Chapter 10 - The First Exchange
The referee’s arm chopped down. ""Fight!""
Marcus exploded off his rear foot like an artillery shell. There was no feeling-out process, no probing jab. He crossed the eight feet separating them in half a second, unleashing a thunderous straight right down the pipe.
Frank slipped to his left, but Marcus had anticipated the movement; his follow-up left hook caught Frank flush on the temple.
The impact sounded like a wet bat hitting a leather sofa. Frank’s vision flashed white. The room tilted violently on its axis, his equilibrium instantly compromised. Before he could reset his feet, Marcus threw a savage knee that crashed into Frank’s midsection, driving the air completely from his lungs.
The crowd screamed in bloodthirsty ecstasy. Dollar bills rained down into the pit.
Frank staggered backward, his shoulder slamming hard against the timber post. The barbed wire grazed his bare skin, tearing a superficial furrow across his shoulder blade. Marcus smelled blood. His eyes flared with predatory excitement as he unleashed a relentless barrage: right hook, left uppercut, right hand to the ribs, another savage left hook.
Frank covered up, pulling his forearms tight into a high shell. Marcus’s taped fists smashed into his guard with terrifying concussive force. Every impact rattled Frank’s teeth, sending dull shockwaves down his spine. His left forearm went numb as Marcus targeted the same bruised nerve repeatedly.
""Down! Put him down!"" Viktor called from the edge of the pit, his aristocratic composure cracking under the surge of adrenaline.
Frank was trapped on the perimeter, his back pressed against the splintered wood. His ribs shrieked in protest; his split cheekbone reopened, pouring warm blood over his mouth and chin. Through the narrow slit between his gloves, he saw Marcus loading up for the kill—a wide, sweeping right hook designed to end the fight in highlight-reel fashion.
He loads up on his rear foot. Maya’s words flashed through Frank’s mind.
Instead of ducking away, Frank stepped directly into the strike. He closed the distance by half a step, jamming Marcus’s forearm before the punch could reach maximum velocity. At the same instant, Frank drove his forehead straight into the bridge of Marcus’s nose.
The crunch of cartilage was audible even over the roar of the crowd.
Marcus gasped, stumbling backward, his hands instinctively coming up as blood gushed from his shattered nose. For the first time all night, shock replaced arrogance in the young man's eyes.
Frank didn't hesitate. Shifting his weight onto his lead leg, he unleashed a bone-crushing left shovel hook directly into Marcus’s liver.
Marcus’s entire body seized. His knees buckled instantly, his mouth opening in a silent scream of systemic agony as his nervous system attempted to shut down. He hit the canvas on both knees, clutching his side.
The pit went dead, terrifyingly silent.
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""One!"" the referee barked, stepping between them. ""Two!""
Marcus looked up from the floorboards, his face smeared with crimson, staring at Frank not like a student at a master, but like a man who had just realized the monster he was trying to wake.
