Savage Bay Read Free

torso were smeared with streaks of red. Most of the blood belonged to the Croatian. Some of it came from a gash on Hawkeye’s jaw.
    A deafening cheer erupted from the crowd as the Croatian darted forward to throw a quick jab followed by a right cross that connected soundly with the side of Hawkeye’s head. The Croatian was strong, but slower than Hawkeye, and wasn’t quick enough to avoid the roundhouse kick that slammed into his side.
    The Croatian grunted and backpedaled to avoid a second blow. The crowd booed his retreat, then cheered again as Hawkeye advanced and threw a flurry of punches, forcing the Croatian back across the cage.
    Left jab.
    Left jab.
    Right cross.
    Most of Hawkeye’s punches deflected off the Croatian’s arms held up in defensive posture to protect his face and head.
    Then Hawkeye’s opponent took him by surprise with a front kick to the chest. When the blow struck Hawkeye’s torso, the sound was like a baseball bat smacking against a side of beef. The powerful kick stunned him for a heartbeat and knocked Hawkeye off balance.
    The Croatian followed up with a left hook, then a right overhand. Hawkeye bobbed and weaved, avoiding most of the force of the blows.
    The crowd became a seamless mass: yelling, screaming, and fist-pumping, surrendering themselves fully to the primal brutality of the blood match.
    Hawkeye’s attention was momentarily captured by a face in the front row. It was his younger brother, Tank.
    Tank had used his physical bulk to slowly bulldoze his way through the crowd, finally reaching the front row at the side of the cage.
    Tank locked eyes with Hawkeye.
    The brothers had not spoken in nearly three months. Before Hawkeye could even begin to contemplate how Tank had found him at The Fight Club, or why he had come, the Croatian roared and charged forward, throwing wild haymakers.
    Hawkeye bobbed and ducked to evade the punches and dropped into a semi-crouch. The Croatian was close-in now and threw a shovel hook that landed hard on Hawkeye’s abdomen. A second punch pounded Hawkeye’s torso above his right kidney.
    Hawkeye reeled with the force of the blows. Pain shot through his abdomen, and his knees threatened to buckle.
    A left cross landed on Hawkeye’s jaw, snapping his head back. The Croatian’s next punch missed, but was quickly followed by a jab that split the skin over Hawkeye’s left eye.
    Emboldened, the Croatian drew back to launch another haymaker. Ignoring his pain, Hawkeye spotted an opening between the Croatians upraised fists. He took a step forward, nearly colliding with his opponent, then slammed his head forward into the Croatian’s face.
    The top of Hawkeye’s skull connected against the Croatian’s forehead with a loud crack. The Croation bellowed in pain and rage.
    Hawkeye seized the momentary advantage. He pivoted on his right foot, spun in a tight circle, and brought a backfist hard against the side of the stunned Croatian’s head.
    Tank yelled frantically from outside the cage. “Get in there, Hawkeye!  Finish him!” 
    The crowd raged in frenzy, surging against the cage. The Croatian roared again, throwing out a meaty arm to fend off Hawkeye’s close-quarter assault. His sheer bulk pushed Hawkeye back a half-step. The Croatian threw a punch blindly, trying to force Hawkeye to cut off his attack.
    Hawkeye met the blow with a hammer fist, bringing it down hard on the Croatian’s wrist. He cried out in pain.  
    But the Croatian wasn’t finished. He was a veteran fighter, and his stamina and endurance exceeded that of most men. Summoning all his strength, the Croatian charged at Hawkeye. He took the full force of Hawkeye’s defensive punches before the two fighters collided.
    The Croatian shot forward in a takedown move, trying to use his greater weight to force Hawkeye to the ground.
    Hawkeye grabbed the Croatian’s neck between his forearms, then sprawled his legs out behind him to keep the Croatian from forcing him to the mat. He