Brawler (18 page)

THIRTY-FIVE

Jaz

Day one hundred three.

I felt sick about leaving to go to Las Vegas, but I knew I had no alternative. “You promise you’ll call if anything changes?”

Kelsey glared at me. “What’d I tell ya?”

“Anything. I mean it.”

“I know what
anything
means.”

I hated thinking about Kelsey not being at the fight. “I wish you could go. But, I’m glad you’re going. You know what I mean. Staying here to be with him.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Listen to the dummy, Spaz. And keep twisting on the ball of that foot like your putting out a cigarette. You’ll do fine.”

“I will,” I said. “Just like you told me.”

I glanced at my watch. “I’ve got to go.”

He nodded.

I stepped to the edge of the bed, reached up, and adjusted his stocking cap. “It’s a hundred one outside, and it’s so cold in here, you’re going to end up sick. I’ll talk to them about the temperature again, don’t worry. I’ve got to go, but I’ll be back in a few days, so don’t worry. No promises, but win or lose, I’ll make you proud.”

I leaned over and gave him a kiss. “I love you.”

I glanced at my watch. “Shit. I’ve really got to--”

Kelsey opened his arms. “Come here.”

I wrapped my arms around him and held him tight. He might have been a grumpy old fucker, but he was the most awesome grumpy old fucker to ever exist.

“Get out of here,” he said as he released me.

“If anything changes,” I said.

“Heard you the first ten times.”

I looked at him, sighed, and turned away.

I was almost to the corridor, and I heard him shout. “Hey Spaz!”

I turned around.

“I love ya,” he said.

It felt good to hear him say it. I started to respond, and then paused. He stood in the center of the hallway staring back at me. I grinned and turned toward the exit.

And, after a few steps, I raised my right hand high in the air and flipped him the bird.

THIRTY-SIX

Jaz

Day one hundred five.

I stood in the corner of the ring surrounded by 17,000 people. Coming down the aisle wasn’t at all what I expected. There was no cheering, no one slapped my hands, and there were no legions of screaming fans.

Only Ripp and me.

“I feel funny,” I whispered.

“I’m gonna shit my drawers,” Ripp whispered. “And watch what you say. They’ve got them zoom in cameras and microphones everywhere.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

Shockwave came down the aisle. The entire crowd went ballistic. One day, if I continued to be a contender, I would have a following no different than she did. But my followers? Mine would be different. I wouldn’t talk shit to everyone and send out hashtag shit talk tweets on Twitter, so my fans would be classy.

But I’d be a bitch in the ring.

She ducked under the ropes, stepped inside the ring, and glared at me.

I pursed my lips, glared back, and waited.

“Don’t forget what I told ya,” Ripp said. “Touch ‘em up when the ref tells you to, and after that, no matter how many times she offers, don’t pound gloves with her.”

“Got it.”

I liked Ripp’s thought process on touching gloves. He said after the initial ‘shake’, to never touch gloves again when offered. It was an intimidation tactic he said he used, and he swore it worked.

According to him, it made his opponent fear him.

I needed all the help I could get. 

The announcer reached for the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen…”

“Tonight, Tactical Promotions and the MGM Grand present the WBC championship bout scheduled for ten rounds.”

“The challenger, in the blue corner, with a career record of 135 wins and 0 losses, with 62 wins by knockout. In her professional debut, Jaz…Brawler…Briscoe!”

I raised my gloves and turned in a circle.

A handful of people, Dekk included, cheered.

I felt small. Microscopic, to be honest. But I wasn’t intimidated. Not at all.

“And, in the red corner, the champion…”

The crowd went wild. As they screamed and cheered, he continued. “With a professional record of…”

“I hate this girl,” I whispered. “Hashtag Shockwave. Seriously? Hashtags are stupid.”

“You ain’t the only one. She’s so fuckin’ full of herself…”

“Shay…Shockwave…Simpson…”

The crowd went wild.

Again.

The referee called us to the center. Ripp and I went together. She stood with her trainer and manager. She glared at me. I glared back.

“I gave you your instructions in the dressing rooms. Obey my commands at all times. When I say break, I want a clean break. In the event of a knock down, I’ll direct you to a neutral corner. I want a clean fight. No low blow, and I
will
call them. Understood?”

He looked at her. She nodded.

He looked at me.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Protect yourselves at all times. Any questions?”

He looked at her. She shook her head.

He looked at me.

“No, Sir”

“Touch ‘em up.”

I pounded my gloves into hers and turned away.

Ripp patted his hand against my shoulder. “You ready?”

I pounded my gloves together. “Hashtag fuck yes.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

Jaz

Day one hundred five.

Her intensity was undeniable. From the instant she was within reach, she began to pummel me with two and three punch combinations, leaving me very little choice but to protect myself from being beaten to death.

We knew she was a versatile fighter. She wasn’t champion by accident, that was for sure. She’d been on top for four years, and since becoming champion, she hadn’t been beaten. Having an undefeated record in the amateurs is one thing. Being undefeated in the professional circuit is a completely different animal.

Dekk and Ripp agreed if I could get through a round with her and figure out what her strengths and weaknesses were, the rest of the fight would be able to be fought knowing exactly how to attack her.

Taking the fight to her was my strength, and to date, no one had really done so. Almost every opponent she had fought was forced to fight a defensive fight against her. Being stuck on the receiving end of her punch parade wasn’t on my list of to-do’s, though.

Her barrage of punches stopped. I peered through the space between my gloves and saw an opening.

They said not to attack you in the first round, but I need to know if you can take a punch.

I feigned a right and swung a left hook. The left crashed into her ribcage and caused her to lean to her right as she winced in pain.

Hit hard for a little bitch, don’t I?

As she leaned to her right, exposing her left side to me, I swung a right hook as hard as I could.

At that instant, pissing off Dekk or Ripp wasn’t my concern. I wanted to let her know that she wasn’t in for a free ride. My hand came down hard against her jaw, sending her stumbling toward the ropes.

I rushed toward her, pounding her with shots to the body. One after another, I punched and pushed until she was against the ropes. My attack had only been for a few seconds, but it was a few seconds of absolute hell for her.

My only focus was keeping her against the ropes. There was no hospital, no trainer, no grumpy old men, and no bills to pay. There was a girl against the ropes, and I needed to keep her there for as long as I could.

With my gloves raised just beneath my chin and my elbows tucked to my sides, I shoved my forearms against her, pushing her into the ropes. As she sprung back toward me, I swung an uppercut.

It connected pretty nicely against her chin. She reacted with a straight left that I easily dodged.

I’ve seen enough.

I stepped away from her and moved to the center of the ring. I chose to do it as more of an insult to her than anything. To have her pinned against the ropes and walk away would send a clear message that I was there to fight. She
should
know it. The crowd would know it, and that was my hope. I needed to get the crowd behind me.

I stood in the center of the ring and glared.

She shook her head, pounded her gloves into her stomach, and began to shuffle toward me.

Come on, bitch. Let’s go.

She had her hands held high as she came toward me. Really high. Her elbows were tucked tight to her sides. It was apparent she didn’t like me hitting her face and she intended on protecting it.

There was only one problem with having her gloves up so high.

It left her mid-section exposed.

I unleashed a six shot combination to her stomach and ribs with all of the power I had saved from the beginning of the round. Her gloves lowered slightly.

I swung a hard straight right and connected with her chin.

Her eyes bulged.

Her legs buckled.

I felt Ripp pound his fist against the mat twice.

I cocked my left hand.

Ding!

The bell sounded, signaling the end of the round.

Consider yourself lucky.

I was getting ready to hurt your ass, bitch
. 

I turned toward Ripp and began to walk confidently to my corner.

He jumped up and shot me a glare.

Sorry Boss, I just had to hit that bitch.

He reached for my mouthpiece. “What the fuck were you doing?”

“Seeing if she can take a punch.”

“Huge mistake lettin’ her off those fuckin’ ropes. It’s pretty fuckin’ clear she can’t fight on the ropes. Get her back on ‘em and take it to her. You hear me?”

I nodded.

“I asked you a fuckin’ question,” he snapped back.

I swallowed hard. “Yes, Sir.”

“No fucking around. No showboatin’. No bullshit. Get that bitch on the ropes and keep her there. She don’t like it. Now, listen up. One more thing. Your hard right? Follow it up with the left hook. Not a jab, and damned sure not an uppercut. A hook to the head. Hard right, hook to the head. Got it?”

I nodded.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“Hard right. Hook to the head. Keep her on the ropes.”

It seemed like I was only resting for two or three seconds and he slipped in my mouthpiece.

Ding!

THIRTY-EIGHT

Jaz

Day one hundred five.

She came at me as soon as the bell rang, trying to get me against the ropes. I used my leg strength to keep her from pushing me around, and my quick hands to remind her I wasn’t going to be an easy win.

I pushed her off, and she swung a hard right hand into my ribs.

Fuck that hurts!

A left jab followed, and a right came immediately behind it.

Every one of her punches connected. And. They. Hurt.

Angered, I swung a wild left. It glanced off her shoulder. I followed up with a right hook, and the punch glanced off her hip.

She caught me with a hard right hand to the head, knocking me goofy for a split second.

I shoved my gloves into her tits and shook my head.

Oh, you wanna fight?

I stepped toward her, leading with my left foot, shuffling my right close behind. As the gap between us closed, I pressed the ball of my right foot into the mat, lifted my heel, and plowed her in the face with a hard right hand.

The punch caused her to stumble.

You can thank Kelsey for that.

I gave her a shot to the ribs and then lit her up with a quick five punch combination. When the punches stopped, she looked back at me with wide eyes.

I didn’t come to box, bitch.

I came to brawl.

She swung a left hook that connected hard with my ribs. I countered with an uppercut that fell short, and then a right to her bicep. The punch to her bicep seemed to cause her more pain than anything, which struck me as odd.

I swung a wild left and followed it up with another right. The right slammed into her bicep again.

Her face contorted in pain.

Something wrong with that arm, Shockwave?

I pounded it again.

She turned to the side.

I pounded it again.

She swung a wild right.

I hit her with a hard right. The punch caught her right in the center of the chin.

Fighting amateur bouts, boxers are required to wear headgear. The cushioned pad that surrounds the head protects the fighters from concussions, cuts, and being badly bruised from being hit.

In professional boxing, there is no such head protection worn.

By my guess, when my hard right hand blasted against her chin, she wished she had some.

She stumbled toward the ropes.

Oh shit!

I rushed toward her and began to work the body. She continued to stumble backward, still trying to recover from my hard right. A few seconds later, and we were against the ropes.

I pummeled her torso with a six shot combo, and swung a left hook into the side of her neck, barely missing her head. I followed with a right into her bicep, which caused her right hand to come down slightly.

I raised my gloves to my face, and shoved against her with my elbows while I planned the next stage of my attack.

A hard left slamming into my hip brought me out of my deep thinking. She hit hard, and I didn’t like it one fucking bit.

Hard right, hook to the head. Hard right, hook to the head.

I worked her body hard and took a short step back and studied her. Her left glove was hanging low. I blasted her with a hard right, and followed with a left hook. The hook caught her on the chin, twisting her face to the side and making her weak in the knees.

I followed up with four hard body shots and then stepped back.

Come on, bitch, let’s fucking brawl!

I felt a pounding on the mat. Twice. Ripp’s signal to me that the round was ending.

But there was no way it was the end of the round.

I waited for her to come to me.

Again, Ripp’s hand slammed against the mat twice.

What the fuck?

I stepped close to her and swung a left hook into her stomach and followed with a hard right. The right caught her square in the face.

Fuck yes.

And it was at that instant that I heard it.

“BRAAAA-LER!”

A tingling ran along my spine.

I took another step.

More people joined in. The crowd was shunting my name.
My
name. “BRAAA-LER!”

I came close to being overwhelmed with emotion. I acted unaffected and thought of what Ripp had said.

Against the ropes. Hard right, then hook to the head.

He wasn’t pounding the mat because the round was ending. He was pounding the mat because I wasn’t listening to him. I was trying to lure her into brawl.

I took another step toward her, absorbed the punches she threw at me, and as soon as there was a lull, hammered her with a hard right hand. The punch plowed right into her mouth. Before my glove came into contact with her skin, my left was already on its way.

Boom!

The left hook knocked her to the side, and she began to stumble hard. The ropes were the only thing keeping her on her feet.

I wished I had her in the center of the ring where I wanted her so I could knock her down.

I pounded her with another right. She fell into the ropes and swung a right hand into the air.

She was hurt and it was obvious. The last three right hands caused her some damage, and she was showing it.

“When you’re working your opponent on the ropes, never let up. On the ropes, always become a boxer. It’ll pay off in the end.”

I straightened my stance slightly.

Alright, Mike fucking Ripton. I’ll box for a few seconds and see what happens.

I hit her with a quick four shot combination to the head, followed by a hard right hand. Her eyes went glassy, but she didn’t fall.

“BRAW-LER…”

I swung a left hook into her jaw. She stumbled to her right.

“BRAW-LER…BRAW-LER…BRAW-LER!”

I pounded her again. This time with a straight right. Then a left. She stumbled along the ropes. I chased after her, hammering her with lefts and rights.

The ropes were her only salvation.

And then it made sense.

If we were in the center of the ring, she could have escaped after any series of punches that I’d thrown. Ripp wanted her against the ropes so she
couldn’t
escape. He wanted me to give her the beating that she needed to be given without a chance of her getting away from me.

I pushed her into the ropes and blasted her with another right. Her head flopped back and forth from the impact of the punch.

She looked like a crash test dummy.

I followed with a left hook.

And another right.

And a left.

“BRAW-LER…BRAW-LER…BRAW-LER!”

My youth. My father. Ethan’s current state of being. There were many things I could have claimed as my inspiration to pound her into the ropes, but they would have been lies. Fairy tale bullshit. Something for a book about my life. Or whatever…

But they wouldn’t have been the truth.

I was in that ring for one person.

Me.

I wasn’t there to prove a point, or stand up for women’s rights. I wasn’t there for money or for fame.

I didn’t want a shoe deal with Nike, or an Under Armour contract.

I wanted to win because despite all of the information to support the fact that I was a loser, I wasn’t a loser.

I was a winner.

Hard right, then a left hook.

I hammered her with another right hand. She staggered. I inhaled a sharp breath, cocked my left, and swung it hard, raising my foot completely off of the mat.

The punch plowed into her jaw and lifted her from her feet. Her body came to a crashing
thud
at my feet.

I glared down at her. “Jaz Briscoe, bitch. Don’t fucking forget it. Get your ass up, let’s fight.”

Ripp was right. Keeping her on the ropes was the right thing to do. When she got up, I had plans for her. I was going to lather, rinse, and fucking repeat.

The ref stepped between us and directed me to a neutral corner.

I gladly stepped to the corner, and waited for her to come to her feet so I could finish her arrogant ass off.

He reached for her arm and tried to help her up.

She fell again.

He lifted her by the arm, got her to her feet, and began to ask her questions.

She fell to the mat again.

She was hurt and she was hurt bad.

He looked into her eyes.

And he waved his arms over her, signaling the end of the fight.

The end of the fight?

What?

My lip began to quiver.

What just happened?

I looked around me. The ring was filling up with reporters, random people, and promoters.

It was over. It was
really
over.

I had won.

I shoved my way through the crowd. Sitting on my stool with his head in his hands, Ripp looked like a 240-pound child. I knelt down beside him and pushed my glove against his chin, lifting it slightly so I could look into his eyes.

I spit my mouthpiece out at the base of the stool. “What’s wrong, Boss?”

He lifted his head. Tears were rolling down his cheeks.

“Nothin’ For the first time in my life, everything’s right.” He reached up laughed, and wiped his tears. “
Everything
.”

A tear rolled down my cheek.

He stood up. “Congratulations. You did it.”

I shook my head and stood. “We.
We
did it.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen!”

The announcers voice rang out over the sound system. We turned toward the center of the ring. Cameras flashed. People crowded us. Microphones were everywhere. I felt like I was going to vomit.

“Ending at 1:41 of the second round, by knockout…presenting the new WBC Champion of the World…”

“Jaz Brawler Briscoe!”

Ripp gripped my wrist, raised my gloved hand high into the air, and let out a yell that was heard by millions of viewers on national television.

“Fuck Yes!” he bellowed. “We did it!”

Above the sound of everything, I heard someone scream my name.

And then, commotion. Someone was shoving their way through the crowd, shouting my name.

“It’s Dekkar,” I heard a reporter say. “Shane Dekkar.”

“Jaz!”

I turned toward the voice.

“Jaz!”

“Get out of the fuckin’ way,” Ripp snarled, pushing someone to the side. “Give the girl some room.”

Dekk stepped between us. Fighting to catch his breath, he held his phone out. His level of excitement was undeniable. “You need to get this.”

“Kelsey?”

He shook his head. “It’s the hospital. But it’s not Kelsey.”

He handed me the phone. “You need to brace yourself, Jaz.”

I swallowed hard and raised the phone to my ear. But there was nothing I could have done to brace myself.

Nothing.