Page 7 of Hendrix

The yells and shouts baying for blood filled the vast, echoing warehouse, calling for me to put the motherfucker I was fighting out on his ass, which was an option; I mean, I could’ve laid this clown out in the first round, but where was the fun in that? Entertaining this crowd of assholes encouraged them to bet more cake, and more bets equaled a bigger purse which would be added to my club’s coffers.

A sneaky right hook glanced off my jaw. I jerked left, and just to give the spectators a little show, I shook my head as if I was dazed, staggering slightly to the left. My veins swelled with adrenaline at the bellowing crowd screaming for a knockout.

The raspy deep voice of my dad roared from my corner, “Finish him off, Son!” followed by the clipped English accent of my Treasurer, Gambit, who stood beside him yelling, “Fuck him up, Prez.”

The acrid smell of sweat permeated my senses, and the metal tang of blood on the back of my tongue filled me with a newfound sense of determination to get this shit done.

The asshole I was fighting loomed, pulling back his fists, ready to strike. My entire body went into protection mode, and I coiled, prepared to attack. The aggression filling my insides made my fingers twitch inside my boxing gloves, itching to fuck my opponent up.

With a roar, I pulled up, swung my fists, and connected hard with his chin.

He stumbled backward, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as I followed through and swung my other fist across his temple.

He swayed backward, then forward, his eyes brimming with a mix of shock and confusion. Spurred on, I took my opportunity to deal a death strike with an uppercut that landed so hard on his jaw that it must’ve knocked a molar loose.

The asshole’s feet lifted from the ring, and seconds later, his back hit the mat with an almighty crash.

The crowd went wild, and I raised my arms, turning in a circle and letting out a roar of victory, basking in the glory of their adulation while counting all the green I’d just made in my head.

That was when I caught a flash of red hair from the crowd.

My heart jerked as if I’d been electrocuted, and my neck twisted toward her so fast that my brain rattled in my skull.

Frantically, I searched the crowd, trying to catch sight of her again. Another glimpse of copper red glinted under the low lights as she made her way through the crowd, and I held my breath as she reached a gap in the crowd and looked up to face me head-on.

My heart sunk like a deadweight.

It wasn’ther, but then what did I expect?

It was neverher,and it never would be. My loser ass had made sure of that.

Larry, the fight organizer, suddenly grabbed my arm and held it high, grinning at the baying crowd. In the recesses of my mind, I heard him announce my name as the winner and undefeated champion among the roars and cheers, but my focus was solely on the woman meeting my stare, challenge and clear intent in her expression.

Like always, my eyes flicked over her body, and I calculated whether I could get away with pretending she was somebody else. Her height and figure were similar; her hips were a little wider and her hair a shade lighter, but I reckoned if I squinted my eyes, I could get away with it.

I jerked my chin toward the door leading to the locker rooms.

The redhead smiled like the cat who’d got the cream, and my cock thickened.

She’d do for tonight.

My neck twisted toward the fight organizer. “Give the prize money to my dad, and don’t think for a fucking second that you can stiff me, Larry.” He opened his mouth to protest, but I shut him up with a hard look. “Me and my boys will pay you a visit if you try your shit again, and we’ll burn your fucking house down.”

Larry dropped the hand holding the microphone and hissed, “We said fifteen grand, so that’s what you’ll get.”

“We said fifteen Gs last time, but you tried to fuck me over with twelve.”

“Already told ya it was a mistake,” he retorted, sniffing haughtily. “I’m a fair man.”

“Fuck off,” I argued. “You’re so crooked we should call you the Larry Tower of goddamned Pisa. Just make sure the envelope isn’t light.” I made for the ropes and caught the redhead heading for the door leading to the changing rooms before I jumped down to where Dad, Gambit, and Cass waited for me.

I held my hands out to my treasurer, staring at the redhead while he undid my gloves and tugged them off. When he was done, I held out a hand palm up and demanded, “Wrap, brother.”

“How the fuck did you pull already?” he clipped out. “You literally walked from the locker room to the ring.”

I turned my face to stare at him.

Shaking his head, he went into his pocket, pulled out a square foil, and handed it to me, muttering, “Fucking slut bag.”

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