Unbroken (Fighter Erotic Romance #4)

by Scott Hildreth

  As the announcer spoke into the microphone, the sound echoed throughout the entire arena.

  “The challenger, in the blue corner, with a career record of 52 and 0, and a professional record of 13 and 0, weighing in at two hundred twenty seven pounds, Shane…Shame…On…Deeeeekkaaaaar.”

  When the crowd cheered for Shane, it was incredible – thousands of people were screaming his name. The sound was nothing short of deafening and it felt so good to have all of these people behind him.

  “And the champion, in the red corner,” when the announcer paused, the crowd went absolutely wild. The amount of noise they made for Tick-Tock Brock was twice what they made for Shane.

  “With a professional record of 17 and 0, weighing in at two hundred thirty six pounds…” the announcer paused again.

  “Tyson…Tick-Tock…BaaaahRocckkkk.”

  The crowd went insane. I began to feel bad for Shane, considering the difference in the amount of cheering the crowd did for the champion. I guess Brock is the champion after all. If Shane was champion, I’d want people to cheer for him just as much.

  Come on Shane, keep your head up. These people love you.

  The referee talked to the fighters, and they went to their corners. In a minute, the bell rang and the fight began. Most of Shane’s fights are a challenge of two talented men, fighting in a boxing match where they have to study each other, and find an opening – a mistake in the other fighters prediction of what is going to happen – and take advantage of it.

  This fight was nothing like that.

  As soon as the bell rang, Tick-Tock rushed toward Shane and began swinging wildly. He hit Shane in the shoulder so hard he almost knocked him over. Another wild punch caught Shane in the face and caused him to attempt to cover up his face with his forearms and hands. During the cover up and attempted recovery for Shane, Brock hit him no less than thirty times.

  It was as if Shane got off to a bad start and wasn’t going to have time or an opportunity to recover.

  At the beginning of the fight, we all screamed for Shane. As the round continued, the yelling turned into people wincing and covering their mouths as Shane was hit once again by Brock’s powerful right hand. Shane did get a few good punches in, and the crowd cheered wildly, but those counter attacks were short lived and more of a defensive tactic for Shane.

  As the round came to a close, I knew I didn’t want to hear what everyone had to say. I kind of hoped this would just end and we could go home.

  When Shane walked to the corner, Kelsey began to scream, and I felt as if I was going to be sick. I needed to be strong for Shane so I sat up in my seat, propped Casey up by my chest, smiled and waved.

  And said a silent prayer.

  God, please let him make it out of this fight alive.

  SHANE. “I have a fucking minute to convince you to either fight or fly home a loser. God damn it kid, I didn’t come here to be embarrassed,” Kelsey paused and wiped my face with a sponge.

  “Fights aren’t won in the ring, kid. They’re won in the gym, in your training, and inside your head. You’ve seen to many videos of this maniac, and you’re scared. This man is strong, but you’ve got talent. He’s brutal, but you’re intelligent.”

  “I remember when we met, kid. I saw those scarred up hands of yours and I knew you were a street fighter. Now I need you to get off this stool here in about forty five seconds and forget everything you know. I can’t tell you how to fight this guy; hell I don’t even know what to say. He’s not fighting, he’s brawling. Forget everything I’ve ever taught you about boxing, Shane,” he hesitated.

  “Everything,” he breathed into my face.

  I sat stunned at what I was hearing.

  “Boss?” I mumbled.

  I felt as if I wanted some form of direction. Maybe something I wasn’t seeing or noticing that Kelsey had noticed and he’d bring it to my attention, which would allow me to go into the second round with a clearer vision of what was happening.

  It was clear to me the first round got off to a bad start. The first punch Brock hit me with contacted my left shoulder. The amount of force behind the punch almost caused me to lose my footing. We’re both similar in size and weight, but he is far stronger than I am. After the first punch, he never let up. It was as if I never had a chance to determine what might be next. The entire round was one big right hand.

  Over.

  And.

  Over.

  Typically, I can study a boxer’s style and counter the technique he uses with my own. I have a unique ability to box either left or right handed and I am equally talented in each posture. With Brock, boxing was out of the question. Kasey was right. I couldn’t box this guy. I needed to find a way to fight him.

  “Pay attention kid,” Kelsey growled.

  “You’re far more talented than he is. But talent isn’t gonna pay the bills tonight, you hear me?” Kelsey’s face contorted with anger as he looked into my eyes.

  I nodded my head.

  “I need three god damned minutes of the guy who was out on the road away from his wife searching for bar fights. Find that guy. Or for three minutes, just three, get in that ring as The Ripper. Get in there and be Mike Ripton, kid. Give me three minutes of the meanest motherfucker I’ve ever seen. I need you to street fight this asshole. That’s all I’ve got, kid. Three minutes of mean.”

  I nodded my head and stood from the stool.

  Ding.

  SHANE. I’ve dreamed of reaching a point in my career where I was in a televised fight and the people who took the time to watch it were going to be treated to my fighting ability, style and finesse. I’ve always considered myself an entertaining boxer, and felt I have a reasonable amount to offer the up and coming talent in the industry. I am both a boxer and a fighter; but in the ring I am a boxer. My fighting has always been on and in the streets. Fighting, in no respect, is a show of talent. It is a measure of one’s ability to become or be vicious.

  My preference tonight and all future nights was to be a boxer. A show of my ability to out-perform another man in the sport I’ve grown to love. But tonight, or at least three minutes at a time, I needed to find a way to become a monster.

  As I stepped into the center of the ring, I began to think of all the men I had beaten over the years for their mistreatment of others. The guy in Watts, Los Angeles who cut his wife’s face for not having dinner ready when he got off work. The man three blocks down from my old gym who had beat his eleven year old son unconscious for chewing tobacco at school. The man who allowed his friends to gang-rape his wife.

  Buster.

  And my blood began to boil.

  As Brock hurried to the center of the ring, I stepped in close with my elbows tucked, as if I were going to allow him to punch on me no differently than I did in the first round. My decision to attempt to box this man was tossed out the window. I decided to allow him to beat me for a few seconds, and the second he paused…

  I was going to show him how we do it here in in Texas, as Ripp says.

  With my gloves raised, and my elbows tucked in tight, he began to unleash a flurry into my forearms and gloves. His power was tremendous, but it was nothing I hadn’t felt before. I just had never allowed a man to continue to beat me in this manner. As he continued to pound me, the crowd went wild. Waiting for him to tire, I remembered the infamous Mohammad Ali, and his Rope-a-Dope fashion I had always made fun of – allowing his opponent to beat him until the challenger grew tired, and then hammering him with a flurry of heavy-handed punches. As he continued to swing wildly into my arms, I noticed a pattern.

  Immediately prior to throwing a strong right hand, and only a strong right hand, he grunted deeply. The window of opportunity between the grunt and the punch wasn’t much, but it was there. Almost as if he provided himself energy from within, the grunting continued with every vicious right hand. As he continued to hammer me with a combination, I waited.

  Tell-tale signs, big boy…you want to leave those at the door.
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  Grunt for me, you big bastard, I have to give this crowd what they paid for, and that’s a show.

  A half second break in punches, and I heard it. He was preparing to throw a hard right.

  I swung a left uppercut in the direction I hoped his chin was. My hand felt as if it contacted a brick wall.

  I opened my stance and switched to unorthodox.

  For a fraction of a second, stunned, he stood and stared.

  Never been hit like that, have you? See what you think of this.

  I unleashed a series of punches into his midsection, followed by a right hook to his left temple. The crowd went insane. The entire arena began screaming.

  Dehhh-Kaaar, Dehhh-Kaaar, Dehhh-Kaaar.

  Sorry folks, Dekkar isn’t here tonight. He’s been replaced by a man known as Ripp – a man with no conscience and a love for seeing blood. A man who’s fucking cock gets hard when he beats on people.

  The referee was behind me and to the left slightly.

  I stepped in close and threw a series of unanswered jabs, followed by a shallow right cross. Intentionally, I allowed my elbow to swing wild and come in contact with is chin. He wasn’t the type of fighter to complain about an illegal elbow. As long as the referee didn’t see it, I’d be just fine…

  That’s right Tick-Tock, I decided to fight your big ass.

  “You got it, kid. That’s what I’m talking about. Take it to him,” Kelsey screamed.

  I’m doing my best, boss.

  Brock responded with a thundering left which caught my right bicep. Immediately he grunted and threw a right uppercut – a fraction of an inch short of my chin. As the punch glanced past my nose, I switched my stance and threw a right hook to his midsection.

  I like ribs, big boy. Did I get me one?

  His face contorted as his body absorbed the punch.

  The crowd began to cheer again.

  Shame.

  On.

  Shame.

  On.

  Kace must have started that cheer. She knows how it fuels me.

  I love that damned woman.

  I thought of the day she walked into Ripp’s back yard, her face covered with dried blood and her teeth broken. Her broken smile and squashed pride made my stomach churn.

  As Brock brought a combination to my body, I closed my arms in tight and waited. As soon as I heard the grunt, I twisted right and threw a hard left to his jaw.

  Boom!

  The punch landed hard on his jaw, sending him into a back-peddling series of steps as he attempted to catch his balance.

  Oh shit, this guy’s never been hit. He knows how to fight, but he doesn’t know how to take a punch. He’s got a glass jaw.

  Time seemed to stand still. I wished I could turn toward Kelsey and give him the thumbs up. I felt with these two revelations – the grunting, and his inability to take a power punch, I could actually win this fight.

  I moved in and hammered him with a combination I never knew I had in me. Fifteen or twenty unanswered punches while I was in close, none of which were really threatening.

  But.

  He would remember them later.

  I felt Kelsey beating his hand on the mat.

  I hear you, old man.

  We’re down to seconds, big boy. Let me close the round…

  With this.

  I swung a left hook to his ribs, followed by a hopeful right uppercut. As the left made contact, his head tilted forward as his body absorbed the punch. The right, thrown a little short, glanced off the tip of his forehead, but made good contact.

  Stunned, he stumbled into the ropes.

  I’m going to beat your big ass senseless. Come here, you big prick.

  I took one step in his direction.

  Ding!

  Fuck! I was just beginning to enjoy this.

  SHANE. “God damned right. You took it to him in the second half of the round. Now give me three more minutes of whoever fought in that round, kid,” Kelsey growled.

  I nodded my head, eager to get back in the ring and fight.

  “I haven’t got much to offer, kid. I can’t tell you how to box this big bastard; I can only say I’m placing all my trust in you. You know kid, this is my dream. To make it to the show. And we’re here. You and I, kid. We’re here.”

  “Listen up,” Kelsey grunted.

  I turned my head and looked in his direction.

  “Take a quick look at your girl,” he said, motioning toward where Kace was seated.

  I hadn’t so much as glanced in Kace’s direction since walking down the aisle and into the ring. My focus was elsewhere. I turned and looked in the location Kelsey pointed.

  Holy shit.

  The entire row of ring-side seats was full of my friends. Additionally, A-Trains friends from Kansas who had come in support of Ripp’s trial were here. I had no idea they were going to come. As I stared their direction, Kace screamed and swung her hand like an excited little girl as she held Casey’s arm in the air, waving it as well.

  “We love you, baby!” she screamed.

  Full of a newfound pride, I turned toward Kelsey.

  “Now there’s not a first and second place here tonight, kid. There never is. There’s the champion, and the other guy. No one, you included, can tell me the long list of losers over the years who have attempted unsuccessfully to win the title. They only remember the champion. If we go home with a loss, the world will forget you even exist in a matter of minutes.”

  “But,” he paused and placed his hands on either side of my face, turning it toward Kace and Casey.

  “If you beat this son-of-an-Alabama-bitch tonight, you’ll forever be the fucking champion in the eyes of that little man. Give me three more minutes of mean, and in this round do it for the kid, kid.”

  He released my head. I turned to face the ring and considered what he had said. He was right, no one remembers the losers. But. The names of the great fighters who have succeeded at winning the championship still linger in the air decades after the fights are over.

  Mohammad Ali, Joe Frazier, Sonny Liston, Lennox Lewis. All decades prior, had won the championship at some point in time. And, I had no idea who their challengers were.

  Kelsey moved his head beside mine and breathed into my face, “It’s no secret you aren’t proud of who your father was, kid. But in the next three minutes, make your little boy proud of you.”

  “For a lifetime,” Kelsey growled.

  Ding!

  SHANE. Brock rushed to the center of the ring. I took two steps into the ring and stopped. Brock stopped for what seemed like an eternity and stared. Standing close to my corner of the ring, I curled my hands toward my chest, motioning for him to come to me. In boxing, without a doubt, I was taunting him.

  I didn’t come here tonight to fight.

  I came here to take something from you.

  He took one step in my direction, and reconsidered. Only for a split-second, but his stutter step was a dead giveaway.

  That’s all I needed to see. You’re scared, and for good reason.

  I lowered my hands and walked his direction. In this sport, I was calling him out. Telling the entire arena he was a pussy, and I knew it. With my hands low at my side, and open for any punch he was willing to throw my direction, I made my way to where he stood.

  The look on his face changed to one of uncertainty.

  “God damn it, kid,” Kelsey screamed.

  I know what I’m doing, old man. This one’s for you, Kelsey.

  In my last step of my approach, it was obvious Brock was beyond what I could describe as angry. Angry and unsure of what I had planned. This was exactly what I wanted. I needed one wild assed punch from him. Just one, and hopefully it would be his right hand. As I got within arm’s reach, he reacted to my taunts. As soon as I heard the grunt begin, I leaned back, raised my right hand and lowered my left. As the punch flew by my face, I swung my signature left uppercut.

  Boom!

  My left hand contacted his chin hard
er than I have ever made contact with any other fighter.

  That fucking hurt, didn’t it big boy?

  A quick right cross connected with his jaw, sending him into a stumble of rearward steps. This was exactly what I needed; him in the center of the ring under my attack, with no ropes to hold him up.

  I came here for something, and I’m not leaving without it. Remember this punch and remember my name, Shane motherfucking Dekkar, asshole.

  I’m the big mean motherfucker who came here and took this from you.

  I opened up with a combination in close, alternating from his body to his face. His hands began to lower when I attacked the body, opening his face up for a hard right hand.

  You didn’t give it to me, I’m taking it. And there will be no decision in this fight.

  Only a knockout.

  I threw a straight right hand with every ounce of energy I had in me. The punch connected directly on the tip of his nose. As I pulled my hand away, revealing his flattened nose, blood covered his face.

  The ref’s going to stop this fight if he sees the bloody mess you’re making.

  I swung a left uppercut into his chin followed with a right cross. The right hit his left temple, solid. His legs instantly turned to rubber.

  Now, I’m taking what’s mine.

  To make certain he either couldn’t get up, or didn’t get up quickly, I swung a left hook for good measure. In the slowest of motion, I watched as the left connected with the bottom of his jaw, and he fell to the mat.

  Don’t get up.

  Ever.

  I stood over him and stared down as the crowd went insane.

  Shame.

  On.

  Shame.

  On.

  Shame.

  On.

  It was as if I could hear every individual scream from the crowd. Every single one, independent of the others. Time stood still. The referee stepped between us and pointed toward my corner.

  “Shane fucking Dekkar, ladies and gentlemen,” I heard Ripp’s unmistakable voice holler.

  “That’s my boy,” I heard Ripp’s father scream.

  I stepped away and stared in Brock’s direction.