Too Wylde by Marcus Wynne Read Free Book Online Page A

let me know. I got a
new guy working off some of his fees."
    "Who's that?"
    Rudy inclined his head towards the corner of
the gym, where a tall, heavily muscled man with long black hair
tied back in a ponytail worked a heavy bag.
    "That's him," Rudy said.
    Lance studied the fighter. Streaks of grey in
his hair, no kid there, but seriously fit, with the dense muscle of
someone who worked at it, watched his diet as well, when you get
older it's not just the workout, it's what you put into the
machine, skilled, too, boy was making the bag hum, and each of
those punches was putting a dent in a 100 pound heavy bag. That's
what set a serious puncher off from the newbies and wannabes; a
newbie hits the bag and watches it swing, a serious puncher hits it
and watches it fold. Footwork was there, and the leans and bobs of
someone who'd been on the receiving end more than once.
    "I'll check him out later," Lance said.
    He went to a corner and worked his leather
rope, made it sing, a not inconsequential thing for an athlete who
went over 200, worked his footwork drills, and kept himself to an
honest 3 minute round each time, which left him drenched in sweat
and feeling fine.
    And he noticed the new guy noticing him.
    Lance was a player, and had been for a long
time. He'd bounced, done a few other things when he was young and
needed the money. These days he kept his business away from the
hands on end of things, but working in a club, and especially
owning one, kept his radar cranked up high. He was getting pinged
pretty heavy by the new guy.
    What's up with that?
    He thought about it while he toweled down.
Alpha males have this thing, especially alpha males of the fighter
type. They make each other pretty quickly, as part of their
never-ceasing situational awareness, and they size each other up,
and if there is *any* question about who's dominant over who, the
testing process proceeds. It starts with a look, and takes off from
there.
    Lance grinned to himself.
    So be it.
    He looked over, caught New Guy's eye, nodded,
got a nod back. Went over and stuck out his hand.
    "I'm Lance. Rudy says you're willing to work
with an old guy and run some mitts?"
    The new guy grinned. "I'm Nico. You don't
move so old, Old Guy. What did you do?"
    "Wrestled a little bit."
    "Little bit."
    "Yeah."
    Nico grinned. "Sure, I'll run the mitts for
you. Let's go."
    Nico took two focus mitts off a shelf, laced
them onto his hands, slapped them together. "Working anything in
particular?"
    "Jabs and crosses to warm up."
    "Rounds or whatever?"
    "Keep it honest. Rounds."
    "Cool."
    Nico hit the timer with the edge of his mitt,
moved in front of Lance, bobbed lightly on his toes. Lance worked
his jab, taking his time, getting the sharp pop of a good hit and
then crossing with that right hand, boom, that would take the lead
out of some boy's pencil. Nico dropped one mitt and swooped it
around in a looping hook, and Lance ducked under it, came up, jab
cross.
    "Nice," Nico said. "Pick it up?"
    "Yeah."
    Pace and contact picked up. The two big men
circled each other. Nico probing with different hands, varying the
height and distance, a pro who'd been on both sides, and Lance
tagging them good and solid, every once in awhile Nico's hook
slipping him, just clipping his head to let him know he was out
there --
    -- and it picked up some more, the steady pop
pop pop of the mitts, Lance mixing it up now, combinations, and
Nico going with the flow, moving around each other, amping it up
just a bit --
    -- and the other fighters stopping to watch,
two big combat athletes going at it, the intensity starting to amp
even higher --
    -- Nico slapping Lance hard on the face with
a mitt, straight up challenge --
    -- and the immediate response from Lance,
blasting forward with a series of crosses, right left right left,
driving the man back, Nico just a bit smaller than Lance, and
feeling the wrestler's desire to close with and grapple, so he just
stepped to one side...
    -- and tagged Lance