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1
Jackson
“Hope you’re ready for this, Blur. ‘Cause it’s gonna hurt.”
I flash Kenny a taunting smile just before he lunges at me. The kid’s cocky. It’s understandable though; he’s won his last 5 fights against some tough opponents, and now he thinks he’s gonna take me down. But he’s sorely mistaken.
Like all inexperienced fighters, Kenny thinks his same technique will work on everyone. He thinks he’s that good. But I’ve watched his fights and I know how he moves; I know what to expect. I’m ready for it.
I lean in for his right cross and lunge forward toward him. His left hand comes up for the follow-up strike, but I’m too close for him to get a good windup, and the blow glances off my ribs. It hurts a bit, but it’s nothing I can’t take. Definitely not enough to take me down.
My turn.
My right arm comes out, high and straight, and with both of his hands tied up from his strikes, he has no way of blocking it. He tries to duck, maneuver out of the way, but my body against his keeps him from moving smoothly, and I nail him straight in the nose.
He staggers back and I snatch his right arm with my left, then sweep his right leg with my foot, sending him to the mat. As he falls, I catch him with a jab, just to disorient him enough so I can get side control. And then I’ve got him in an arm bar and he’s tapping.
Just. Like. That.
“Hurt, huh?” I ask him before I let him up. “That tickled, Kenny.”
Two minutes later I’m in the showers, and five minutes after that I’m in the car. Most guys would be pleased with their victory, but to me, it’s bittersweet at best.
I’m a good fighter—maybe the best in New England—and have a championship fight at the Garden coming up that I know I can win. But I’m not going to. Why? Because I’m being paid to throw it. I’ve never thrown a fight before. I never thought I would. Be then she happened.
Tiffy, my ex-girlfriend. Well, my fiancée actually. We met after a fight, and I was suspicious that she might just want me for my money, but she played her game right; she took her time, made me wait, hooked me and didn’t let me go, and before I knew it, I was in love.
I gave her my grandma’s engagement ring, we got married in Rhode Island and moved in together. I bought us a house, spoiled her rotten, and then made the biggest mistake of my life; I let her manage my finances.
A week later, I woke up and she was gone, along with Chris, my ex-manager, and all my money. No, that’s not true; she left me 500 bucks. Maybe she wanted to pretend she wasn’t a completely terrible person, or maybe she just wanted to taunt me. I guess I’ll never know.
I’m ashamed to say it, but my fighting spirit broke after that. My support structure was gone, and every time I took a punch or gave one, I couldn’t stop wondering what I was doing it for. So when Micky came to me and offered me 500,000 to throw the fight, I said yes. And as I pull up to the Shoreside Theater and park, that’s all I have on my mind.
I used to come here a lot when I was a kid. We never had much and my parents fought a lot, so when I needed time alone I’d come sit here by the river and watch the waves. Sometimes I’d go inside and catch a movie and watch all the rich kids from Newton come out in their Polo shirts and white pants, laughing and having the time of their lives. As a poor kid from Southie, they were living lives I could only dream of. So even now, at 28 years old, I’ve been coming back here to sit and stare at the waves and wonder about what my life could have been if I’d made difference decisions along the way.
I sit by the river for hours, listening to the crowds leave the theater, talking about the movie they just saw, and only get up and head to my truck when the last show is getting out. It’s only a handful of people—a middle-aged couple, a group of three college guys, and then…
Holy shit.
The sight of the girl who walks out next takes my breath away. It’s like an angel just stepped out of the theater doors. Her brunette hair spills down her shoulders and reaches her waist. Her curves are out of this world. She has a little extra weight on her, but carries it like a fucking dream and her hips have me lusting to pump my dick inside her and fill her up. The thought of her moans as I fuck her has me instantly hard.
Her skirt clings to her with perfection, showing off her smooth thighs, and I start to wonder if she has any panties on underneath. My mouth starts to water as I think about lifting that thin fabric and burying my head between those thighs. She’s also a rich girl—the kind that would never have gone for me back in the day.
I’m off center. No girl has ever turned my head like this, and I brace myself against my truck as I watch her walk, moving like a runway model across the parking lot. My blood boils when I glance at the guy walking beside her, but I settle down when I realize he’s just her gay best friend.
How the fuck is this happening? After Tiffy, I thought I was done with women. But now I’m upside down over a girl I have only seen from a distance. I have to talk to her, but just as I start to make my way over to her, two men slide out from behind an SUV and approach her. I don’t even wait to react; these guys are bad news.
“Give us the purse and we might not hurt you,” one growls in a thick Southie accent. He stands in front of them as the other circles behind. The girl quickly scrambles for her phone, but he snatches it from her hand and smashes it against the pavement.
“The purse!” his friend barks. “Now!”
I’m moving quickly, as silently as I can, but they’re going to see me in a second. I’m right up on them.
“P—please don’t hurt me!” she whimpers, causing my blood to boil. My muscles are taut. Adrenaline flows through me like before every fight. The guy in front of her glances to his right and sees me coming, but it’s too late.
The bones of his nose break beneath my knuckles. He coughs and cries out, staggers backwards and topples over flat. He’s not a fighter—just a punk. I spin, expecting an attack from the other guy, but he’s already backing away. I put myself between him and the girl anyway; I’m not leaving anything to chance.
