Read Wreck (Bareknuckle Boxing Brotherhood Book 2) for Free Online Page B

still a winner who could face down this adversity and conquer it.
    He usually hung back from the crowd until after his match, but tonight he walked through the crush of people clapping him on the back and announcing his odds for the fight so he could watch for Shea. Kyle stood near enough to the door that the bouncer jokingly threatened to make him pay a cover to go back in.
    “Waiting for a girl?”
    “Yeah,” he admitted, “She’s got brown hair and a bad attitude. You can’t miss her,”
    Soon Shea arrived, paid the doorman and found herself in Kyle’s arms, her face pressed to the curving twists of the tribal tattoo that splayed from his right shoulder down across his collarbone and halfway down his chest.
    “Glad to see me?” she asked, pulling back from him.
    “You might say so, yes. Let me get you a drink before the match begins,”
    “I think I’ll stick to water. I’ve heard rumors about you and the girls you buy a beer for,”
    “You’re that nervous of a rumor that you’d turn down a free pint?” His blue eyes burned with mirth and something more.
    “Thank you anyway,” She said and took the seat he found for her.
    “I’m fighting Magnus Carney tonight. He outweighs me by three pounds, but I’m hoping it’s fat and will slow him down,” he said with a surge of bravado. “I know for a fact he’s a lapsed Catholic and living in sin with his brother’s ex-wife. The Lord can’t look too kindly on that.”
    “I’m always afraid to ask if you’re joking,” she mused.
    “Think what you like, then,” he said. “I’ve a bout to win.”
    Kyle pulled the tape off his thumb and cast it aside, stepping through the ropes. A ring bunny showed the sign, and the announcer introduced the fighters and called for final bets in his carny barker drawl. Sweat came out on his brow from the hot lamps above. He grinned, waving at the crowd with all the force of his hubris and magnetism, the inextinguishable hope and sureness that seemed to shine out of him. The bell rang and Carney started dancing around him with footwork elaborate enough for a high school production of Riverdance .
    Kyle quickly jabbed for his opponent’s cheek, knowing that the man expected a body blow. He connected with Carney’s face and, with a feint, dodged the barrage of punches Carney levied at him one by one. He smiled, but it was a grim one that didn’t reach his eyes. He tried to get close enough to land a solid hit. He took a few jabs to the face, spitting out blood, in hopes of lulling Carney into easing his defense a little. The man was crowding him, and he couldn’t get a decent punch. He felt the heavy blow to his side before he heard it. He let loose a stream of obscenities, hurling himself hard at Carney, pounding on him with more force than finesse. He pummeled the man’s arms and shoulders, but never got an unblocked shot.
    Breathing hard, he stepped away for a moment, relying on feints to buy himself a minute to think. Every time he tired to get his mind around it, he kept seeing that picture of the blue-eyed kid that was his daughter, and it broke his concentration. If he didn’t get his head in the game, he was going to have his ass handed to him, he knew. He remembered Shea in the crowd, wanted so much to breach her take-no-crap defenses and taste her. It was while that image flashed through his mind that he felt the blow to the side of his head. The next thing he knew, he was on his hands and knees on the mat, blood dripping from a cut somewhere on his face. The ref pulled Carney off of him, but not before the bastard kicked him in the side. Kyle set his hand to the spot where he was pretty sure from the pain that a couple of bruised ribs were throbbing and shook his head. He’d lost the match. Magnus Carney was walking away with two grand, and all Kyle had to show for it was humiliation and a left side that hurt when he tried to take a deep breath.
    He made his way out of the ring and went for the locker