Nanette is a very interesting, energetic, bright girl that seems to like changing her hair color more than she change her shorts. Instead of the usual pink hair that made her skin paler, optimistic views of the world twice as wild and exciting, and her badass sense of nature twice as deadly; she transferred to a darker color of blue. I didn't understand why she changed from a very hot and bold color to a warm and dark hue, actually I don't exactly understand dying one's hair to a very noticeable shade when working with well known criminals in the underground economy.
Maybe I was too old to understand these days in youth if expressing themselves, I'm so use to wearing clothes that showed one's attitude of the world or play Ice Cube around the police. Jesus? Just thinking about it proves of my old age, even though it wasn't too long ago when I were their age- the early twenties with no more than ten dollars in my pocket that had to last for two days until my father spared me another ten dollars. Good times...
"We're going to start on the punching bag." Nanette spoke, her voice bounced off the walls of her gym, mixing in with the upbeat music in the background, dumbbells hitting the ground, boxing kits hitting sweaty skin and leather bags, and loud annoying grunts from the customers looking to release their anger. Apparently she owned a business in Mexico where a lot of wealthy single middle age people spend thirty dollars every month to check out other single middle age people who wants to have a body of a twenty year old model. She even teaches a kick boxing class from time to time when she's in the mood for it. "I don't want us to get in the ring until you have your shit under control, I don't want you to kill me during the first match."
It was true, if I get in that ring and lose control, I would kill Nanette or at least try to. There was no shame in admitting my short temper when I don't have my mind screwed on straight, I was a short fuse when it comes to being fucked with.
I wrapped the tape around my knuckles until it was a thick layer of bricks on my hands. The punching bag held its own tape around the usual points to hit, it was an outcast with all the new machinery and boxing equipment- proving that this was everybody's favorite victim when exercising. Nanette stood behind the bag, her head poked out to see my correct stance and furrowed brows, her hands were placed firmly onto the sides as if she were hugging it. "Alright now," She spoke once again. "Give it your best shot."
The first jab was soft, testing the waters to gain back my rhythm. It's been a really long time since I've worked on my fighting without being in a situation where I had to fight for my life. Luckily I don't have to do that anymore. The second jab was much harder than the first, quicker with a following grunt that escape my throat. I immediately pictured Dawn being the bag, his cocky smile, warm killing eyes, hands stuffed in his pantsuit, all while leaving his stomach available for me to hit repeatedly. It was a field day, no one hovered my shoulders telling me how to kick and punch, Nanette was giving me this freestyle moment to get all the frustration, anger and fear out. Just what I needed.
After straight five minutes of punching and kicking, beating Dawn's imaginary face to s pulp, grunting so loud it could of been mistaken as screams, and causing Nanette to stumble back from my harsh impacts; I tired myself out. I leaned on my knees, catching my breath and flexing my fingers to get the blood flowing through them again.
"Okay," Nanette rubbed her side where the tip of my shoe could of possibly hit her, she stepped from behind the bag with a weary smile that showed her concern when it came down to actually fighting hand-to-hand combat with me. Since we were experts in mostly every category of fighting, we decided to do a free range of stuff to keep the fight interesting. "Let's just save the actual fighting for tomorrow. You have a lot of stuff to let out and I'm not going to get that butt end of the stick if you turn all she-hulk on me."
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Honey Trap
Acción"Count backwards from ten." The words escaped my mouth, echoing off the walls until they hit the old man's ears. He flinched, I could smell the sweat pouring out his pores, along with the shit he just dumped in his slacks. "Ten," He finally spoke o...
