I’m looking forward to being in the ring for real. Sparring with the lads is great for exercise, but there’s nothing like cracking bones when you throw a punch. I drop the rope and jab a few fists at the bag.
Fuck it, I’m ready.
Pulling my robe back on, I hitch my gym bag over my shoulder and knock my knuckles on my great-grandfather’s photo as I pass. “Wish me luck, Granda.”
The first thing that wallops me is the size of the crowd. It’s larger than I expected on the first night, and I recognize dozens of prominent Tampa figures. A lot of the same people who were at my soft launch.
Fair job, Sully.
As I keep to the edge of the crowd, I peer into the ring at the action. The fighters are drenched in sweat and blood, chests heaving. One of them will drop soon. I need to be ready.
Sully spots me and hustles into the locker room behind me. There are a few lads in here and the shower is running. Sully helps me tape up my wrists and pull on the light, MMA style finger gloves. I prefer to feel the crack of bone instead of a thud of padding and luckily my opponent agreed.
A toilet flushes and a giant man steps up to the sink. Our eyes meet in the mirror. He cracks a smile, washes his hands and then turns to eye me as he dries them.
I catch “The Punisher” embroidered on his black silk shorts and smirk back.
He’s a big feckin’ beast. But you know what they say. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
The Punisher turns away, dismissing me as a fella approaches him with his own gloves.
Yeah, I know what he sees and what he’s thinking. And he’s dead fuckin’ wrong.
Sully winks at me. “Have fun.”
Chapter 27
Samantha
I’m noticing a pattern. The ref is not there to keep these men from killing each other, only to keep the fight going. This one also ends with one man going down. But, after the winner is declared, he manages to stand up on his own. His face is puffy and red with rage as he stumbles down out of the ring and stalks into the locker room.
I’m about to follow him, when the locker room door opens and Killian steps out.
My muscles freeze, my breath stalls at the sight of him. His head is down as he makes his way to the ring, Sully at his side. He’s wearing red silk trunks, and his muscular, tatted chest and arms are pumped with a sheen of sweat. He’s got the most magnificent, well-defined set of lats I’ve ever seen on a man, giving him that classic V shape. The last time I saw him in this state of undress it was dark. In the light there is no denying the fact that he is lethally beautiful.
And then the door opens again, and a giant man steps out with a toothy grin.
Holy shit.
This is the guy Killian’s fighting? Killian’s tall at six-three but this guy has another two or three inches on him. He looks like a bear with a coat of black hair over massive shoulders and back. His head is shaved and a scar glistens on his scalp abovehis right ear. I’d love to know the story behind that. Who got the drop on this titan?
The man’s sized fifteen feet carry him to the ring, while the crowd whistles and chants his name. “Pun-ish-er! Pun-ish-er!”
He holds up his fists, pumping them in the air, and that’s when I notice he’s not wearing boxing gloves, but MMA gloves. My heart skips a beat as I glance over at Killian. He’s wearing them, too.
Shit.They’re going to kill each other. I don’t know if I have enough bandages and butterfly stitches for the carnage that’s coming.
The Punisher waits ringside while two men wipe up the slicks of blood off the mat floor. He’s staring at Killian like he’s going to eat him alive. Killian is ignoring him, cool as a cucumber, talking to Sandro and the rest of the Italian gang. Looks like Sandro’s cousins have joined him.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I turn and rush into the locker room to check on the two men who just finished. When I catch a glimpse of one of them naked, holding a towel, I quickly turn my back.
“I’m Dr. Dal,” I call out. “Can you put the towel on please, so I can check your injuries.”
I hear a chuckle from a few of the men in there.
“What if it’s my dick that’s injured, Doc?” one of them says.
