My Number One: Kasha & Knox by Janice Ross Page B

word out. Not an assault, not a flurry. Just one calculated thump in his mouth. I was anything but a street fighter, at least not at this stage of my life. Sure I had done all types of shit when I was younger, but after a certain point in life, that bull had to come to an end. I tried to shake off the memories of a life that seemed to exist within another man. The person I was might’ve been far removed from the man I’d become.
    WHAM!
    This trip down memory lane afforded my opponent the chance to get a quick one in and knock me on my ass.
    “Get up and fight, you bastard!” the man’s gruff voice demanded. He paced from one leg to the other, resembling an Italian Mike Tyson in his heyday.
    “Tony!” Erika called out, finally exiting her end of the car. “Please, you’re gonna kill him.”
    “You get over there. I’ll deal with you later.” Tony paused to look her way.
    “I’m not yours to deal with, not anymore.” Her pleading died down as she neared him. Bloody spots surrounded her shoulders and the side of her face. Her clothes had become raggedy and torn. She was now barefoot. Certainly not what I’d expected when I’d spotted her over on the other side of the bar.
    Tony shifted his entire body, closing the distance between them. “All this after us?”
    “Us? More than six months ago,” she meekly pointed out.
    “So you come out to a random club and turn a trick with some asshole?” Tony’s hollow voice rang out into the night, drawing attention from over on the opposite side of the street, well beyond the parking lot and all. But after he lashed out on Erika, he shifted back to me. “And you, you bastard, that’s how you treat a lady?”
    I cleared his throat, contemplating a response. I didn’t want to insult the girl, especially since I could still feel the remnants of her lips gliding up and down my piece. As much as I found it hard to remain calm and just reason through things, especially after looking at the damage the bastard had done to the Camaro. Sure I had his girl, or ex-girl or whatever the hell, but it was a consensual thing between adults. “I didn’t force myself on her. She gave it up willingly.”
    This time I miscalculated Tony’s attempt at a jab to the gut, and I doubled over.
    “Get up, asshole,” Tony touted, pacing sideways while ejecting air with each breath. He grunted and griped, believing that he was that important, that threatening. Tony felt his strength, like a wrestler at the top of his game.
    I hadn’t been prepared for a fight, but knew I needed to attack this head on and settle it for good. The only problem was that I wasn’t a bad boy like this guy. The punk was walking around with a short guy’s complex. Hadn’t been “bad” like that in quite some time. Not anymore. It just didn’t seem like anyone else had gotten the memo.
    Standing straight, I unfastened two more buttons of my shirt. I then moved swiftly into Tony’s space. But didn’t stop there. My opponent drew his fists behind his head, aiming for my jaw. That’s all the midget bastard could manage, since I dwarfed him. I had to give props where it was due. Tony had landed some punches, and for other opponents the guy might’ve been a potential threat. Taking a quick second to exhale all apprehension, I grew tired of playing around.
    Being one to think ahead, I deflected a blow by reaching in the opposite direction. My inches provided a slight advantage, plus the fact that I was thinner. Not skinny, just more slender and able to manipulate the setting better than this guy. And before I knew it, I managed to sidestep the bastard’s charge. I slammed an elbow into the upper portion of Tony’s back, just below the neck and in the middle of the shoulder bone. Every inch of muscle, along with my 200-pound frame, went into the assault. Tony didn’t just stumble, he flew into a nearby truck that had been parked across from the Camaro. He was instantly winded, coughing and gasping for