Page 15 of Knuckles

Knuckles

“Bend at the fucking knees and duck!” I shout as I slam my hand on the ring floor with frustration and I glare over at the prospect who doesn’t duck in time to miss Scar’s fist. His head knocks to the side, spit and blood going everywhere as his eyes roll and I shake my head, my frustration doubling quicker than normal like it has in the past two days and yeah I fucking understand why but like a responsible adult I’m going to ignore it or try to at least.

“Fuck’s sake,” Blaze grunts from beside me as Andrew goes down like a lump, knocked out while Scar shakes his head. He’s barely breathing hard despite trying to train Andrew in the ring for the past hour.

The fucker is a lost cause and never should have been sponsored in.

“That is the fifth fucking time he’s managed to get himself knocked out. I dread to think what he’d be like holding a fucking gun while the Chargers are shooting at him,” I spit, glaring at the fucker groaning on the floor.

All week, we have been seeing what the prospects are made of by putting them through several tests on the one day a week my gym is closed.

One of the rules for patching in is to be able to handle yourself, and this fucker has failed epically.

“Fucking Willow could fight better than him,” I mutter, and Blaze snorts before he asks, “Who sponsored him?”

Now I snort. Usually, when men come to a brother and ask if they can patch in, it isn’t a normal club vote like some clubs. While recommendations and concerns can be spoken, a brother must sponsor them, and they become liable for their fuck ups and I was against Andrew joining, but of course, my voice isn’t counted in the club.

“My fucking father,” I growl, “From the insistence of my mother because she’s probably been screwing his dad, who has money.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Blaze snaps, “Why in the fuck would your dad agree to that shit? That is an instant red fucking flag!”

I shake my head but don’t verbally answer him. I don’t need him losing it right now, because then he’ll want to spar, and I’ll end up knocking him out with the mood I’m in.

Mom, over the years, laid it on thick with my dad. How she’s had to raise me like a single mother, how I was unhinged and angry all the fucking time when she’s done nothing but supposedly love me and care for me.

She fucking guilt-tripped him into sponsoring one of the children of her current lover. Just to shut her up, he said, "Fine,” and now he can answer for this shit.

“Scar, get him outta here and take the leather off him,” I command instead of answering Blaze, and he grunts in acknowledgment as he bends and grabs the moaning fucker.

“He was a lousy fucking prospect,” Blaze mutters, and I snort as we watch him stumble to his feet, then balance on a pissed-off Scar. I turn away, not bothering to deal with whatever shit he’s about to come up with to keep his prospect cut.

“I’ll speak to your dad,” Blaze grunts as he walks with me towards the front desk, and I nod in acknowledgment as I grab the fucker’s file and pass it over to Blaze, who says, “Tray, you’re next,” and the bald fucker nods once and takes off his cut and shirt, and I smirk.

Tray is a regular at my gym, and I trained him myself, and fuck yeah, I sponsored him.

“Good luck to Scar,” I mutter as Tray stalks to the ring, and Blaze laughs, already knowing how crazy Tray is.

I’m not the only one always fucking angry.

Shaking my head, I turn and eye my mobile sitting on the desk as Blaze confirms, “Crusher got his ass kicked last night before he finally fought back, didn’t he?” already knowing how much his brother is struggling with Alexiana being gone.

I grunt, “Yeah, but he also found out that someone answered his phone after the fight, so he’s even more fucked up,” as last night comes back and hits me hard in my chest.

For fucking years, I never wanted someone to touch me, I felt physically fucking sick with just the thought of it, with how I was brought up, the shit I had to watch, yet seeing Kodi in that dress…

Fuck.

I lost all senses, she looked inviting and very fucking edible, and for the first time, after seeing Mags touch her, without her fucking permission, to see him eyeing her tits that I can confirmtaste fucking delicious and are just over a handful, I lost all control in the ring.

The ring is my happy place, it’s where I can control the narrative of my life. If I want a few hits to my face, I allow it. Fuck, last night I nearly killed the fucker, and when she said she wanted to have some fun, I could have burned the fucking building down with the rage that ran through me.

As soon as I realized that I wanted her, all rational decisions were gone, including when I felt her barrier.

She was a fucking virgin, just like me, and her body spoke to me. It woke up with my touch, and she orgasmed fucking beautifully six fucking times to the point she could barely keep her head up. It was then that I realized what the fuck we had done, what I had done.

I felt dirty, I felt like I needed to scrub my body, but then that made me fucking angry because her touch, her smell made me feel whole. It only angered me more, and I wanted to scrub myself even harder, and she knew when I had changed because her body tensed.

I told her to fuck off, to get out, I told her she can go whore herself to someone else now, that I’d had enough of her. I was fucking angry, and instantly I hated myself, I hated the words coming out of my mouth, but seeing the unshed tears, fuck…