He pulled them off, placing them neatly outside the ring. He peeled off his thick wool socks next. His bare feet stepped onto the mats. They were pale, scarred with thick calluses built up from years of walking on uneven furrows.
“Just ring the bell, Trent.” Clayton said mildly. Rusty walked to the edge of the mat holding a thick wad of bills. He looked at Clayton with genuine pity. “”All right.
Three minutes. You go limp, you tap, or you don’t get up, it’s over. No eye gouging, no biting.”” “Easy money.” Trent announced to the room, raising his taped hands. He bounced from foot to foot, his breathing hissing through his teeth in sharp, rhythmic bursts.
Rusty chopped his hand down. Trent closed the distance instantly. He didn’t respect Clayton, which meant he didn’t bother with a feeler jab. He threw a heavy looping overhand right, aiming to end it in three seconds.
Clayton didn’t slip with the graceful fluidity of a boxer. He simply hunched his shoulders and tucked his chin, a brutal, pragmatic movement. Trent’s fist crashed into Clayton’s forehead, the thickest, hardest bone in the human skull. A sickening crack echoed.
Trent winced, stumbling back a half step, shaking his right hand. He had aimed for the jaw and hit solid bone. Clayton felt a flash of white light behind his eyes. A dull, sickening wave of nausea rolled through his stomach.
It hurt. It hurt badly. He wasn’t invincible. He was 3eight years old.
His knees ached from the damp, and his lower back was a constant knot of pain. He tasted the sharp, metallic tang of blood where he had bitten the inside of his cheek. “Stay small.” A cold, dead voice whispered in his mind. The voice he hadn’t heard since the dusty streets of Al Anbar.
“”Let him work. Watch his hips.”” Trent, angered by his own mistake, unleashed a flurry. A jab snapped Clayton’s head back. A vicious low kick slammed into Clayton’s left thigh.
The sound of flesh on flesh, a wet, heavy thwack, made a woman in the front row gasp. Clayton stumbled, his leg buckling slightly. “Come on, dirt boy.” Trent spat, smelling blood. He threw a high roundhouse kick, aiming for Clayton’s temple.
