentlemen, the next up, we have the bossman Roy Vortex with us here for a fight. His opponent is a champion and mixed martial artist, place your bets on who you think will be left standing tonight.” The guy I hired to run the show was doing his job and directing the crowd.
Bringing attention to both them and the fighters so everyone moves along. The circle of bodies surrounding the thick columns of the garage all fell away from me when I stepped forward into the fight ring. Concrete, smears of blood half heartedly wiped by a street child who wants a few bills as tip money for helping clean up around here. You don't want to slip on another man's blood during a fight but it does happen. It depends how deprived of a fight you want to watch.
“Get him, Vortex.” I heard the two females' voices briefly in the background.
“Knock 'em dead.” I heard Gabe's voice now with them.
I didn't look, I was getting in the zone. Focused, alert, that is why the voice pulls away and the voice inside my mind comes into focus.
'You got this, Roy. You know his favored techniques.’ the voice tells me.
'Don't let him take you to the ground or you won't get up. He is a material artist, you want to keep him using his fists not his body, Vortex.” The voice tells me more.
'Think of all the shit you want to fight and pour it into every hit tonight. Fight to forget, Vortex.”
And I do want to forget some stuff, I want to forget that Callan Harold fucked my cousin raw then fucked my ex fling raw while I was still in the picture. I want to forget that Hannah was stupid enough to get herself pregnant and that she did it with not one but two Harold men. I want to forget the drama I have been dealing with all week while she cried in my house and ate all my food. I want to forget about the looming mafia war, I want to forget our cartel men that will surely my balls as much as they can to get what they want from Black Knight's. How that responsibility now falls on my plate. I want to forget that I still feel something for Brianna, that I felt my gut flip when she talked, laughed or smiled at me. I want to forget that she used me when she was in between some bullshit toxic romance with Callan. I want to forget that I let her come here tonight when I shouldn't be spending any time with her at all. I want to forget how she felt around my dick. I want to forget the private moment shared between us. I want to forget everything.
My opponent, Tunde has thick legs and solid arms, his stomach is prudgy and a little fleshy, but he has got the stance of s fighter. The eyes are like coco beans and they are fixed on me. Watching my every movement, he assesses me as I am assessing him. Close cropped hair and cauliflower ears, if you don't know what that is, it is a fighter's ear and it is kind of gross. His chin is tough and his face is flat by years of being hit in it maybe.
“Fight!” I heard the announcement.
Cheers started around the circle of men, voices yelling all kinds of things. It is all kinds of stuff and it gets crazier and crazier as the fight gets better and better. Tunde and I slowly started circling each other but neither of us stepped too close so the other couldn't take them down just yet. He knows how to subdue a man and I know how to knock one out. It is more so who gets to do which thing first. He let off one swing when the crowd started screaming louder and louder.
“Hit him!” I dodged the attempt and we continued to circle each other and plant our feet ready for the other to act.
Oh, come on. This can't be a boring fight on the night I am trying to impress a girl. But if I start fighting riskyly, am I going to regret it? Sometimes I do some risky ass shít and most of it pays off but I have a true audience tonight. Both these men, her. I took a step closer and started with my right hook but faked Jim out with a solid left hand even if it isn't my dominant hand. I landed the punch to his ribcage and stepped back. He absorbed the punch and started getting amped up, swing and swing. Step back, I dodged one and he dodged one. Fuck it, enough.
I tucked my head behind my fists and started swinging. He wasn't expecting the sudden enthusiasm since it is not my typical fighting style when I face him. It tipped him a little. I hit him in the left eye, the right rib cage and against his forearm when he blocked his jaw from getting knocked when my powerful fist came at him. One more knock to his face with only my wrapped knuckles and his skin split open. Here comes the blood.
“Blood, blood!” They chanted.
He started getting mad and he too was starting to throw more fist than he usually would. He likes taking guys down or being smart about where he hits you. Everybody has a fighting strategy, my strategy is to not have a strategy. It makes you predictable and if you have an individualized strategy it won't work on every fighter. They are all so different, my strategy is to adapt and adjust my way of fighting once I see how my opponent fights. Simple as that.
In that heat of the moment, Tunde felt desperate. His face was leaking, he hadn't gotten a good enough hit on me yet. Don't get me wrong, he landed plenty of punches. I am just used to them, it takes more than a few hits to get me down. My cheek was red, my torso and shoulder had been hit. He brushed the side of my head in one of his flying fits moments. We were starting to sweat, we both felt slick and Tunde had red smeared on the side of his temple and made his eye lashes look moist and crimson. So, yes, in the heat of the movement, he felt desperate. He wanted to take me down to the ground.