Alexander Ace Peterson has been an underground boxer for nearly his whole life, its always the same thing, train, fight, and win. But his boss tells him that they need something new, that something being a woman. Would having a woman join the fight...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Ace♤
Upper cut, right hook, left hook, strike!
With each punch my shoulders tense and my biceps scream for a break but I continue my assault on the boxing bag.
My knuckles split from the friction against the leather material and my fingers dig harshly into my palms. Beads of sweat roll down my back like a fountain and I don't stop to soak them up with my towel, I keep going because that's all I can do, keep pushing.
Each punch is delivered harder than the next, my mind is in a fit of rage and nothing can distract me from the position I am in now. The bolts creak under the pressure from the boxing bag swaying side to side, the sound of my skin colliding with leather fills the deafening silence and that somehow fuels me to push myself further.
My breaths are now shallow and sharp and my lungs beg for oxygen but I know better than to take a break. If my body thinks it can control me, it is wrong, I control my body and I will not be admitting defeat.
My right fist remains guarding the right side of my face as I bring my left fist and repeatedly batter the bag in different combos.
Upper cut, left hook, left hook, strike!
The sweat is now pooling along my forehead seeping into my eyes blurring my vision but I push through. I must not accept defeat. By this point, the muscles in my back and arms are killing, the lactic acid building up feverishly and yet I don't stop my actions and continue to batter the bag.
I need this pain, the pain is good, it reminds me that I can feel, that deep down somewhere my emotions are locked away and safe. The only trouble is, is that I've lost the key and so now they stay trapped away forever. But that's okay because I don't need to feel. Right?
Upper cut, right hook, right hook, strike!
My knuckles burn, the skin splitting and my body heaves more aggressively craving the oxygen I'm using up too quickly.
I know that I need to take a break but my head and my heart do not want to comply with each other. I hear the sound of heavy footsteps behind me and I ignore it. It's probably just Kingston coming to ogle and judge at every move that I make.
I continue to hammer the bag like my life depends on it until I hear a cough from behind me.
"Take it easy Ace, I don't need you battering yourself up," jokes the voice from behind me.
I reluctantly drop my arms to my sides. The muscles relax but the pain is quick to subside into an ache, an ache that is gonna piss at me for the next few days.
I take this momentary distraction to glance over at my knuckles assessing the damage inflicted, my skin has almost been rubbed off entirely evidenced by the angry red patches of raw flesh, there are a few cuts but only a small amount of blood and yet when I flex my hands and wiggle my fingers it feels like I'm pulling my skin apart.
