1. The Hitter


    Date: 8/23/2015, Categories: Historical, Author: gilrenard, Rating: , Source: LushStories

    peddled to the opposite corner of the ring. I chased him and feinted a left hook to his body. He dropped his right arm to protect his sore ribs and took a vicious right cross to his chest. His heart wasn’t pounding like two jack-rabbits fucking anymore. The punch fractured his sternum. I heard the sickening crack come from his chest, as my knuckles dug in to him. He was ready to be dropped. I threw a left hook at his liver that ended the fight. A punch to the liver is excruciatingly painful and incapacitates an opponent immediately. I followed up with a right cross to his head, my fist grazed his nose and I drove my elbow in to his jaw. His face exploded in a bloody mess. His jaw was shattered; blood, spit, sweat and teeth flew out of his mouth and landed on spectators sitting four rows back. I drove my shoulder in to chest and pushed him against the corner buckles to keep him from falling down. He was out cold on his feet. My eyes met Isabelle’s; she was still seated in the front row. I grinned at her, and waited for her to give me a sign if I should stop. She stood up and walked to the ring. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Renard,” She calmly informed me and motioned the doctor in to the ring. I nodded at her and stepped away from Marco. He collapsed to the canvas like a rag doll. The doctor climbed in to the ring and called for a stretcher. Marco’s fighting days were officially over. ~ Doreen and Chief O’Hara had made their way to my dressing room as I fought my ...
    way through the crowd. When I closed the door behind me, Doreen jumped in to my arms and kissed me. “If I’m to follow you, your fighting days are over. Y’hear me, boyo!” She said with a smile on her face. O’Hara laughed and slapped my shoulder, “My money is on the little lady, Gilly boy. You’ve met your match.” “Don’t bet against me, you’ll lose your money,” Doreen snickered and kissed me. Six years later. Our farm was thriving. The economy was slowly recovering and the drought had passed. We had a full time crew to help with the crops and livestock. But…somethings never change. “Gil Anthony Renard! If you’re teaching our kids to fight again, I’ll tan your Italian ass!” Doreen yelled from outside the barn doors. Our children were five year old twins, Claire, our daughter, and Benjamin, our son. They screamed and ran to hide behind the bales of hay, just as Doreen opened the barn door. “Ohhhh, Daddy’s in big trouble again, Mommy called him by his long name,” Claire whispered to Benjamin. They both snickered as they covered their mouths with their little hands. “What have you got to say for yourself, mister?” Doreen asked as she crossed her arms and tapped her foot on the dirt floor. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” I smiled at her. “Come out from behind the hay this instant you two, and go straight to your rooms! Don’t even think of the looking at the cookies I baked!” Doreen called out. They screamed and laughed as they high tailed it out of the barn. Doreen smiled as she ...
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