Page 72 of Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC 7)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Early Winter 2014, Austin, Texas, USA

At one minute and fifty-seven seconds into the third round of the fight, Shane Dekkar knocked out Tick-Tock Brock and became the new Heavyweight Championship of the World. Not once did I doubt his ability, I only questioned his devotion. From what he said, he won the fight for Kelsey, who claimed to have never trained a fighter as great as Shane, and had never trained a champion.

Shane’s father was a former Marine who was killed in the line of duty in Afghanistan, a fact that may have played a part in my devotion to Shane as a friend and brother. His father, however, had abused his mother, and his mother left when he was as small boy. He was raised by his grandfather while his father was away at war, and his mother never returned.

His grandfather trained him as a boxer, and the sport was Shane’s outlet for a lifetime of frustration, anger, and slight hatred toward the actions of his father for what he had done to his mother. Shane never forgave his father, which was something else I could completely understand, because I had never forgiven mine fully either.

One night, after one of his fights, Shane’s grandfather had a heart attack and died, prompting Shane to move to Texas from Compton, California for a new start in his career.

Kelsey trained Shane, and in many ways, became the fatherly figure he always wanted but never had. I admired Kelsey for being exactly what each fighter needed, but never allowing them to understand he cared about them as deeply as he did.

He was, to the fighters in the gym, exactly what I was to my combat Marines.

A true leader.

“Listen up, Jarhead,” Kelsey said. “This gym has people beating the door down to be trained by the great Shane Dekkar, and if you can’t make a fighter of this Justin Bieber look-alike, we need to send his skinny ass down the road.”

“He’s getting there, Boss,” I said.

Kelsey shifted his eyes into the ring, studied Austin for a moment, and shook his head in exaggerated frustration. “He needs to stick to dancing and sashaying around like a princess.”

“Two more weeks, and we’ll know,” I said, referring to Austin’s first scheduled fight.

Ripp met Austin one day in a street race, and the two became quick friends. Austin was a dance instructor, and agreed to trade Ripp dance lessons for boxing lessons. Somehow, after the birth of Ripp’s daughter, I became Austin’s trainer. I enjoyed training him to not only box, but to protect himself, and to have the proper mindset to compete in a match.

I had no doubt he had the ability to win against any comparable opponent, and the last thing he wanted to do was let any of us down, so I was quite certain when the time came that he’d apply everything he had learned when fighting.

“The kid’s a fucking weirdo, you’ve got two weeks, Jarhead,” Kelsey complained as he turned away.

I glanced into the ring. Austin’s opponent connected a right uppercut, sending him reeling backward to keep from falling.

Turn your body, Kid. Just like I taught you.

He twisted away from the other fighter as he stumbled, making himself more difficult to hit.

Suddenly, he had his footing. He raised his hands slightly, obviously ready to continue. As the fighter approached him, certain he was a few punches away from a win, Austin lit into him with a barrage of jabs.

The punches caught the other fighter off guard, and as he fought to keep his footing, Austin swung a slightly wild but extremely effective uppercut. It was, without a doubt, his most effective punch.

The fighter collapsed onto the mat, flat on his back.

I shifted my eyes toward the locker room. Kelsey stood beside the entrance intently watching the fight. As my eyes met his, he flipped me his middle finger and turned away.

You grumpy old fucker.

I shifted my eyes into the ring. The fighter was unsuccessfully attempting to get onto his feet. Austin shifted his eyes toward me and shrugged his shoulders.

“Fight’s over, fellas,” I said as I ducked under the ropes and entered the ring.

Training Austin was not only good for him, but it was good for me. It gave me a sense of accomplishment, and a means of measuring my success through his wins or losses. To date, he hadn’t lost a fight, but everything so far was nothing but sparring, and not an actual boxing match.

As I helped the other fighter to his feet, I shifted my eyes toward Austin.

“I had my doubts, Kid. You need to protect that chin of yours or someone’s going to knock it off,” I said.

He nodded his head.