Rick Sanchez Novels & Stories

Her knees felt oddly weak for half a second. They stepped inside. Dr. Antonio Sanchez stood at a small sink in the corner, washing his hands with calm, deliberate movements. When he turned, Mira’s breath caught before she could stop it. He was unfairly attractive. Broad shoulders filled out a crisp white button-up that looked like it was fighting a losing battle against the muscular chest beneath it. The sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing a full sleeve of dark tattoos on his left arm. His hair was long enough to brush his shoulders, dark and loosely curly. His face was sharp and almost ethereal—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a mouth that looked like it knew too many secrets.

The pain grounded him, the same way it always did. “Another loss,” Rico said, grinning like it didn’t matter. He clapped Sudan on the shoulder, ignoring how he flinched. “You’re getting famous, man. Mystery Fighter with a death wish.” Sudan didn’t answer. He just grabbed his hoodie and ducked out of the ring. The noise of the gym followed him, a mix of cheers, jeers, and the metallic thud of the next match starting. Outside, the night was freezing. His breath rose in white clouds as he limped toward the bus stop. He didn’t bother wiping the blood from his face. It would dry. It always did.

Vivian pov Three years ago, Sable announced her retirement, and three years ago, I married into the Blackwood family. Sable was known for her signature move, the Shadow Kick, while my fighting style closely resembled Sable's. Why would a champion boxer, who had dominated multiple titles, suddenly step away from the spotlight? It could either be due to an injury that prevented her from competing or a growing disdain for the sport. However, Sable was undoubtedly a boxing enthusiast; otherwise, she wouldn’t have repeatedly participated in matches and claimed the championship belt time and again. The only plausible explanation was the former, especially since I had undergone a kidney transplant