Page 21 of Boundaries

The fighting usually took place in an old disused riding arena around the back of Mason’s house. It was dimly lit, but there were always a few oil drum fires burning which added another dangerous element to that atmosphere. The small crackling bonfires had surprised me one year, bearing in mind what had happened to the house years before.

I had only been to two fights in the past but had seen many through the zoom lens of one of my cameras from my window. I used to regularly spy on the McKenna family, especially to watch the progress of their house being rebuilt after the fire damage.

Nixon had been in the ring during one of those times I had plucked up the courage to sneak over there. I remember the new version of their house had scaffolding everywhere and people were using part of it as a viewing platform.

Nixon had been up against a tall bald guy with teeth missing and I had only seen that last punch. I’d found that sound of bone-on-bone sickening, but I’d been fourteen at the time and so it wasn’t surprising. I was an adult now and confident that I’d be able to stomach anything I saw. I wasn’t overly worried about blood and stuff and had witnessed boys fighting at school.

Checking my camera was ready, I was determined to get as many shots as possible and felt excited that I would be able to document something so gritty. Live-action brawling. Bare-knuckle fighting. Aggressive, sweaty men. The shots would be raw, full of power and masculine angst.

As I made my way up through the bushes and shrubs, I could see the flickering light from the fire barrels and the shouts and whoops increased in volume with every step I took.

Carefully removing the lens cap on my Nikon, I moved further around the side of the ring, near a cluster of trees to get a better view. I hadn’t thought to bring one of my zoom lenses and so I’d need to get close, if I didn’t want blurred or dark shots. The glow from the fire would also increase the chances of lens flare and blotching.

A fight was taking place and there must have been around thirty people gathered around the arena, shouting support for the guy they had their money on or booing his opponent. Jokes were also thrown about along with general laughing and guffawing. Thuds and bangs echoed up into the night air, intermingled by the crackle of the fires and stomping of excited feet.

Most spectators were male but there were a few girls threaded in there, their arms draped around their boyfriends as they too joined in, spurring on their chosen champion.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to use the camera flash as this would draw attention to me and so I needed to get as close as possible. Scanning the crowd, I could see Boyd with his shirt off, his body looking bruised and battered. He was wearing jeans which were also scuffed and dirty, a tell-tale sign that he had already been in the ring. He looked fucked up, and therefore, he may not have been the victor of his battle. A possibility which pleased me.

As I shifted closer, it was then that I saw who was currently in the ring. It was Mason. Mason and a large, good looking black guy, who had muscle on top of muscle. He wasn’t as broad as Mason, but he was taller. Both their knuckles were wrapped in tape as they sparred, hopping from foot to foot as they took jabs at each other and I started snapping. Zooming in as much as the lens I had brought would allow.

Mason looked magnificent, he too was shirtless and wearing blue jeans which sat low on his hips. He was barefooted and fast on his feet. Ducking and then jabbing at his opponent. A couple of girls in the crowd were chanting Mason’s name, which annoyed me for some reason.

I watched with my heart in my mouth as the fit-looking black dude punched Mason in the ribs and he grunted from the impact, before shifting quickly. I snapped a few more shots, I wanted to get as many action-stills as I could. Mason’s sun-bronzed body glistened with sweat as the two men went at it again. Fists and knuckles bounced off muscle and sinew.

“Come on Mase, knock him the fuck out!” Seth suddenly yelled from the other side of the ring. The fencing around the arena shook as people leaned against it, holding bottles of beer and red solo cups, thoroughly enjoying the thuggish drama in front of them.

There was no way that this fight could have been considered a regular contact sport. James told Betty that the boys signed up for either a bit of extra money, or just because they felt the need to kick the shit out of something. To vent any pent-up energy/aggression. The McKenna boys didn’t fight for money, they were already loaded. They did it for kicks. Sick and twisted really.

Shouts and yells intermingled with the cracks and grunts coming from inside the ring and I moved closer still. I was pushing it really as I knew Boyd could easily see me, but he was partly engrossed in the fight and the girl who was half draped across his lap. I didn’t recognise her as being from the village. She was pretty and blonde wearing denim shorts and a bikini top for goodness’s sake. Her boobs were huge, but she was curvy everywhere. I was tiny in comparison.

Turning my attention back toward Mason, I watched as he landed a couple of solid blows on his opponent’s face, knocking him back a step. I noticed one of the black guy’s eyes was almost swollen shut. Tears sprung to my eyes, but I blinked them away. The scene was brutal and barbaric but I was mesmerised.

Click, click. I caught the movement with my camera but as I moved closer still, my toe which was bare in the sliders I wore, caught a stone and I slipped, “Shit,” the gasp was out before I could bite it back. I was pretty much level with the fence of the arena now and in that split second, Mason’s eyes clashed with mine and his mouth dropped open in astonishment. I lowered my camera and gave him a finger-tipped wave. Those against the fence with their backs to me turned to see where Mason was looking and then…

WHAM! Whilst Mason’s attention was on me, his opponent punched him full-on in the face, hard, and he went down, dropping to his knees. Shocked. I raced forward, plastering myself against the fence in between two large sweaty guys who glanced down at me with suggestive looks.

The thought of Mason being hurt was what drove me forward, my camera swung inactive around my neck. A fallen Mason on the ground, bested by another man would have made an amazing picture, but I just couldn’t capture him when he was weakened. It didn’t last long. Mason tested his jaw with his fingers, moving it from side to side. Thank goodness it wasn’t broken.

He then twisted his head to glare at me from his position against the woodchip on the floor. My heart almost stopped. He was angry, furious as if I was to blame for his downfall. He quickly pushed himself to his feet and spat on the floor, his eyes on me for a moment longer, before turning his body, drawing back his fist and lamping the other dude in the face. I heard his nose crack from where I was standing and a wave of sickness flooded my insides.

CRUNCH. One punch and the guy went down, he wobbled a bit first, dazed for a moment before falling in a heap on the floor.

The crowd went wild, whoops and cheers ignited the air and Boyd shot to his feet, the blonde sliding off his lap with a surprised yelp.

“Fuck me bro, KO!” Boyd yelled, punching a fist into the sky. A couple of other large meaty guys ran over to the loser of the fight and threw water over him from a bucket. He stirred and then I watched as Mason’s back rippled with muscles and he turned toward me, or should I say turned on me.

Aggression seeped from every pour on his half-naked body and a jet of rear fear snaked up my spine. He looked sexy as hell, but there was a scary, untamed energy about him. I had never seen it before, even when I’d witnessed him fighting with his brothers when they were younger. His body was solid, that dark tan, the pronounced pectoral muscles, and that firm vee that led downwards into his jeans.

He was so handsome; I was surprised he looked like he did, bearing in mind this fighting club thing. How did a guy who got punched in the face so much still look like a male model?

He bristled toward me, intent clear in that darkened gaze of his. He looked so rugged, wild almost, his body still holding that fighting stance.

Intimidating doesn’t even begin to describe how he looked with that honed muscular physic, wet from perspiration. Violence and tension radiated from him.

Mason cracked his neck from side to side and stretched his arms behind his head before he started to stride purposefully toward me. I began to back away slowly and the two blokes on either side of me, peered back and forth, the whole crowd seemed to be focused on the drama that was about to unfold. But surely it wouldn’t be as entertaining as what they had just witnessed?

Mason scaled the fencing with ease and then dropped to his feet; he was very agile for such a large person. My eyes widened as he stalked me, his knuckles were bruised and red where the tape had split on his hands and his jaw was purple, probably from that last punch he’d received.

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