In His Corner [Story Preview]

Chapter 3: Rhett

Fucking hell. My eyes must be playing tricks on me. The arena lights can fuck with you when you're in the center of the ring. But even though I didn't get as solid of a look as I would've liked, I swear the brunette beauty from the gym is here. In the underground. At my high-stakes fight. I didn't think I'd mind seeing that pretty face anywhere, but somehow seeing her so up close in a place as violent and corrupt as this feels wrong. Like it doesn't fit. I can't get those full pink lips out of my head as I turn away from her and towards my piece of shit "opponent" Zax. His cockiness and stance alone tell me this fight is going to be a warm-up. It's what the audience wants. They get off on me knocking out fighter after fighter until the last fight when I actually get an opponent more worthy of my time. But I have never been into fighting for the drama and the spectacle. I just fucking love fighting. No audience necessary. Sometimes I wonder why people even like watching me so much since I hardly do any antics or crowd-pleasing maneuvers. Except knockouts but those are always for me, not for them.

I breeze through the first three fighters, hardly breaking a sweat. By the time the third guy comes around, I actually do dance around him a little and let him get a few punches in just to drag out the process a bit longer for the crowd. Coach Barry won't appreciate that but my investors will. Once he's out I finally chance a look around the crowd and make eye contact with my brunette beauty again. She looks like she's about to vomit. The thought makes me smirk, wondering how in the hell such a goodie-two-shoes girl ends up in a place like this on a Friday night. She should be away from here with some finance pretty boy at a nice restaurant, asking her boring questions about what she likes to do in her free time. I wonder what it'd be like just to watch those pretty pink lips move in response. Then I briefly imagine those pink lips moving over my dick but I forcefully stop my mind from going there while I'm in the ring.

"Okay, arena! We are ready for our final fight, the fight where your bets matter, the fight you've all been waiting for. Rhett, the Reaper, Jaggar, our crowd favorite, against a truly worthy opponent...Falcon Brawler!" The crowd breaks out in a mix of screams and boos, the loud cacophony raking through the entire space. The audience is looking towards Falcon, his large burly figure slowly approaching the ring. This motherfucker is dirty, inside and outside the ring. Once I committed to underground boxing full-time I quit any bullshit fighting outside the ring. Not this one. He's not above sending his henchmen to beat up other fighters, or even their girlfriends and wives, before a big fight. He's known for threatening opponents into throwing the match. I can't wait to break his wide, garish face in. Before I turn to face him, I see my brunette beauty, her eyes fixedly on me while everyone else is looking to Falcon. I only manage to tear my eyes away when Falcon is directly across from me.

When the announcer rings the bell, I see Falcon lumber forward, trying to fake an attack. He's definitely the hardest opponent of the night, hence the high-stakes bet on this particular fight. He's one of the only fighters who's beaten me before in my younger years. But I was hungover during that fight, back when I hadn't fully committed to the ring yet. Years ago I swore to myself that I'd never let anything as stupid as alcohol keep me from winning again.

I move in quickly, getting in a few hard and tight jabs to his abdomen. As he defends and recoils, I bounce out quickly, knowing I'm faster and more agile than him but also that he's the kind of boxer who likes to trap his opponent underneath him. I move in for him again but he gets a strong uppercut to my jaw and I can taste the familiar metallic tang of blood between my teeth. He quickly assaults my abdomen, knocking the air from my lungs and I stumble back onto the ropes. Fuck, it hurts. Doesn't matter how many times you get hit, the pain never stops. I'm nearly positive he's broken a rib. Definitely not my first broken rib but it's always a bitch. I quickly twist away and out of reach before he bulldozes at me and ends up slamming chest first into the ropes. I come up behind him and lock his arms behind his head before jabbing a few hard hits into his kidneys. I let him fall forward into the ropes and back away, gripping my side and desperately gasping for a few precious breaths. Falcon turns around slowly, his eyes slightly glazed over. I stand to my full 6'4" height, fighting to ignore the throbbing pain in my side as I rush towards him to land a final round of lightning-fast punches. He lands a clobbered fist to the right side of my face before he finally goes down and I can feel the familiar pressure of an oncoming black eye. I hardly even hear the deafening screams of the crowd, my hearing, and vision starting to blur as if I'm underwater. I fucking know this feeling. It's that moment before the blackout from the pain I've been putting off with coursing amounts of adrenaline. The last two things I remember are the announcer lifting my arm high in the air and a pair of pretty, golden eyes looking like they're about to cry before the edges around my vision go fuzzy and black and I feel the mat rise up and swallow me with it.  

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