Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 105065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
You can tell his men respect him, standing like sentinels at his side. Not directly next to him, just a couple inches back. They don’t see themselves as equals to Lachlan. And a man in this life doesn’t gain that kind of respect without doing heinous things and instilling fear in those around him.
I’ve done some research on these guys, of course, but not as much as I would have liked. I couldn’t do a background check, so my information mostly came from word on the street. That’s one of the benefits of being from Southie.
Of course Lachlan’s name is engraved into my brain. He runs Slainte. He’s the gatekeeper of the one place that I need to be to get my information. I hoped to get his attention, but I didn’t expect it to be so intense. I figured he’d give me a cursory glance, and then I could use one of his soldiers to get me an audition with him. But he’s staring directly at me. There’s no way he can see my face beneath the hood of my robe, but for a moment I almost think he can. His gaze is so sharp, so penetrating that it’s a little disarming. I jerk my eyes away and focus on my opponent. I’ll worry about Lachlan after. When I’ve kicked Donovan’s ass.
“Fighting out of Southie,” Johnny continues. “Standing at five feet two inches tall, weighing in at one hundred and twenty pounds… Mack ‘the butterfly’ Wilder.”
As expected, there are some confused murmurs. Once this robe is off, everybody in this building will know who I am. There’s no going back after this.
I jerk the robe off and toss it aside, and the entire arena goes dead silent, including my cocky opponent. Maybe it’s just my paranoia, but for a moment, he looks at me like he recognizes me. Which is impossible. I’ve always made sure to keep a low profile when I come watch the fights.
I didn’t hear an Irish accent when he was stirring up the crowd, so I know he’s from Boston. But I’m also certain this is the only place I’ve ever seen him before. He’s older than me, probably by about five years, so I doubt we have any friends in common either.
He cocks his head to the side, and I catch sight of a large scar on his cheek. Probably from fighting, no doubt. His beady black eyes rake over my body, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize he’s just examining me.
“You’ve gotta’ be shittin’ me Johnny,” he says.
He looks around the room with a nervous expression, seeking out Lachlan. I have no doubts that Donovan isn’t afraid of hitting a girl. But he needs permission from his superior to go through with a spectacle like this. Curious myself, I follow his gaze and find Lachlan scowling at me. He isn’t at all comfortable with this, and I’ve put him in a hella awkward position. All of his men are staring at him with bated breath, wondering if he’ll allow himself to look weak. To disappoint all of the fans that came here tonight. I flash him a challenging smile. What’s it gonna’ be Crow?
After an imperceptible nod from Lachlan, Johnny shrugs and winks at me. “She’s earned her way in, Donny. She’s up for it.”
Sensing his skittishness, I turn my attention back to my opponent and crack my neck, hitting my wrapped hands together.
“What’s the matter princess, scared of a little girl?”
His jaw is popping now, his biceps flexing as tension seeps through his body. Boxing is considered a gentleman’s sport. Toss a woman into the mix and they have no fucking clue how to handle it. Lucky for me, this isn’t boxing.
Though I was trained as a boxer first and foremost, I wanted to be more. I wanted to be able to defend myself in any circumstances.
Many people think of MMA as a bunch of caveman crap, but I recognize it for the art it is. It isn’t just about brute strength. It’s about stamina, control, coordination, and learning to trust your instincts. To move fluidly and confidently. Never doubting yourself or letting your opponent see weakness. In my case, looks can be deceiving, and people have always underestimated me because of it.
“Are you sure about this, babe?” Donovan asks arrogantly. “I won’t hold back.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes. “You’re so big and tough and strong.”
Sick of the back and forth, I walk straight up to him and wait for Johnny to give the signal. He throws down the gauntlet, and I slug Donovan hard and fast with a right hook before bouncing back on my feet. When his head snaps back around, he’s stunned as hell, and the crowd is laughing their asses off.
“Come on,” I bite out. “Cut the bullshit. Let’s give these people what they came for.”
“You’re going to regret that kid,” he snarls under his breath.
I flash him a sweet smile and shift my weight to tighten my stance. Knees bent, elbows tucked and prepared to strike. Two shoulder rolls and a deep breath.
Johnny’s word is law in this joint, and he’s already started the match. There are no set rounds. We go until someone knocks out or taps out. The only rule? No hitting near the junk. Bunch of pussy ass men.
Without any more hesitation, Donovan comes straight at me and throws a quick combo of jabs and crosses. I block and dodge every one of them, which only pisses him off more.
This was one of the first things I learned. Footwork needs to come first, and the rest will follow. In order to be a good fighter, one must be centered and poised. Donovan’s footwork is sloppy. He relies on his fists too much to guide his movements whereas I use my whole body.
That isn’t going to save me though. He has a fight advantage, but they all do. I have the advantage of thinking with my brain and not a cock. Already it’s obvious that my shorts and sports bra are distracting him. Regardless of the fact that I just punched him in the face, he still sees me as a pair of tits and an ass. Go figure.