Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
The other boxer came toward Landon, but he ducked as a massive gloved hand came right at his face. He moved left, then right. Swinging his own fist out, he connected with the muscular abdomen of his opponent, feeling strength when the other man grunted and stumbled back.
They were both bleeding, the other guy from his mouth and a cut on his cheek, and Landon from a cut above his eye.
The sound of Landon’s heart beating was in his ears, and the smell of sweat, blood, and aggression quickly filled the room as the fight progressed.
Landon swung out again, connected with the guy’s jaw, and loved that his head cracked back. More blood spilled out of his mouth and nose. The bell rang as the round ended, and Landon went to his corner.
This was underground fighting, so they didn’t have any coaches or help as they took their moment to regroup. The bell rang for the next round, the twelfth and final round. Landon bounced on his feet and went back into the center of the ring.
He could have ended this, knocked the fucker right out, but he liked prolonging it, liked the fight to last and wear him out. As it was he was exhausted, but it felt good.
The other boxer turned his head and spat out a mouthful of the red, viscous fluid, wiped the back of his hand over his lips and nose, and focused on Landon again. He grinned, his mouth guard covered in redness.
“Motherfucker,” the boxer mouthed.
Now it was time to end this shit.
Before the other boxer could come toward him Landon rushed him, swung out, and knocked him in the side of the head. The guy went back against the ropes, and they were locked like that for a second. This was underground, but there was still a referee, and he broke them up.
Landon started to deliver a series of short but effective hits to the guy’s side, but had to stop and block a few of the other boxer’s punches. Landon could see on the other guy’s face that he was tiring, and it wouldn’t take much to bring him down.
Landon felt the adrenaline rush through his veins even harder. They went at it for a few seconds, but Landon blocked all the blows the other guy tried to deliver.
“You motherfucker,” the boxer wheezed out, and despite the noise in the room Landon heard him well enough. He charged forward, swinging out and barely missing Landon’s head with his red glove. Landon used that moment to take the guy down.
He swung out, aimed for the underside of the guy’s jaw, and gave him an uppercut that had the other guy’s feet coming off the ground. He flew backward slightly, his eyes already closed, and slammed onto his back on the bloodstained mat.
The crowd went wild as the referee started counting to ten, but the boxer was out cold.
The referee got to ten and waved his arms, declaring the boxer out. Medics went to the other boxer. The referee came up to Landon, grabbed his hand, and the crowd went wild.
“Twelve fucking rounds, and victor by KO,” the announcer shouted out.
Landon closed his eyes, felt that aggression that was an ever-present boil in him dim slightly, and knew this was what it was all about: the rush, the adrenaline high. It was an intoxication all its own, and fuck did it feel good.
Chapter
Four
Several days later
Landon could feel his mother’s gaze on him, but he kept his head low and finished eating.
“Another fight?” his mother asked in a soft voice.
Landon looked up and stared into her worried, but still angry eyes. The boxing match had been yesterday. His eye was bruised, slightly swollen, and he had some tape keeping the wound closed. He’d had worse injuries, but he knew what he probably looked like, and he knew his mom was worried.
“It was just a small fight.” Even back in the day, when he was a punk ass kid, and the cops brought him home, it was for recklessness and fighting. But since finding the underground boxing he’d put that fighting to good use.
He made money off of it, got out his aggression, and it helped him keep level. His mom knew about it. She didn’t like it of course, but he was eighteen, and she knew there wasn’t anything to be done about it.
Landon had tried explaining to her that it was good for him, that he was safe—as one could be boxing—while he fought, but he knew she worried.
He looked over at Brent, seeing the hardness on his stepfather’s face, but he didn’t say anything. Landon saw Lyric appraising the side of his face. He knew she was probably thinking about their time at the creek a few days ago. Hell, he was and had been since it happened.