SEATTLE
Maverick
‘Not in a million years, kid.’
‘NOT INTERESTED.’
‘Get the fuck out of my face!’
Four
cities in two days, and more doors slammed in my face than I can count. I sling
my backpack over my shoulder and scratch another name from my list.
Hopping
on to a bus and hopping off thirty minutes later, I scan the mix of both
commercial and apartment numbers down the block, then knock on my last door.
“Coach
Hennesy?”
He’s
a tall man, his hair like pepper, clad in sweats, with a yellow timer hanging
from his neck. He gives me a questioning look.
“I’m
your next champion.”
He
laughs, but then he must see something on my face. In my stance. Thirst,
resoluteness, guts. Maybe I’m wearing my balls in my eyes. He falls sober and
swings the door wide-open. “Come on in.”
He doesn’t ask for
my name.
I guess with one
look, he knows he’ll find my name in the dictionary, right next to “determined.”
He
leads me to his garage. “Where’d you train before?” he asks.
“Self-taught.
I watch videos.”
He
scoffs, then shrugs. “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”
I
eye the equipment across the room. The heavy bag hangs from the ceiling, the
leather worn from other fighters before me. There’s a boxing dummy at the corner.
Speed bag. Weights. A whole private gym set up here. I drop both my bags, then
zip open my backpack and start to put on the gloves without bothering to remove
my hoodie.
“Take
that off; I need to know what you’ve got. Need to see your form,” Hennesy says.
I
clench my jaw. Slowly unzip my hoodie. Take it off and glance past my shoulder,
shifting to keep my back from the coach’s view. The guy is clearing the
fighting area. Good. We can get down to business. He walks to me when I face
him.
“Give
it over.” I hand him my hoodie and he tosses it aside, then crosses his arms
and looks at me. “Speedball first.”
I
inhale, position myself before the speedball, and hit. Wham.
I
keep on hitting, lightning fast, my fists making the bag fly.
I
would have warmed up first, but I’ve been doing this for days, and I won’t stop
until I’ve got myself a coach—and not even then.
I’ve
got momentum now, and I pick up speed, my arms moving back and forth, working
the speed bag until it’s moving so fast you can’t even see it.
I’m
starting to sweat; it’s stuffy in here, but I can’t stop. I need him to take me
on. I need one yes to get me in the ring. Just one yes and I’ll do the rest.
“Time.”
Hennesy stops me. He signals to the boxing dummy and the heavy bag. “Let’s see
you pound the bag.”
I
swing out and slam my knuckles on the bag, putting everything into my fists. Thack,
thump, thud.
Hennesy’s
composure starts to crumble with excitement. “Holy shit, boy!”
I’m
getting in to it. I’m in the zone—where it’s just me, the leather brown bag, my
fists, and nothing else but slamming the spot I’m looking at.
“I’ve
seen enough.” He stops the bag from swinging. His eyes glassy. “Fill this out.”
I
pull off my right glove and grab a pen as he slaps a paper onto a desk at the
corner. I bend down to fill out my name and contact information and realize,
too late, that I exposed the tattoo on my back.
“You’re
his boy.”
I
freeze midsignature.
A
second ticks by. Then two.
I
slowly set the pen down and take one last look at the paper. I might not get to
fill it out after all. I turn.
His
face has paled.
I
wait it out for a few beats. Maybe he’s different. Maybe he can deal with it.
He
tosses my jacket at me. “Get out. Nobody wants to see you fight.”
I
frown fiercely as I catch my jacket in my fist and edge forward, equally mad
now. “That’s too damn bad. ’Cause I’m fighting anyway.”
I keep my eyes on
him as I pull off my left glove, shove my arms into my hoodie, and zip up.
I
walk out and the door slams behind me. I clench my jaw, and I shove my gloves into
my bag and spot the old, black gloves inside too. I push them down into the
bottom of the duffel bag and zip it up.
The
season starts in a week and a half. No coach? No fight. I can’t even get into a
gym.
But
I won’t let anyone or anything keep me from the ring.
I
pick up a penny from the ground.
And
I spot a girl in workout clothes across the street, tying her shoelaces. She’s
a step away from the gym door. I straighten, pull my hoodie over my head, and
cross the street, following after her like I belong.
Meet Maverick “The
Avenger” Cage in Legend, the newest stand alone in the REAL series releasing
February 9th!
PRE-ORDER
NOW
Blurb
Maverick “the
Avenger” Cage wants to rise to the top and become a legend in the ring. Though
he keeps his identity well guarded, he's known on the fighting circuit as the
new kid with a chip on his shoulder and a tattoo on his back that marks him as
trouble. He's got a personal score to settle with the Underground's one and
only Remington "Riptide" Tate.
As Mav trains, he
meets a young girl—the only other new person in the town--and sparks fly. When
things get heated between them, he finds out she's none other than Reese Dumas,
the cousin of Remington Tate’s wife. A girl who's supposed to root against him
and a girl he's supposed to stay away from.
But Maverick fights
for the woman in his heart, and the monsters in his blood. The world’s eyes are
on them and the victor will go down in history as the ultimate fighting
champion; the ultimate LEGEND.
* LEGEND is the 6th
and final installment of the REAL series, but it can also be read as standalone
or after the three Remington and Brooke books (Real/Mine/Remy.)
Real (Book One) The
Real Series
Mine (Book Two) The Real Series
Remy (Book Three) The Real Series
Rogue (Book Four) The Real Series
Ripped (Book Five) The Real Series
About
the Author:
Hey! I’m Katy Evans and I love family, books, life,
and love. I’m married with two children and three dogs and spend my time
baking, walking, writing, reading, and taking care of my family. Thank you for
spending your time with me and picking up my story. I hope you had an amazing
time with it, like I did. If you’d like to know more about books in progress,
look me up on the Internet, I’d love to hear from you!
Email: authorkatyevans@gmail.com
THANK
YOU!
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