The Boxers Daughter

BFD (Big Fricking Disaster)

The hood of his robe cast a shadow over his face, only exposing his chin and mouth.

Cason looked over at Pop before glancing at me in question. I shrugged and looked back at Nermani.

Whatever was happening, or about to happen, it wasn't going to be good.

Cason was a good six foot, and Donovan Nermani was at least a head taller than him. I stared at him with wide eyes. Casan has fought many guys larger than him. But there was something about Donovan...

"Tonight, Bane will be defending his State Championship belt! Will Nermani beat him to the punch? Or will Bane defend his title? Let's see!" Ted's voice rumbled through the stadium and I clutched the edge of my seat.

Pop coached Cason- was the very reason Cason was as good as he was- but he couldn't be in his corner. No, Pop does the coaching behind doors. Once his students step inside that ring they are their own being. He believes that standing in their corner makes the boxer weaker, more nervous. While being on their own means their survival instincts kick in, and they become the fighter they need to be.

He even leaves me to my own matches. He never leaves ringside though. No, I know that I can look out into the crowd and he'd be there- watching me carefully.

In my peripheral vision I saw Cason toss his robe on the ground and check his gloves. But I wasn't watching him. No, my eyes were glued on Donovan Nermani. And the ridiculously hot face that emerged from his hood.

Tendrils of dark black hair fell over his forehead and he yanked his hoodie off, exposing a muscular chest and toned abs. His biceps rippled as he handed it to one of his body guards.

Cason had the same muscles, but there was something about him...

I forced myself to look at Cason. My boyfriend.

When I watched Cason push in his mouth piece, I saw the shift in his eyes and knew he had slipped into fight mode.

The ref motioned for Cason and Nermani to meet him in the middle of the ring where he would explain the rules. Every word whispered between them seemed liked an eternity. They held eye contact, expressing to the other how they imagined this fight to go down. And then they touched gloves.

Finally, the ref backed away and the shrill ding-ding-ding echoed over the crowed.

The match began.

Nermani didn't waist a second, striking Cason in the face- a quick jab. He moved so quickly I had to do a double take.

Cason glared at Donovan and moved in for a punch of his own. Donovan dodged it easily. They circled each other for a moment, taking their time trying to figure out each others weak spots.

Of course Donovan Nermani was good. He's probably been taught by some of the best guys in the business. His dad was the leader of one of the second biggest mobs in this country. The thought had me stealing a look at the men in his corner.

Big men, dressed in black, their expressions grim. Bodyguards. Professional bodyguards too, by the looks of them.

Dank Nermani knew where Pop had moved to after his retirement, where he had brought his family to live a quiet, safe life.

New York was Pop's territory, but Hillcrow New Jersey was his home. And Nermani knew better than to come here himself. He wasn't stupid enough to step foot into an enemy's facility filled with loaded men.

But then that brings us back to Donovan. Why would Dank send his son into his enemies midst? Why risk his life? Was this an ambush? Or is this match truly for the sport of fighting, not to attack?