Alpha Games Boxed Set (Paranormal Shifter Romance BBW): Volumes 1-4
Page 21
But he’s far from what I expected him to be. Walking up to the center platform, he’s not covered with tattoos and he’s not covered in scars, two essentials for your run-of-the mill underground fighter. He walks up and stands next to the announcer and pulls off his cutoff hoodie.
No amount of training could have prepared me for this.
He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Some kind of beautiful, tanned adonis from the novels I’ve read. Or my dreams.
His hair is a golden chestnut color, wavy and falling perfectly around his face, perfectly tousled like he’s just had a woman in bed with him. His jawline is straight, strong, but he has a pretty boy face. His lips are full and sculpted, showing the smallest hint of some emotion- a little quirk at one side that suggests either annoyance or excitement, I can’t tell at this distance.
His body is tall and lean, every muscle defined but not making him look hulkish. Instead he has the body of a perfectly muscled, perfectly fit young man. His shorts are riding a bit low and I can’t help but see his abs tapering down to nice ken doll lines.
But the last thing I see is his eyes. The bright fluorescent lights of the room catch them and light them up, making them appear a stunning, warm light brown that almost flashes orange. Fiery, like they are lit from within. When they flash my way they show a raw animality that excites me in a way that I’ve never felt before. A funny, hot feeling rises in me and I pull my hoodie tighter and remind myself to stay professional.
The announcer calls his opponent and they come face to face. My jaw drops at the size difference. Though Hawes is ripped, his opponent belongs in his own weight class entirely and seems to have been doing this for years. But the sexy newcomer doesn’t appear fazed at all.
I narrow my eyes, feeling tense just watching this. The fight is moments from starting. I see Hawes smile, an almost spiteful grin in the face of the situation.
The ref makes the call, and Hawes springs from the ground toward his opponent, catching Bronson in the sternum with his right knee. Muay Thai. This guy knows his stuff.
Bronson isn’t unaffected, but he counters with a close hook towards Hawes’ face. Hawes pulls under it and rolls off the ground back to his feet. As he stands he spins into a roundhouse kick, which Bronson blocks with his arm. The impact is incredible though, and the slamming contact echoes through the room over the crowd’s rowdy cheers.
Bronson throws his leg outward and almost catches the lighter man in the chest, but Hawes narrowly dodges. Hawes has speed on his side, but he’s getting cocky.
This isn’t my first time watching an underground fight. I’ve been on several assignments over the past few months that have brought me here. But nothing has been as exciting to me as this match.
Usually I’m talking with contacts or trying to pry info from the locals during the matches, but right now I can’t keep my eyes off the ring. The dichotomy between ripped and sexy and young against thuggish and gigantic could not be more apparent, or intriguing, to me.
I just hope Hawes doesn’t get his head knocked off. I want to meet him in person.
He’s using his speed now and throwing punches faster than I can count. That speed…something is just…not normal about it. Bronson is able to shield himself from the majority with his sheer bulk, but the combination of straights, hooks, and uppercuts in perfect succession from Hawes are taking their toll on the giant, and it’s wearing him down.
Meanwhile Hawes looks like he could do this all day. There’s a glint in those intense orange eyes, almost like he’s…enjoying it?
Against what normal reason would dictate, Bronson goes on the offensive- trying to charge through the punches- and connects hard with Hawes’ chest, sending him flying across the caged ring. My breath catches and the world moves in slow motion to me as he rolls to a stop. There’s a loud ‘oooh’ from the audience. That had to have hurt.
Cocky bastard, I think, watching him. Now you’ve done it.
There’s a silence as Bronson walks quickly across the floor towards Hawes, who is still on his back, motionless. I can hear people catching their breath as they wait for Bronson’s signature move to end it all.
Hawes stirs. He takes a deep breath, then starts laughing. Loudly.
Bronson stops, stunned by the audacity of it. The audience stops too, unable to process what they’re seeing. I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry, but for now all I can do is watch too, waiting to see what will happen next.
Hawes pulls himself to his feet, almost leisurely, his laugh now carrying across room, filling the silence. He dusts himself off a little, and pops his neck and knuckles, as if amused by his own performance and being soundly punched only moments earlier.
I see Bronson move out of the corner of my eye and snap my gaze in his direction.
Bronson, seeing his clear advantage has faded, runs towards Hawes, cocking his arm all the way back in the hopes of catching Hawes unaware and landing another hit.
One second, Hawes is still dusting himself off and looking at his nails, and the next his hand connects with The Crusher’s jaw. There’s a loud crunch that resonates across the room as Hawes’ fist meets Bronson’s face. Bronson, completely open from being on the offensive, takes a devastating uppercut to the jaw, sending the six-foot-ten giant upwards several feet into the air, spittle arcing in the air behind him, and then back to the ground where he lands with a resounding thud.
The audience is speechless. Not a sound is heard in the room, except for a stifled belch from someone drinking beer in the front row. All eyes are wide and fixed on the tanned, sexy fighter who looks like he belongs in a Gucci ad, not an underground cage match.
Oh, someone is not going to like this. I can tell from the angry murmuring starting in the room. I flip through my papers and close my folders. My guess is of all the bets in the room, some of them big and quite important, none were on Hawes.
I’ve got to get down there to him. Quick.
Hawes saunters over to Bronson and just looks down. Bronson doesn’t make a move. He’s out completely. Hawes smiles, then frowns, almost like he’s sorry it’s over.
Several moments pass in silence until the ref, having now remembered what his job was, comes into the arena with a whistle, calls a countdown, and then declares Hawes the winner.
The crowd erupts all at once with noise. Despite the performance, there’s a ponderous amount of booing. I was right. A lot of people were betting on Bronson, and they’re not too happy about it.
Hawes may have gotten away with other fights where the odds were stacked against him by simply winning and running, but I don’t think that’ll work out this time.
Hawes doesn’t waste a minute. He shrugs into his hoodie, which he pulls over his head and face, and makes his way out of the arena amidst the yells of disgust and anger from the drunken crowed. He walks right toward the exit, and I spring from my seat after him.
I have to catch him before something bad happens.
Alpha Rogue, Part 1 here
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