Fight Night Novel Novels & Stories

CONNOR ‘We can take them!’ Miles snarled at his attackers, challenging them. They closed in on him, their eerie low growls chilling to hear. Circling, circling, until… Determined, he shook the puma off his back, locking his canines into its throat before it even touched the ground. We didn’t care that they outnumbered us. Spurred on by the urgency to protect what was ours, Miles fought like a demon. Fury and adrenaline coursed through our veins, blocking out everything else. Miles fought them off, a machine of death. Ripping, tearing through the relentless attackers. Death and blood hung heavy in the air, screams and howls the soundtrack to the night.

“Why do you have blood on your cuffs and knuckles?” I look down at my hand, to find that I indeed have some blood. I guess I didn't do a clean job at cleaning the blood. I shrug. “I got into a fight.” “Seriously?” Gunner grunts. “You are both lying.” Neither of us denies it or confirms it. We just sit there in silence, both hiding whatever really happened. After a moment, Gunner throws his hands up and walks to the kitchen. “Fine. Be secretive. I’m going to get more drinks. Maybe they’ll loosen whatever the hell is stuck up your asses.”

Book Two: Fight or Flight Sweat dripped into Ash's eyes, momentarily obscuring his opponent. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs from the last punch he took. He ducked another jab and hit his opponent with a series of strikes to the side and back that brought grunts of pain from his opponent. Van Koslov, otherwise known as The Brick, went down onto one knee, panting.

They crashed through crates—wood splintering, metal buckling—a brutal tangle of fists and blood. Around them, the fight raged—gunfire popping, 9mm and 5.56 chewing air, screams cut short. Flinco’s men dropped—one gut-shot, another headshot, brains painting the wall. Jeremy’s crew thinned—two down, slumped in pools of red. Hammer and Flinco rolled, trading blows—Flinco’s lip split wider, Hammer’s nose bled free. This was personal—father’s ghost against son’s rage, CIA steel against vengeance’s fire.

It was the newest cage. A floorboard creaked above me. I froze, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I hadn’t heard a car. I hadn’t heard the door. But someone was in the house. I clicked off my flashlight, the darkness of the vault swallowing me. I reached into my jacket, my hand finding the small, sleek pistol I’d brought from the London flat. I wasn’t a fighter like Toby, but I was an Ares. I knew how to defend what was mine.

Then she yanked her arm back and said, low enough that only I could hear: “You really want to do this here.” “Yes,” I said. Out loud. “Actually.” I took the beanie out of her other hand. She grabbed for it back. I don’t remember deciding to scream. I just did. And then I lunged. What followed was not clean or quiet or anything like the confrontation I’d been playing out in my head since September. Her nails caught my cheek, a fast bright sting. My hand found a fistful of her hair and I pulled with everything I had, all of it, all the months of it, and Tahni Haughton screamed.

I didn't pull the kick and from the gurgling noise he made, he was done. The gunshot blasted through the room and into me. It hurt. I didn't know if it hit anything vital. I saw Cecily kick out with both legs and hit the guy with the gun in the shins. It's all the time I needed. I broke his arm before moving to his neck. If anyone else was in the house they would have come running at the first sound of fighting. I glanced down at Cecily and asked anyway, "Are there any more here?" She shook her head. I couldn't believe there was no odor of fear coming from her. She was one pissed off lady.

The house began to sink, the bodies began to fall in and disappear. David didn’t back down from a fight. He’d want to face me. But being injured means all bets are off, when you’re desperate self preservation is all you care about. “Holy shit,” Dough said. Fire balls began to spit out of the ground like lava, this was a horror movie on steroids. I balled my hands into fists. “FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN,” I yelled. His laughter filled the air again, maniacal. I swirled around, wishing I had eyes in the back of my head. Murphy came to my side, and we floated back to back.

She pressed, there was clear confusion in his eyes. "Who the fuck is Leo?" He gritted out. Before she could approach him again, an explosion went off below them. Suddenly, the entrance of the fight club exploded with cops, people began to scatter and the fighters in the ring tried to jump over the barbed wire fencing around it. The men that were approaching Alice retreated. But there were policemen guarding every entrance, none of them were getting out. The man approached her again, before he could get to her Alice darted from the room and he followed.

The skriller snarled and lunged at her, its movements erratic and wild. With a swift maneuver, Astrid avoided the skriller's attack, her fangs bared and claws unsheathed. Her mind raced with conflicting emotions, torn between the desire to protect and the primal urge to fight. She remembered the teachings of her family, the mantra they had ingrained in her—to always fight for justice and protect the innocent. But could she truly protect others when she couldn't control the darkness within herself? The skriller lunged again, snapping her back to the present. She had no choice but to focus on the battle at hand. Astrid's senses sharpened, and she moved with agility and grace, her instincts gui