“The challenger,” the referee began, “Tavish ‘The Leprechaun’ O’Brien!”
He tugged his shirt over his head, the cold wind snapping against his bare skin, as half the crowd booed and half cheered.It didn’t matter if they liked him or not; the only thing that mattered was winning.
The Butcher loomed across from him, a broken nose, beady eyes, a face full of violence and hatred.Murky gray eyes glared down at Tavish.“I’m going to enjoy making you as ugly as me, before I kill ya,” he snarled
“You can fecking try, but I doubt I’ll ever be as ugly as you,” Tavish sneered then winked.
The Butcher took a step toward him but was stopped by the referee’s hand on his chest.
“Save it for the ring, Butcher,” the referee, said looking between the two men.“Keep it clean.Irish style.No biting.No low blows.No weapons.The rounds end when yer down.Fights over when you’re out cold or dead.Thirty seconds between rounds.Do ye agree?”he asked, his accent thick.
“Let’s fucking get on with it,” The Butcher growled out, missing front teeth flashing.
Tavish nodded before he turned away and headed over to his knee man and bottle man, waiting in the corner of the ring.
“That’s one mean bastard,” Frank said, as Tavish perched on the big man’s knee.Frank had been a knee man for the boxing mill for two years.He was the one Tavish preferred in his corner, along with his bottle man, Sam.
“Aye,” Sam agreed, passing over a cup of water.
Tavish gulped down the small amount, knowing it would be his only source of refreshment until the round ended.
“Attack the body,” Dutch shouted from the ropes.“Don’t you fecking stop hammering his kidneys until he’s begging for his ma’s tit, ya hear me?”
Tavish nodded, unable to find his voice.This was it, the moment he’d been waiting for since Hammer fell to his knees, blood trickling down his pale skin.The Butcher didn’t stop there.One last blow was all it took, and his friend was gone.
The referee climbed one of the poles, signaling to the bellman to begin the fight.
“To the scratch line!”the referee yelled.
Rising, Tavish walked to his side of the scratch line, waiting as the bigger man slowly rose from his knee man and met him in the middle of the ring.
Raising his fists, Tavish held them out, before The Butcher brutally punched his knuckles against his.
“Say hello to Hammer in hell.”The smile on his face was menacing and would’ve been frightening to someone other than Tavish, who simply stepped closer to The Butcher, not caring that he had to peer up at the taller man.
“Go feck yourself, you bloody bastard.”
The Butcher let out a vicious snarl and took a step toward Tavish, a foul stench of body odor and liquor wafted off of him.
Tavish didn’t move as he waited on The Butcher to take a step back.Any signs of weakness would be his undoing.Men like The Butcher preyed on those they believed were lesser than them, people they deemed helpless.
Tavish had never been helpless a day in his life, and he’d be damned if he’d ever allow a bugger like The Butcher to make him feel anything less than who he was, an O’Brien, and an O’Brien was never helpless.
Tavish stepped back, holding his hand up in the Irish fighting position.His left arm was in front of his right, hands clenched so tight, he could see the white of his own knuckles.
Holding his breath, he waited for the bellman to start the fight.Everything outside of the ring disappeared, the shouting crowd, the whistle of the wind, the rustling leaves.All was gone.There was nothing but the heavy breathing of the man in front of him and the beating of his own heart.
The bell rang.
Tavish opened fast.
Left to the jaw.
Right to the chin.
Left to the kidney.
Right to the kidney.
