“And his opponent… fighting out of the red corner… 6’1, weighing two hundred, twenty-eight pounds, from Atlanta, Georgia… Courtland ‘Rayzor’ Kirkland!”
Smoke cascaded from the tunnel as a shadow emerged.
My eyes dragged across the crowd, leaving me in awe how a man had everyone’s undivided attention. Not a soul looking away. Even my girls had their eyes and mouths open at his entrance. Insane.
“Rayzor’s that nigga,” Suki whispered, and Rhea co-signed.
My sight was still on the ghost as it emerged through the smoke.
The boxer’s face was covered with a red and black silk hood.
“Y’all know him?” I questioned.
His crowd of men were more controlled, wearing all black, following behind him, unlike Flow’s crew. The gloves and material both shined under the lights. I was anxious to see his face.
“Girl, yeah. Everybody who’s anybody knows his ass.”
“Not everybody,” I retorted.
“That’s because you be in the house,” Rhea murmured.
Rayzor stepped into the ring and when he removed his hood, the energy in the room shifted. It took your breath away. His aura breathed control.
“Damn,” I murmured. He was so damn fine, and looked like he didn’t take no shit.
“That’s because you don’t be outside. Rayzor’s not your lane,” Rhea commented.
“My lane?” I countered. “He’s just a boxer. I don’t need a lane for that.”
“But he’s not just a boxer though…” Rhea’s words lingered. “Just enjoy the fight.”
Her words hung in the air.
I glanced at my girls, and they’d both dropped the situation.
I shrugged and turned back toward the ring.
Flashes from the cameras blinded you from afar. Paparazzi was screaming for him to look their way, and the audience screamed for his attention as well. Screens lit the place as everyone captured their moment. I was too engrossed with everyone else that I forgot to take out my phone.
“Goddamn,” I whispered when he removed his robe and handed it off to the side.
His brown skin glistened under the lights. His muscles sculpted perfectly with swollen pecks and tatted from front to back. A low-cut Cesar cut with a sharp line like he’d just gotten out the chair before taking the stage. He had waves deep enough to make you seasick.
The strength wasn’t only in his body, it’s the way he patiently waited. Unbothered by Flow’s antics. Staring him down with the gaze of death; it was intimidating.
Diverting my attention to the boxes in the overhead, I spotted a mysterious silhouette behind a glass tinted booth. It must’ve been a boss or someone more important than those on the floor.
The world was moving, hyped and in sync awaiting the event, but the figure was glued to Rayzor’s presence. Like they knew something we didn’t. Rayzor was unaware, but I saw it.
Rayzor resembled the quiet before the storm.
“He’s got everybody in a chokehold,” I murmured.
The fighters separated, but not before Rayzor faced the crowd again. They chanted his name, held up signs, barked for his attention.
His eyes meticulously scanned the crowd for something as the world was his oyster.
His dark hues landed near where we sat.
