Hide (Sequel to RUN)

Chapter 14

"You can punch harder than that!" Dad yelled from the side of the ring. "Give it to him, Lekia!" I dodged another punch from my opponent and dived for his stomach. My fist made contact with his ribs once, twice, three, four times. I pushed him back into the corner before ducking out from under his arms.

A corner trapped a boxer. If you could make your punches frequently, you could disorient your opponent long enough to knock them out. So that's exactly what I did. My punches came hard and fast to his jaw.

"End it!" Dad screamed from somewhere far off. My determination hardened. Mind over body. I gave a hard right hook and brought my left fist up under his chin, then I backed up.

The man fell to the ground at my feet. I kneeled down next to him and checked him out.

"You good?" I asked, slapping his cheek lightly. He didn't respond. Groaning, I went over to my corner and grabbed my ice water. Without any thought of mercy, I walked back over and threw half the bottle on his face. He spluttered awake.

"Sorry 'bout that," I sank down next to him. "I didn't mean to knock you out."

"It's fine," he moaned, taking the hand I'd offered him. "Guess you just don't know your own strength." I laughed, standing and pulling him with me, "Guess I don't."

He offered me a small smile before ducking out the ring. He didn't look back once. I shook my head, the guilt making me chew at my lip.

"Lekia!" My head whipped towards Dad. He was still on the outside of the ring, leaning against the ropes. I walked over to him, detaching my headgear and placing it under my arm.

"I knew what I was doing," I growled, ducking under the ropes and striding past him. "I had him right where I wanted him." Dad matched my stride easily and latched his hand onto my bicep. I flinched from the force of it.

"You could've finished that within minutes," he growled into my ear, "but you took it to fifteen." We stopped walking.

"So, what?" I asked, grabbing his wrist and trying to force it off. It didn't budge.

"So you're not fighting with all you've got in your arsenal. With a couple of well-placed kicks you could've finished the fight within the minute." I shook my head, still trying to pull his hand off. His free hand slapped mine away before he tightened his grip.

"Dad, I can't feel my arm." Instead of releasing his grip, he clenched harder and shook it.

"You aren't listening to me."

"I am! It was boxing, not mixed-martial-arts," I protested. Dad finally let go of my arm. I immediately started to rub it, trying to get the blood flowing again.

"You don't play by the rules. You do whatever it takes to survive," his growl was softer than before, but it was still just as fierce. His finger came dangerously close, making me go cross-eyed.

"I wasn't fighting for survival," I growled back, pushing his finger out of my face. "I was boxing, and..." My argument was cut short when he backhanded me across the face. The sound seemed to resonate off of every wall. What few people looked up immediately looked away again, terrified to have Dad notice them staring.

I, on the other hand, stared him down.

He brought his hand up again and I flinched, fearing another assault. But he only grabbed the back of my head.

"What is our rule number one of fighting?"

"You're always fighting for your life," I quoted through gritted teeth. Dad had rules. He didn't number them, like some other people do. You just had to remember them. If you didn't, well...I think he just demonstrated it well enough.