AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Your life is a fucking mess,” I told my reflection miserably.
I jumped in the shower, dressing in joggers and a t-shirt, before filling a bag with shorts and a vest for later. Mum would lose her mind if I came back battered tonight, and after pissing Jenna off, I didn’t have many other options. I didn’t think a random woman would want to take a bloody man home fresh from a fight.
I’ll just have to make sure I win.
I checked my phone to find eleven voicemails from Jenna, each telling me something shitty about myself. She knew I fought for money and ripped me about how I lost last time.
God, she’s a fucking bitch.
I called Raff, who didn’t answer, so I fixed some food and parked myself in front of the TV to pass the time. Ellie stomped downstairs, her voice raised, the phone glued to her ear when she appeared in the doorway.
“Where is she now?”
She stopped suddenly, her hand covering her mouth as she shook her head.
I lifted my eyes to hers to see worry and panic twisting her features.
“I’ll get a cab straight away.”
“You okay?” I asked gruffly, watching as Ellie tapped at her phone furiously. “Ellie?”
“Nothing to do with you, Logan,” Ellie muttered, dragging a hand through her hair. “Fuck!”
She clearly didn’t want to share her problems with me, so I turned my attention back to the TV, munching on my cornflakes.
I wonder where Raff is. He’s probably asleep, the arsehole.
The front door opened sometime later, and I craned my neck and saw Ellie sprinting towards a cab.
Huh. My sister leads a strange life.
I’m always psyched before a fight.
The adrenaline pumped through your veins, and your fight or flight kicked in. The ring was made up of four hay bales set in a square, and then people surrounded it, placing bets and drinking heavily.
Tommy Henderson was in the opposite corner to me and was pretty intimidating. I didn’t let it bother me, though—I’d knocked bigger guys out using tactics they didn’t even dream of, earning me respect from the other fighters.
Bare-knuckle fighting is a sport, a blood sport, but a sport nonetheless. It was illegal, but this wasn’t as bad as some places I’d been to. There was a referee for a start, and he was usually off his head on coke, which made him even scarier, if anything.
I bounced on the balls of my feet, raising my hands to my face before practicing punches, ducking and weaving as my old man taught me years back.
Flashback.
“Keep your chin tucked in and your guard up. You’d be better aiming for his sides, you know? The stomach. Aim to break his ribs.”
“Really? I thought it’s best to aim for the nose.” I tap my nose as my dad chuckles, punching my shoulder lightly.
“Nah, son. I’d rather take ten hits on here,” he points to his jaw before moving his hand to his waist. “Than one good one here.”
“Why?” I ask, bewildered.
“Because it fucking hurts, Logan. Trust me; you’ll know when it happens to you.”
“I won’t be a fighter, Dad. I’m too skinny.” I kick at the floor with embarrassment.
“Some of the best fighters I’ve met are skinny and small. Like fucking whippets, boy. People will underestimate you too, so use that to your advantage.”
PRESENT TIME
