Page 75 of Cruel Legacy

I know most fighters would have taken the time to get ready mentally before stepping into the ring. But that shit doesn’t happen in the real world. Back home, you don’t get ready. You stay ready. You never know when you’re gonna find yourself in a brawl just because you walked on the wrong side of the street.

I tune out the announcer as he lists Big Jim’s stats. They’re just numbers and words used to hype up the crowd. Instead, I assess his build. The way he’s standing. I look for scars that hint at old injuries. Anything that might help me gain an advantage.

He’s checking me out too, but where I see how hard I’m gonna work to knock him on his ass, he’s just seeing a girl with tits and ass. I even hear his trainer say, “This is a joke, right?”

No buddy, it’s not a joke. This is really happening. And you’re welcome. An excited zing zips through my skin, adrenaline kicking in. This is the feeling I’ve been missing, by being sidelined in class. This is what I’ve wanted since the first day I walked into the gym. I might be about to get my ass kicked, but I’m gonna have a lot of fun while it happens.

The bell rings, and I step to the middle of the ring. I can see Big Jim is taking this as the joke his trainer says it is. He’s not even interested in swinging for me. More’s the pity that I don’t have those same reservations.

I clock him three times. Upper cut, upper cut, left cross. I step back, arching my brow in challenge. Do you wanna be my punching bag or are you gonna fight back?

It doesn’t take him long to decide, but he still wants to go soft on me. I reward his consideration by kneeing him in the ribs, and when he hunches over, I introduce my knee to his face.

The bell rings ending the round and I back up to my empty corner. His trainer’s no longer being loud and obnoxious, so I can’t hear what he’s saying. Hopefully, he’s telling him to fight back. I didn’t come here to do all the work myself.

I decide to give Big Jim a little motivation. “I heard you were the best. Obviously that’s just internet hype. I guess that’s why Crusher didn’t show. He said you weren’t even worth his time, and let me have the spot instead.”

That seems to get his attention. “I can’t wait to see what they post tomorrow after everyone uploads video of you getting owned by a girl.” I chuckle and say, “I’ll be taking your followers and your money and you’ll be known as the guy that talked shit and couldn’t back it up, in and out of the ring.”

His face morphs. That’s the magic ticket. His money, his reputation, and hisdick. Men are so easy to rile up. The minute the break is over I’m back in the middle of the ring, waiting for Jimbo to do something.

He comes at me, slamming his fist into my gut. I expected that’s what he’d do. A hit to knock the wind out of me without doing any serious damage. I tense taking the blow, but it still hurts like a sonofabitch. I straighten and smile, letting him know I can take a punch.

He swings again, and this time I duck out of the way, forcing us to change positions. I swing next and he parries away, but instead of giving him a chance to reset his feet, I go for his exposed side. Jim’s a fighter. He’s trained for this. Instinct kicks in. He recovers from my hit and slams his fist into my jaw.

My ears ring, but I hit him again, opening a gash under his left eye. We trade blows, each of his getting harder, more serious. It’s a rush. Three minutes go by fast. The bell rings, ending the round. One more round and I’m guaranteed my purse and a spot for the next fight night. But it’s not enough to survive the round. I wanna take this dude down.

I pull out my mouth guard and start talking shit again. “Damn, dude. You look a little out of breath. I guess the air up there is kinda thin. Need more than sixty-seconds to recover?”

“You talk a lot of shit, little girl. Let’s see how much you can talk when I have you on your back, submitting.”

He’s delusional if he thinks that’s gonna happen. I don’t give a shit how big he thinks his dick is. Mine is bigger and if anybody’s gonna tap out, it’ll be him.

Break time’s over. I spit the blood pooling in my mouth in the bucket at my feet, reposition my mouth guard and return to the center of the ring, assuming my defensive stance. My lip is split, and my eye is nearly closed shut, but those are minor annoyances, and so is the crowd screaming for him to finish me off.

I know the crowd is feeding off of each other’s bloodlust, getting more dangerous the longer the fight goes on. I hope security’s had their spinach today. Pretty soon, they’re gonna have a vicious mob on their hands. Big Jim was already the heavy favor to win. I’m sure everyone else swapped their bets to him as soon as they found out Crusher wasn’t fighting.

Not because I’m a woman, but because I’m new, and they’d want to protect their earnings. I’m about to be the one laughing all the way to the bank.

Jim comes at me again and this time I stop playing with him. I dip down and punch him in the junk, since he was too stupid to wear a cup. When he hunches over, I jump on his shoulders, wrapping my legs around his throat.

He straightens, though I’m sure the dick punch still has him in pain, and tries to shake me off. I shove my hands under his chin, lacing my fingers together to tighten my grip and squeeze his throat as hard as I can.

He swings left and right, trying to throw me. It’s not gonna happen. I train my legs to be powerful just so I can successfully suffocate a man between them. I might’ve been doing it for when my pussy is getting eaten, but it works for this, too.

His knees buckle and I know he’s gonna try to shift and slam me into the mat. Sucker. He should’ve stayed standing up, because if he’s on the ground, I have better leverage.

Down, down we go, his hand flailing about, trying to grab me. I release his chin and wrap my arm around his arm, pulling hard like it’s a rein, taking away that last inch between my thighs and his neck. I keep squeezing. He’ll either pass out or tap out. The decision is all his. It’s just a matter of what ending to this fight will embarrass him the least.

His pride won’t let him concede defeat, so I just keep squeezing, tensing my muscles, making sure there’s no space between his neck and my thighs. He’s sweating, the tips of his ears go from red to a ruddy purple. His trainer is the one who decides enough is enough and throws the towel in the ring, telling the ref to call it. That’s not how this works.

I don’t let up until the bell rings, then I take Jimbo’s hand and tap it against the mat three times for good measure. I release my hold and crab walk away from him before getting to my feet, and keep my eyes on him as I slip out of the ring. You never know how someone will process a loss. I’ve had opponents try to come after me when my back was turned.

I grab my stuff and walk over to where Syl is standing. She leads me to a door and down a hallway to her office. When we get inside, she hands me a stack of cash and her phone. “Put your number in. We’ll text you about the next fight.”

“Thanks.” I shove my arms through my shirt and slip my pants on, before typing in my number. I put the cash in my boot before putting them on. When I’m done, I take in the pictures and trophies on the shelf behind her desk.

“Is there a back way out of here?” I made a nice chunk of cash, and have no intention of walking out the front door with it. I’d be a target for sure.

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