Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
PORTER
"Christ, kid, protect that pretty face if you don't want it to get broken. Keep your left hand up!"
Even as the words leave my mouth, I know that it's a lost cause. The kid flinches, and the trainer that I put into the ring with him tries to pull his punch, but it's too late. The kid takes the punch on the side of his face and lands on the floor of the ring with an audible thump.
"Shit," Mark, the trainer huffs, throwing off his gloves and kneeling to help the kid to his feet.
It's pointless. He's a lost cause. He's strong enough, but there's zero will inside of him. It isn't his fault, though. His dad forced him into boxing classes, thinking it would improve his performance on the football field.
"Enough," I tell them. "Mark, get him cleaned up. Kid, call your dad and tell him to pick you up. I'll refund him for the lesson today."
Without waiting to hear from either of them, I stalk back to my office, rubbing my hands over my face in frustration. These rich kids pay the bills, but it's draining my passion for the sport, having to watch them all complete their lessons on the low side of adequate at best, and absolute failures at worst. None of them wants to box. It's either something they've been forced into or just a supplement for their training in other sports.
For me, though, boxing isn't a damn supplement. It's what I've dedicated my life to.
In my office, I can see most of the gym from my doorway, and it mollifies some of my annoyance. It's still a shock, even ten years later, to see what I have built here.
When I opened the doors of this place, it was little more than a dream, but now, it's a reality. A very profitable one.
I had nothing growing up. I was born to a mother who was barely out of her teens and had no idea how to raise a child. She did the best she could, but when I was 12, she got sick, and I ended up being shuffled between friends and extended family members until I turned 18 and enlisted in the Marines.
It was the best thing that ever happened to me. I learned discipline, respect, and dedication there. Most importantly, I found a love for hand-to-hand fighting, which then led me to boxing.
The rest is history. I retired as an NCO and started my own gym. At first, it was just me and a bag of sand in an old building. But, it didn't take long before word of mouth got around, and the gym filled up. I added trainers and a few boxing rings, and soon, the money started pouring in. It helps that I'm the only boxing gym in this part of Chicago.
"Hey boss, are you okay?"
I look up and paste on a stiff smile.
"Yeah, I'm good."
My assistant, Keith, is an older guy who was an MMA champion until he got into a car accident that left him with a permanent limp. Hiring him was a genius move as far as decisions went, and undoubtedly led to a lot of my gym's success. Despite being long retired, his name still holds weight in the MMA world.
Keith eyes me.
"Are you sure? That looked pretty bad. The kid is probably going to have a bruise."
"No shit," I mutter, then shake my head. "Sorry, it's not your fault. I'll refund his lessons. Maybe he'll get the hint."
"What, to stop boxing?"
"No, to actually try and learn something. I'm not going to teach someone who has no interest. It's a waste of my time and a waste of theirs."
"They aren't all bad, Porter," Keith says, sitting down on the chair across from my desk.
"Most of them are," I argue, leaning back in my office chair and sighing. "It wasn't like this when I first opened."
"Yeah, but you were also broke." Keith laughs. "Why don't you go get some air, boss? You'll feel better."
"Okay, sure. I've got to get the spare keys for the contractor, anyway."
I'm working on a new addition to the gym—a full-sized, climate-controlled swimming pool and hot tub for heat therapy. My clientele has gotten so big that we're almost bursting at the seams, but boxing isn't exactly easy on the body for those just starting out. I want something safe, comfortable, and regulated for them to use as a cool down or relief for sore muscles. Keith thinks I'm getting soft in my old age, but I don't believe for one minute he didn't have state-of-the-art shit when he was training in his prime.
I lock the door to my office and leave through the back exit, enjoying the way the sun feels on my skin. This is the only time I have to myself, and I'm going to make the most of it. I make the mistake of closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, and when I take my next step, I run into something that brings me to a staggering halt.