Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 29003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
“Who wants some?!” Goliath shouts as he glares at the crowd with crazy eyes. “Come and get it!”
“You going up, Jack?” my buddy Stan asks with a grin.
I sigh as I look at my half-finished beer. “I’m still on my first one.”
I like to have at least three in me before I make my way up to the cage.
“You can finish it between rounds,” Stan says. “I’ll hold it for ya.”
I light a smoke and sit back on the stool. We’re on the side of the bar next to the wall near the front. The cage is in the back, but this part of the bar is raised so I can see over everyone’s heads.
“I want to have a couple of beers first,” I say as I take a long drag of my cigarette.
This is the best part of my month and I don’t want to rush it. I live for this night. The third Thursday of every month is Fight Night at The Cracked Barrel Saloon. It’s the shittiest bar in the state, but it’s like a second home to me. On the outskirts of the Greene Mountains, it’s normally mostly empty, but on Fight Night… Every meathead in the area comes flocking to this place looking for glory.
“We’re looking for a fierce competitor!” Marvin shouts, trying to stir up the crowd. “Anyone out there want to test their masculine might?”
A few of the regulars turn and look at me. I just suck down my cigarette smoke and ignore them all.
“Come on!” the roid-head hollers at the top of his lungs as he shakes the cage. The barbed wire wrapped around the top rattles. “Let’s go!”
His football team pounds on the tables making a fucking racket. “Pussies! Pussies! Pussies!” They chant, taunting the crowd.
These punks are starting to piss me off.
Marvin’s eyes find me in the crowd. He gives me a pleading look. I know Fight Night is what keeps his bar afloat. He makes more in this one night than he does all the other nights of the month combined. If no one is up for a fight, then business is going to suffer as people get bored and stop coming.
“There has to be one champion among you who—“
Goliath grabs the mic out of Marvin’s hand and shoves him so hard he flies into the fence and falls to the ground. Stan looks at me over our table. His eyes light up as I crush my cigarette into the ashtray.
“We’re on?” he says all giddy as he leaps up from his stool.
“Yeah,” I say as I down my beer and then crack open another one. “We’re on.”
I hand him the bottle and he takes it with an excited little squeal. He’s always my corner man, but that just means he holds my beer and my smokes between rounds. When the bell rings after a round, he hands them to me through the fence. That’s if the bell rings. My fights rarely make it to the end of the first round.
And I’m the only one standing at the end of it.
“I’ll fight,” I say in a deep voice that cuts through the chatter.
All heads turn to me.
Goliath tosses the mic back at Marvin who’s slowly getting up and then pounds his lunchbox of a fist into his palm. He’s glaring at me as I make my way down the steps.
“We have a challenger, ladies and gentlemen!” Marvin hollers into the mic even though there are no ladies present tonight (or any other night). “An ex-Navy SEAL and Fight Night legend, Jack ‘Watch Your Back’ Michaels!”
The regulars cheer. The football players boo and hiss.
The crowd splits in front of me as I make my way up to the cage with Stan following close behind. I pull off my shirt and he takes it.
I can feel the anticipation crackling in the air. The regulars know what I can do. They know that this steroid freak is going to be dragged out of here by his buddies.
They holler as I walk up the steps and step into the cage. The bright fluorescent bulbs hanging from the ceiling light me up and I get a little shot of adrenaline. A little thrill to spice up my rotten life.
Like Marv said, I was a Navy SEAL once. Jumping from one deadly mission to another. Getting shot at, knives thrown at me, grenades launched at my head. It was amazing. Every day was a test of my will. Of my strength. Of my resolve.
I still long for those days. The adventure, the hunt, the thrill of the kill. I’m a warrior with no more war.
And a warrior with no cause is a sad thing. I once had a whole country to protect, but now… Now, I got nothing. I got this. Bare-knuckle brawls in a seedy bar off the highway.