Unstoppable Read Online Free PDF Page A

winked at Monkey.
    Different fighters have different techniques or styles. Mohammed Ali, for instance, allowed his opponents to beat on him, without repercussion, for rounds on end. Eventually, he would conquer each and every one of them, after they wore tired. Ali had an odd style combined with tremendous finesse and talent. Micky Ward allowed his opponents to beat on him until he saw his opening. Micky was just plain tough. A killer left hook to the body was his signature punch, and every one of his opponents worst nightmare. Micky would wait as long as he had to, and in seeing the opening, instantly crushed his challenger with one punch – the signature left hook.
    I’ve always fought a more conventional style. I protect myself and allow my opponent to come to me early in the fight. After a few minutes, I determine his patterns and reactions to my advancements. I, not unlike Micky Ward, wait for my opening. My opening, however, is anywhere I have a place to punch. My hand speed and an uncanny knack of seeing a punch coming a second before it’s thrown is what’s allowed me to remain, for the most part, undefeated.
    Fucking Dekkar.
    Kane stepped from the mat and gave his whistle a short tweet, indicating it was show time.
    Alright bouncy boy, let’s see what you got.
    Monkey stepped to me quickly. As his right shoulder faded back, I prepared for a left jab to come. What happened wasn’t near what I expected. His hands remained held close to his face, and I quickly threw a quick left jab to feel him out. My open left side was promptly filled with Monkey’s size twelve foot. As his right foot contacted my jaw and chin, he threw a well telegraphed left jab. The punch glanced off the right side of my neck.
    His punches were slow and his feet were fast.
    Most fighters don’t like being hit.
    I fucking love it.
    Come on, Monkey-boy. Bring that shit.
    He took a step back with his left leg, and kept his right foot planted. I stepped forward with my right foot and threw a left hook to his ribs, Micky Ward style. As with most street fighters, he was in no way prepared for my quickness. Monkey was used to slow, tough, predictable street fighters with minimal speed. As he lowered his right elbow to cover his now sore ribs, I raised my punches and unleashed a lightning-fast three piece on his pretty face.
    “How’d that feel, you fucking punk?” I huffed as I landed my last punch.
    His face was covered with an oh shit what the fuck did I get myself into look I have seen a few hundred times. Fighting out of the boxing ring - where there are no rules - hell that’s where I shine . I am a lot of different things to a lot of different people, but in a bare knuckles match, I am just plain motherfucking mean.
    Talking while trying to fight in a boxing match is nearly impossible. Your mouthpiece prevents much speaking at all. Grunting is about all that’s possible. Bare knuckles matches have always been my favorite, because I can talk shit to whoever I’m fighting.
    And talking big shit is part of who I am.
    “What’s your blood type?” I growled as I stepped back and let him recover from the punches.
    “What?” he brushed his mouth with the back of his hand and drew back blood.
    Knowing what I know about my speed, style, and ability to be beaten on without being hurt, I knew this fight was over. I could have knocked this kid out in the amount of time it took him to wipe the blood from his mouth. I took two steps back and glanced at Dekk as Monkey looked at the back of his hand again.
    Dekk dropped his hood to his shoulders and smiled his slow Shane Dekkar smile. As the edges of his mouth curled upward, I winked. Dekk shook his head slowly and nodded, giving me the go ahead .
    “Your blood type. You know it?”  I asked again as I threw a quick combination into the air - just showing off for the crowd.
    I heard a few get him Ripp and fuck him up Ripp’s from the crowd. Nice to hear, but I didn’t need the inspiration. I