Boxers Novels & Stories

Jack whispered, a breathtaking, genuine smile stretching across his face. Marcus stood a half-step behind him, exactly where the Bastion was supposed to be. The boxer wore a sleek, sleeveless combat rig of dark grey kinetic fabric that highlighted the heavy, scarred muscle of his massive arms. His hands were bound in fresh, pristine athletic tape, but beneath the fabric, the Liquid Silver mana was already simmering, coiled and ready.

Jaxson complimented. “Thanks. Are you an a-actor?” “And what happened to your face. Did someone hit you?” he asked worriedly seeing the light scars. “No I am not an actor and I am a professional boxer. These scars I got in yesterday match.” “Is it?” Noah surprised. “Yes, do you know what’s boxing?” “Yeah, I know. My mom told me a-about that. Two people threw punches at each other and who’s strong will win.” “Is it too t-tough to play those sports?” Noah questioned.

"Go on, I want to practice." "How about I teach you? I can do it too," said Damien. He took off his shirt to reveal his muscular frame. Amelia was evasive. "Damien, don't joke." Now, Damien was behind Amelia. They faced the hanging heavy bag. "Boxing is a martial art that focuses on your opponent's offense. If your punches are weak, you will fall instantly," Damien said. "Damien, this bag weighs 50 kilos. Stop joking around," said Amelia.

"Prepare yourself to be amazed." They walked in. Amazing wasn't grand enough a word to describe the place. It had everything 5th Street had only a hundred times better. Giant black-and-white stills of some of boxing's greats adorned the wall—Joe Frazier, Sugar Ray, Mohammad Ali, Tyson, and, very notably, two of East LA's finest, Cesar Chavez and the Golden Boy himself, De La Hoya. It was a gym fit for a king, no doubt. Felix's picture would soon fit right up there. Gio was suddenly overwhelmed with pride. "And this is just a gym. Isn't this crazy?"

One guy is bouncing on his feet and punching the air. “I’m ready, man,” the guy bouncing says. He’s pretty small in comparison to the others I’ve seen in the gym. I don’t know much about boxing, but I remember hearing something once about different weight classes. Some of the guys in my school wrestled, and they talked about making weight. If that’s not the case for bouncing guy, he’s going to be clobbered. “Don’t favor your right side. You don’t want him getting on it. You’re weak there,” the other man says as he touches the guy’s side.

She threw a vicious hook that landed square on her opponent's nose and shattered it instantly. Blood splattered across her tank top. Without even catching her breath, she stepped on the fallen fighter's chest and flashed the audience a wild, defiant smirk. At that moment, she was dazzling enough to draw everyone's attention. However, what caught my eye wasn't her athletic body, nor was it her cold, beautiful face. When I pressed the red button beside me, the entire arena erupted. In the underground boxing world, that button meant only one thing—no matter how high anyone else bid, I would raise it without limit until I won ownership of the fighter.

He looked pissed, shoulders up, fists already balled. The boxer turned, still holding that finishing punch back. “Mind your own business, kid.” “Mind my own? That’s my teammate…. Well, low key rival but we're from the same school and you’re beating the shit out of him ,” Jax snapped, stepping between us fast. “Walk away or we got a problem.” The boxer laughed once, short and mean. “You want some too? Fine.” And then they went at it. Jax threw first, solid right that caught the guy on the jaw same place I’d hit earlier. The boxer fired back quickly, but Jax ducked and came up with a left that landed clean.

His movements were disciplined, each punch thrown with enough power to break a man’s ribs. Walter stood a few feet away, his face a stoic as he checked the digital stopwatch in his palm. "Round five, sir." Damien didn't answer. He didn't even slow down. He drove his left hand into the leather bag, the apparatus swinging against its steel chains. Most men boxed to release their anger or escape their demons. Damien boxed for the exact opposite reason. He did it to regain control over every muscle, every instinct, and every unstable thought in his body.

Richard's POV: Friday night arrived, and I was at the boxing center, getting ready to support my friend, Morgan Kingston, as he was preparing for the boxing match against the next opponent. Morgan was standing in the changing room, wearing his safety gear. His mouthguard to protect his teeth, gums, and jaw from impact. His headgear for protection of his head and face from punches and potential cuts or injuries (often used in amateur or sparring situations). He also wore padded gloves to protect both his hands and their opponent's face from injury. His hand wraps were for support and protecting his hands and wrists from sprains or fractures. Finally, he had his cup, which was a protective gea

Back inside the room, Boma met Donovan lying on the bed with a sleeping eye mask over his eyes. He pulled up the mask, letting it rest on his forehead as she walked inside. He was bare-chested with designer boxers on. He was male perfection lying there, tall, fit…and dangerous her head reminded her. His attention was focused on her and she stood before the bed with feelings of nerviness starting to consume her. She didn’t know when she would ever get over her fear of him.