wasn’t in a cage right now, and that meant he was about to do a little dirty bare-knuckle fighting. He was looking forward to this, not just because these assholes had started this shit, but because they had threatened his girl. Fierce possessiveness claimed him at the very thought of these motherfuckers wanting to touch what was his, and she was his. There was no question about it. He let them have the first hit, but that was all they were getting.
The leader, or at least who Brock assumed was the leader since he was the only douche-bag that had the balls to say anything to him since this started, charged him. He was drunk and high, and so he moved slowly, his punches were sloppy, and he was off the mark. Brock slammed his fist into his nose, grew even more excited when he heard the sound of his nose crunching from the hit, and immediately went after the next guy. He tossed him against the side of one of the buildings like a rag doll, and immediately turned on the third asshole. At least this guy seemed the smartest of the three, because he took a look at the other two pricks, and then back at Brock before turning and running like the little asshole he was. The guy he had thrown against the building must have hit his head on the brick because he was out cold.
“You motherfucker. You broke my nose.” The only one standing and the one that seemed to try to place some kind of claim on his girl stood a few feet from him. Blood poured from his nose, moved over his lips and chin, and covered his white shirt like a grotesque painting. “I’m going to kick your ass, and then fuck your girl. I might make you watch, but haven’t decided yet.”
He charged forward, but Brock was ready. A fighter never lost control, never took his eyes off his opponent, and always let the other guy make the first move. He came swinging like a damn freight train, but his anger was a cloud of amateur movements that Brock had seen a hundred times before. He swung out, and Brock caught his fist midair and used his opponent’s momentum against him. Slamming his fist into first his right side and then his left, he kept his composure when the guy doubled over and grunted in pain. Brock stood there and waited for him to come back for more or turn the other way and run. He could have easily taken him down with one skillful shot to his temple, and should have for the fucked up shit he said about Izzy, but he also realized she was in his truck watching this all play out. He could feel her stare, and although he wouldn’t go easy on these dicks, he also wouldn’t do what he really wanted to do to them, and that was break their neck and rip off their balls.
“You’re not going to win. You can either get your fucking ass out of here or you can come back for more and get your dick ripped off.” The man lifted his glossed over eyes and snarled. “I can make you really hurt.” He said it slowly and calmly, just to make sure this bitch knew exactly what he was saying. It wasn’t a threat, but a promise. Brock knew moves that could paralyze the prick, and could make sure he couldn’t walk comfortably for a very long time. The guy that had been slouched against the wall came to, but he was smart enough not to come back for more. He limped away, muttering something about drinking too much and getting into trouble.
After a long moment the asshole bared his teeth. “You can have the bitch.” Although the anger still waged inside of him that this dickhead thought to insult Izzy, he had to remain calm. Letting go was the worst possible outcome, and if he was anything it was calm and controlled. That was the first lesson of an Absinthe cage fighter. The man hobbled off, and only when he was out of Brock’s sight did he make his way to the truck. He saw Izzy through the front windshield, and if her wide, frightened eyes didn’t let him know she had seen everything, the scent of her apprehension when he opened the driver’s side door and climbed in
The leader, or at least who Brock assumed was the leader since he was the only douche-bag that had the balls to say anything to him since this started, charged him. He was drunk and high, and so he moved slowly, his punches were sloppy, and he was off the mark. Brock slammed his fist into his nose, grew even more excited when he heard the sound of his nose crunching from the hit, and immediately went after the next guy. He tossed him against the side of one of the buildings like a rag doll, and immediately turned on the third asshole. At least this guy seemed the smartest of the three, because he took a look at the other two pricks, and then back at Brock before turning and running like the little asshole he was. The guy he had thrown against the building must have hit his head on the brick because he was out cold.
“You motherfucker. You broke my nose.” The only one standing and the one that seemed to try to place some kind of claim on his girl stood a few feet from him. Blood poured from his nose, moved over his lips and chin, and covered his white shirt like a grotesque painting. “I’m going to kick your ass, and then fuck your girl. I might make you watch, but haven’t decided yet.”
He charged forward, but Brock was ready. A fighter never lost control, never took his eyes off his opponent, and always let the other guy make the first move. He came swinging like a damn freight train, but his anger was a cloud of amateur movements that Brock had seen a hundred times before. He swung out, and Brock caught his fist midair and used his opponent’s momentum against him. Slamming his fist into first his right side and then his left, he kept his composure when the guy doubled over and grunted in pain. Brock stood there and waited for him to come back for more or turn the other way and run. He could have easily taken him down with one skillful shot to his temple, and should have for the fucked up shit he said about Izzy, but he also realized she was in his truck watching this all play out. He could feel her stare, and although he wouldn’t go easy on these dicks, he also wouldn’t do what he really wanted to do to them, and that was break their neck and rip off their balls.
“You’re not going to win. You can either get your fucking ass out of here or you can come back for more and get your dick ripped off.” The man lifted his glossed over eyes and snarled. “I can make you really hurt.” He said it slowly and calmly, just to make sure this bitch knew exactly what he was saying. It wasn’t a threat, but a promise. Brock knew moves that could paralyze the prick, and could make sure he couldn’t walk comfortably for a very long time. The guy that had been slouched against the wall came to, but he was smart enough not to come back for more. He limped away, muttering something about drinking too much and getting into trouble.
After a long moment the asshole bared his teeth. “You can have the bitch.” Although the anger still waged inside of him that this dickhead thought to insult Izzy, he had to remain calm. Letting go was the worst possible outcome, and if he was anything it was calm and controlled. That was the first lesson of an Absinthe cage fighter. The man hobbled off, and only when he was out of Brock’s sight did he make his way to the truck. He saw Izzy through the front windshield, and if her wide, frightened eyes didn’t let him know she had seen everything, the scent of her apprehension when he opened the driver’s side door and climbed in
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