“And on my right, standing also at a height of six feet, two inches and weighing two hundred and five pounds with fists of steel, it’s your defending champion, Hunter ‘The Hammer’ Jensen!”

The crowd erupted once again but louder than they did for Abram. I heard a girl cry out, “I love you Hunter!”

Hunter didn’t make as much of a show as Abram. He simply continued shaking out his limbs and bouncing on his toes. Although his head was down seemingly in deep focus, he seemed to be soaking in the cheers, absorbing the crowd’s energy to channel later in the fight.

“It’s exciting isn’t it?” a male voice said next to me.

I turned to see a tall guy around my age with a smooth head standing beside me. He had hard, chiseled features that complemented the defined muscles stretching against his t-shirt and jeans. I wasn’t really a fan of bald guys, but this dude was quite attractive. A quick scan of his build and I wondered why he wasn’t in the cage himself. He had a smile on his face that looked friendly.

“Yeah, I’ve never seen this before,” I responded. “What kind of fighting is this?”

He chuckled. “So you’re not a devoted fan of Hunter, apparently. It’s mixed martial arts. Punching, kicking, wrestling—pretty much anything goes except for biting, crotch shots, and eye gouging.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That sounds brutal.”

“It’s exciting to watch for sure. And it’s not too bad for the fighters when it comes to safety. Probably no more dangerous than playing professional football or doing boxing. I’d even say it’s safer than boxing.”

Curious, I asked, “How can it be safer when you can do much more than punching?”

He shrugged. “Some fighters win through holds and submissions. Usually the guy in the submission just taps out before he gets really hurt.” He pointed to red trunks. “Abram’s strength is in his submissions; he has a wrestling background. As for striking—” He pointed to blue trunks. “Hunter’s strength is his stand-up game. He throws a mean punch, which is why he earned the name ‘The Hammer’. But the refs tend to stop matches before fighters get seriously hurt. There’s no ten count that allows a fighter to get back up and continue fighting again after a mild concussion. Once someone goes down after a good punch, the ref pretty much always ends the fight.”

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“Wow, you know a lot about this.”

He grinned. “Name’s Gary.” He extended his large hand.

I took it and he shook firmly. “Lorrie.”

His grin widened. “Well Lorrie, all I got to say is you’re in for a treat if this is your first time watching this.”

“Is this like a sanctioned event or something? Why are they having a mixed martial arts fight at this bar?”

“It’s sponsored by the Bearded Squirrel. As far as being sanctioned . . .” He shrugged. “Let’s just say it’s semi-legal. Legal enough—and good enough for business—that they’re willing to take the risk.”

The announcer stepped out of the cage and a man in a light blue button-down and black pants entered. Judging by his formal attire, he was the referee. He stepped into the center, rolled up his sleeves and pointed to his left.

“Red corner, are you ready?” he shouted.

Abram peeled back his hood and removed his sweatshirt, throwing it over the cage to his coach. He tilted his chin up, beat his fist against his chest, and nodded. He had neatly combed brown hair parted on the side and a soft face with a wide nose. He reminded me of Mr. Rogers from the kid’s show Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood—except this version of Mr. Rogers was on steroids and too big to fit in sweaters.

“Blue corner are you ready?”

Hunter removed his hood then slid the sweater off his massive arms and threw it over the cage. That’s when I saw his face; and the tats around the side of his chest and neck.

My heart stopped.

He was Tattoos and Muscles.

I heard women screaming Hunter’s name and one or two of them shouting for him to marry them. He didn’t seem to notice, rather his focus was solely on the opponent before him. The hammer I’d painstakingly drawn in my sketchbook was etched on the side of his arm. There was no mistaking it. I’d finally found out his name.

Hunter Jensen.

I watched anxiously as both men stepped forward and approached one another.

The referee addressed each fighter. “I want a clean fight, you know the rules. No crotch shots, eye gouging, or anything dirty. If you do, I’ll have you disqualified. Are we clear?”

Each fighter nodded.

Abram and Hunter tapped gloves then each took a step back. The referee slashed his arm between them like a knife cutting palpable tension. A silence fell on the crowd.

I looked at Gary who had wide eyes and a grin on his face. He seemed pumped to see the action start.

“Fight!” the referee yelled, pulling his arm away and stepping back.

Abram immediately rushed for Hunter, brown eyes blazing red. His friendly expression now maniacal, he lived up to his name “Mr. Hyde”. Hunter ducked and hopped to the side, avoiding what would’ve been a knockout blow.

Abram threw lightning quick jabs left and right but Hunter dodged each of his strikes. A wild jab caught Hunter across the cheek but Hunter quickly shook the blow off as if it was a light tap.

Hunter circled around the ring and Abram followed. They cautiously circled each other until Abram’s back was toward me and Hunter was facing my direction.

Abram went for a punch again but dropped at the last moment to tackle Hunter’s legs. The punch had been a feint. Hunter quickly hopped backward and thrust his body weight forward as Abram slammed into his legs. Hunter managed to keep his balance, preventing the immediate takedown but they were still struggling. I could clearly see Hunter’s face. I could see his mouth guard behind his grimacing lips. He was straining with every ounce of energy to lift Abram off the ground so that Abram wouldn’t have leverage to pull Hunter’s legs out from under him.

“Uh oh,” Gary said. “Hunter has a shitty ground game. If he gets taken down, it’s over.”

I watched in horror as Abram was about to overpower Hunter and take him down. Once on the ground, he’d probably only be able to defend himself until the round ended. I was barely aware of my hands cupping the sides of my face in disbelief. My savior was going to lose.

I watched him with fierce intensity. My breathing slowed as my heart rate jumped. Hunter must’ve sensed the tension because he tilted his head, diverting his attention from Abram. His dark eyes locked onto mine. He stared at me. My breath caught. A millisecond passed. Or a second. Or an hour. I didn’t know. It had to have been my imagination.

There’s no way he spotted me.

Suddenly we broke eye contact. Hunter returned his attention to Abram. Hunter growled, summoning strength from who knows where and picked up Abram and threw him to the side like a two hundred pound rag doll. The move was good enough to buy Hunter enough time to regain his footing.

Abram got to his feet and lunged with a wide hook. Hunter ducked and shot skyward with powerful legs, landing an uppercut under Abram’s chin. A mouth guard flew across the ring and clattered against the fence. Abram crumpled to the ground in a daze. Hunter was about to jump on top of Abram to land the finishing blow but the referee stepped in between.




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