“Nobody Can Beat Me,” the Black Belt Boasted — Until a Single Dad Entered the Ring
Chapter 9
Theme:
Font Size:
24px
Trent's mouth opened in a silent gasp. The air was violently expelled from his lungs. His eyes bulged. He folded at the waist, his arms dropping instinctively to protect his shattered midsection, and he stumbled sideways, desperately trying to catch his balance.The crowd erupted. It wasn't a cheer for a knockout; it was a guttural, collective roar of shock.William didn't pursue. His vision was swimming; the glancing blow from Trent's heel had scrambled his equilibrium. He stood in the center of the ring, swaying slightly, feeling the warm, sticky flow of blood matting his hair.Trent backed himself into the corner, his gloves pressed against his right side. His face was pale. The arrogance had been entirely punched out of him, replaced by genuine, unadulterated panic. He looked at the referee, his eyes pleading for a break, for an intervention."Fight!" the referee barked, clapping his hands together."Two minutes down! One minute left!" the timekeeper screamed over the roar of the crowd.60 seconds.William's left leg was completely dead. The nerve had been pinched by the swelling in his thigh, turning his foot into a numb, useless block of meat. He couldn't pivot. He could barely walk. If Trent realized it and threw another leg kick, William would drop.But Trent wasn't thinking about leg kicks. Trent was thinking about the sharp, stabbing agony in his ribs every time he inhaled. He was thinking about how much he wanted to be out of this ring.William looked through the ropes. He found Maya again. She had pushed her way closer to the barricade. The grocery bags were sitting by her feet. She wasn't crying anymore. She was gripping the metal barrier, her knuckles white, staring at her father with an expression he had never seen on her face before. It wasn't fear; it was recognition. She was watching the quiet, exhausted man who made her dinner every night turn into a piece of reinforced steel.William locked eyes with her. He gave her a slow, barely perceptible nod.I'm okay.He turned his attention back to Trent. Trent was circling to the right, keeping as much distance between himself and William as the small ring allowed. He was throwing weak, probing jabs, just trying to keep William at bay, trying to run out the clock. He had completely abandoned the $5,000 bounty; he just wanted to survive the round without getting humiliated further."What's the matter, kid?" William rasped, dragging his left foot forward as he stalked Trent. "You got 30 seconds to earn your money."Trent didn't answer. He threw a quick one-two combination. The punches lacked snap; they hit William's guard with the impact of wet towels.William dropped his hands entirely. The crowd gasped. The referee leaned in closer, his hand hovering near William's shoulder, ready to call a technical knockout if Trent landed a clean shot to an undefended head."Hit me," William said. He tapped his own chin with a heavy glove. "Right here. Finish the job."Trent stared at him. The sheer psychological dominance of the gesture broke something in the younger fighter's mind. Trent was a bully who was used to his victims crumbling under the pressure of his speed and power; he had no protocol for a man who ate his best shots and asked for more.