Daring Time

Some of his typical confidence in the boxing ring began to return until Mario penetrated, landing a meaty, thwacking punch to Ryan's solar plexus. A guttural groan exploded out of Ryan's lungs and throat as pain slammed into him with the force of a charging locomotive.

For a few breathless seconds every nerve in Ryan's torso shrieked in protest. Even his heart throbbed in pain, utterly forgetting its purpose. Ryan barely had the presence of mind to clumsily duck beneath Mario's swinging arm and stagger to the center of the ring, his eyes streaming tears down his face.

Damn, that fucker had a hammering punch when he managed to land it right. Ryan took his first full breath shakily and vowed then and there to make sure he minimized at all costs Mario's chance of a dead-on swing again.

Now that he had the sure knowledge that Mario could fell him with one well-placed blow, Ryan's focus narrowed and sharpened even further. This was do or die. He couldn't let that asshole win. The mere thought of Mario even looking at Hope hardened Ryan's already stiff resolve.

The crowd booed when Ryan used his quickness and agility to avoid Mario's punches for the rest of the first round and for a majority of the second, but Ryan could have cared less. His goal was to exhaust the slow-moving giant while at the same time to make every one of his own infrequent punches penetrate and pay richly.

By the time the bell signaled the beginning of the fourth round, Ryan conceded that his strategy of dancing just outside of Mario's reach and taunting the behemoth like an annoying fly was having its effect. Mario had swung thirty punches for every one of Ryan's, but the majority of them had been either entirely ineffective or glancing blows.

Ryan's, on the other hand, had been far more accurate, including a nailing left that had not only put Mario's right eye out of commission for the remainder of the match, but also caused the giant to sway on his feet for a few seconds while the crowd roared in excitement.

Ryan also showed the signs of battle, not having been able to successfully evade every one of Mario's flurry of combinations. His ribs were bruised fairly badly and it burned like hell just to breathe. He tried not to dwell on the effect of using his bare fists to hammer flesh and bone. All in all, however, he had good reason to be hopeful, Ryan thought as he watched Big Mario tip a tankard to his mouth in his corner, slopping what looked like beer all over his already perspiration-soaked body. Ryan's breathing was hardly escalated while Mario still panted from his last bout of wild punches and ineffective pursuance of Ryan around the ring.

Now that he'd gotten Mario used to his tactics of buzz and sting, however, Ryan was going to have to change things up and take a risk.

The bell went off and Ryan tapped his knuckles twice, this time much more tenderly due to the cuts and bruises on his fists.

Mario's eyes went wide when Ryan stormed the center of the ring. His brief shock at Ryan's aggressive attack gave Ryan the advantage. He pounded the behemoth with a combination to the liver, ribs and head before he danced back to his typical out-fighter distance. His last jab at the giant's head had been particularly precise, causing Mario to stumble back and blood droplets to spray through the air in an arc.

Ryan was only vaguely aware of the boom of approving cheers and applause from the crowd of men, every one of whom was on their feet at this point. Ryan narrowed his gaze on his stunned foe, knowing the fury and pain Mario experienced at his offensive attack would be mixed with a good dose of adrenaline. That adrenaline would eventually exhaust Mario even further.

But right at this very second, it would make the giant exponentially more dangerous.

Ryan was going to have to take his punishment.

He'd tried to prepare himself but when Mario's counterattack came, blind panic flashed through him for a second. Mario may have been unsteady on his feet after that last right hook to his head, but he was mad enough to move three times as quickly as he normally did. It was like having a slavering, rabid bear charge him. Mario gave a savage yell as he ran toward him, spittle shooting in front of his gray teeth, the whites of his eyes showing ominously. Ryan managed to minimize his first two wild punches by moving away from their momentum, but Mario caught him with a tight jab to his right brow.

For a nauseating few seconds the lights from the gas chandeliers multiplied before his eyes. As if from a distance Ryan saw a sea of blurred, manic, frenzied faces and punching hands. The loud roar of the crowd slammed into his awareness after a prolonged peaceful moment of total silence.

A white-hot blade of pain pierced his head simultaneously.

He realized that Mario's blow had spun him face-first into the ropes. He barely had time to turn around and put up his fists and forearms to protect his head and chest before Mario flew into him.

Ryan relied on the ropes to absorb the impact of Mario's swings while he tried to regain his equilibrium. He could tell by the Algerian's flurry of wide, blunt punches that he was not only frustrated, but increasingly exhausted. Ryan protected his head, chest and liver as best as he could and allowed Mario the opportunity to tire himself out even further.

He wasn't above taunting him to add mental exhaustion to the physical.

"That all you got, big boy? Hub? What. .. do ya save all the good stuff for the women?"

Ryan shouted behind the relative protection of his fists and forearms. "No wonder all these assholes think you're so tough. Anybody can look like the strongest man on earth when they hit a woman that's a third their weight."

Mario growled between pants, his snarl showing off teeth stained even blacker with tobacco juice than Jack's had been. He let loose with another volley of blunt blows. Ryan grunted as one out of the dozens of glancing punches made direct contact on his ribs. His eyes popped wide. He ground his jaw together and shouted hoarsely through clenched teeth at the vicious explosion of pain that resonated through his flesh.

Ryan didn't think he could survive another direct hit like that. Still, he forced himself to wait, knowing there were cruder and more inevitable foes in a boxing match than a pounding fist. Mario fought against an out-of-shape heart and lungs, fading adrenaline and sheer frustration at that moment, more than anything.

When he saw the Algerian stagger on his feet, temporarily losing his balance, Ryan put all the fuel he had into a rocketing uppercut to the jaw. -

Mario's huge bald head lurched back, his body following suit as he staggered to the center of the ring. He followed him with a barrage of punches, terminating with a chopping shot to the head powered by nearly everything Ryan had left in him.

When Mario went down he went down harder than anything Ryan'd ever felled in the ring. Even so, the eruption of the crowd nearly drowned out the resounding crash of 340

pounds of deadweight against protesting wood board.

Ryan felt someone put his hand on his wrist and raise it. The audience roared its approval. It took him a second to realize Diamond Jack himself stood at center ring declaring him the winner.

"You did it, son. I'm still flat on my ass. And it was such a spectacular match I'm even going to forgive you for losing what I would have had if you hadn't changed the odds to ten to one. Besides, I'll make out like a sultan on the rematch," Jack informed him gleefully over the din of the crowd. "So what d'ya say to that?"