Mr. CEO(108)

“No mouthpieces?” I ask. Nathan shrugs, and I get his point. I don't even have one here in the gym, and it doesn't matter anyway. If something gets knocked out, I'll go to the dentist.

The electronic bell goes off, and I come out. I've got size on him, at least twenty pounds, and I'm an inch taller, but I'm taking nothing for granted. He might not want to hurt me, he might be tired and sweaty, but he's not an idiot. In fact, he's perhaps the deadliest man I know.

I lose track of what's happening after his first combination comes whipping toward my head. All I know is that he's a whirlwind, fists coming through every gap in whatever defense I set up. I keep my hands high, protecting my head, hoping that all the crunches and other stomach training I do can keep me from getting put down with a liver shot.

Nathan does notice, and I'm eating punch after punch to my stomach and sides, and I run, dancing and shucking and jiving as best I can. I had decent moves in my last fight, easily avoiding the guy I fought then, some football player from Tulane who thought he was a little tougher than he actually was.

But Nathan's no college football player with more balls than brains. He's trained, he's a professional, and as the bell beeps to signal the end of the first round, I'm already staggering as I head back to the corner.

“You can't take an ass whipping like that again,” Nathan says, barely breathing hard while I kneel in my corner. “Give up.”

“Not until you tell me what you did to the Grammercys.” I get to my feet, my stomach on fire and my legs shaking. “Come on, I won't just be a punching bag this round.”

Nathan's eyes gleam with something that I think is either respect or perhaps pity, or maybe he just thinks I'm out of my fucking gourd. The bell rings and I step out, flicking a jab. It's not much, but I hope it's enough to keep him from just steamrolling me again.

No such luck. In a sweet little move, he switches his stance, his right hand becoming his lead and catching me over my punch, his fist crashing into my jaw. I feel something work loose, and the coppery tang of blood fills my mouth. I stagger back, trying to duck away, covering up. The world is spinning, and suddenly I hit the mat, knocked down.

“One... two... stay the fuck down... four...” Nathan says, and I at least take a little comfort in the fact that he's breathing heavier than he was before. It'd be so easy, giving up. But Katrina would never give up. She's willing to die for her vengeance...

I don't know how I get to my feet, but suddenly I'm up with my fists out, and for some crazy fucking reason, I'm waving Nathan over. “Come on! Is that it, old man?”

Nathan shakes his head and steps forward again, this time back in his typical left-handed stance. His left jab catches me between the eyes, and I eat it, ducking into the punch and throwing everything I have into a right cross that catches him in the side, just under his armpit and causing him to grunt.

He steps back and shakes out his arm. Nodding in respect, he unleashes hell, and I'm forced to just defend again before another sledgehammer explodes in my stomach, and I'm down on one knee.

“Stay the fuck down!” Nathan gasps, stepping back. I hold my stomach and look up at the clock, seeing there's still thirty seconds left. I can survive thirty seconds, hell he’s gasping for breath as much as I am.

I get up, my left hand holding my ribs, and wave him in. “I got a lot more.”

Nathan spits to the side and steps forward again, throwing what he probably thinks is a mercy shot, a looping overhand that if it lands is going to put me into dreamland for quite a while. I weave, coming under the punch and unleashing everything I've got left into a left hook. As weak as I feel right now, it catches Nathan with probably all the force of a sick grasshopper, but still it catches him, and I feel a sense of accomplishment as the bell rings.

He steps back, and wipes a bit of blood from his nose, while I work my jaw and spit, bright red splattering on the mats, but at least no teeth come out. “I did it.”

“You did,” Nathan says, stripping off his glove. He sticks his hand out, and I reciprocate, shaking hands with the man. “I didn't think you had it in you to get up from that second one.”

“Bullshit, you didn't think I'd get up from the first one,” I reply, rubbing my jaw. “Think we can get something to ice this thing? I'm not sure I won't lose a tooth still.”

“Yeah. Let's sit outside, and I'll get you an ice pack.”

We go out by the pool, Nathan going inside and coming back out a minute later with a bag of frozen peas and a couple of bottles of mineral water. I notice that Andrea's still at the dining room table, watching us as Nathan hands me the peas and sits down. He cracks one of the mineral waters and passes it over. “Sorry, no ice packs, but the peas work just fine, too.”