Fighter Books Novels & Stories

The clang of fists on flesh echoed through the training grounds, a brutal rhythm under the moon’s silver gaze. Damien Blackfang’s knuckles split open as he drove his fist into the chest of the hulking enforcer before him. The man staggered, wheezing, blood spattering onto the dirt. But Damien didn’t pause. His body moved like wildfire, each strike a crackling spark of fury, each movement honed from years of relentless drills.

“You the one who puts down old dogs or just tries to tame new ones?” He smirks. “You talk a lot for someone who hasn’t earned shit.” “I say what I mean. Earned or not.” He nods. Steps into the ring. “Then say it with your hands.” We fight. No rules. No refs. No words. Just fists. Footwork. Breath. He’s stronger. He’s faster. But I’m hungrier. And I don’t give up. Even when my jaw snaps sideways. Even when my ribs scream. Even when my vision blurs.

She messed with the wrong person, and shouldn’t expect mercy from me. That’s when a fight broke out between us. She grabbed me by my hair and I kicked her in her stomach. It is one thing about me, I don’t do catfights. After all, I’m in the mafia, we do real training in different kinds of fighting techniques. Kung Fu, karate, Tae Kwon Do, boxing and lots more. She tried to punch me in my face, but I quickly grabbed her wrist and bent it in a very painful position, She yelped. I pushed her onto the table and held her hands behind her back. She struggled to set free, and when she couldn't she started screaming for help.

“You sick bastard!” She sprang into action before she thought, the hard plastic case gripped so tightly in her fist that it dug painfully into her palm, and swung it with all the strength she could muster. It smashed into Jacob’s face. He reeled back, cried out, but Ellie didn’t stop when he hit the floor. She ended up dropping onto his body, straddled his belly, her body pinning his down, and grabbed the kit with both hands. Pure rage drove her to batter him with it. He tried to defend his face but after a few hits, his hands slumped to the floor. “You monster,” she panted, hit him again, and then realized how bloodied his face had become. She stopped, her entire body shaking, and stared in

But, he was about to find out. The Don immediately shot his bodyguard a sharp, menacing look that said 'take care of this', and in a swift, powerful motion, his guard, a smaller man, struck the muscular bouncer in the ribs with a knee, and while the man was still dealing with that, Don Fabrizio's guard grabbed the poor bouncer's bald head, bounced it forcefully against the steel door three times and then, let him fall face down to the floor, beaten, bleeding and knocked out cold. Fighting skills trumped size when it came to combat, and Don Fabrizio's boys were some of the best-trained fighters in the whole of Los Angeles. The message was clear: The Don wasn't there to fuck around.

He ducked under the swing and retaliated with a punch to the man’s ribs. The fight was brutal and frantic. Franco’s training and desperation gave him an edge, but the man was relentless. Each strike, each dodge was a calculated move to subdue Franco. In the chaos, Franco felt a sharp sting in his side—the man’s knife had made contact, leaving a painful gash. He gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain as he continued to defend himself.

I was brutally interrupted. The brunette with striking, stiff muscles took three big steps towards me, placed one of his soft hands on my cheek and the other on my waist, leaving his finger marks on my skin covered by a thin layer of clothing. Suddenly, it made me walk backwards without letting go until the wall slammed into my back.

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 managed to block most of the punches, but a few landed, leaving me with a bruise on my cheek. The fight continued to escalate, with me and the man exchanging blows with increasing intensity. I grappled, attempting to gain control over him, determination and adrenaline fueling my every move. As the battle raged on, I could see the determination in the eyes of my opponent. He was relentless, matching me blow for blow, refusing to back down. But I refused to let him prevail. I fought with every ounce of strength within me, tapping into the primal instincts that lay dormant within my soul.

But the more you looked at them, the more different they seemed. They held huge enhanced machine guns but had no armour of protection. What surprised me was the precision and enhanced alertness they had. Although they were only two they were able to kill so many of our men in the blink of an eye. I watched as one of the two, abandoned his guns and walked right in front of one of the fighters. Before that man could pull the trigger, with the speed of lighting, this superhuman grabbed the gun from him, and snapped his neck, as though he was just crushing a fly. I think the man didn't even get a chance to see his life flash before his eyes. I take a sharp intake of breath. These men looked like