I'll Fight for You
Author
Tate Rivers
Reads
915K
Chapters
49
Claire Walker is an undefeated street fighter and a straight-A student. Blake Johnson is a stereotyped bad boy who has a secret brain. To know her reason for fighting, youāll have to strike into her past; to understand him, youāll have to duck beneath the surface. Thereās one question left: are these two ready for the fight of their lives?
Age Rating: 18+
Prologue
CLAIRE
1. Stare down your opponent until they feel a little scared
2. Pretend to swing left, then go right
3. While theyāre still surprised, land a right uppercut
4. Duck when they try to hit your face
5. Trip them with your leg
6. Once theyāre down, stand with your legs apart to keep your balance
7. When they get up, land a final, hard punch to the face
8. Win!
āWinner... White Wolf!ā The guy Iād been fighting was now sprawled on the ground, probably knocked out. My hood was still up, hiding my light brown hair that fell to my shoulders.
Only my light hazel eyes were visible under my hood. I looked like a predator ready to pounce.
I was buzzing with adrenaline, and I could feel sweat starting to gather under my black crop top and matching shorts.
Every time I fight someone new, I use a different strategy. I size up my opponent and figure out the best way to take them down.
I wiped the sweat off my forehead and heard the crowd cheering my name.
A small smirk played on my lips as I looked at my opponent, bloody and bruised on the floor. I didnāt feel guilty. I never do.
He knew what he was getting into when he agreed to fight me. As a street fighter, Iām trained to feel nothing when I fight. Thatās just how it works.
This was my fourth win tonight and I was starting to feel a little tired. But not too tired. The most fights Iāve had in one night is fifteen. And I won every single one.
I was basically unbeatable. Guys usually hate it when they see me because Iām a girl, but I use that to my advantage. I show them just how āgirlyā I can be when it comes to fighting.
They think itās a joke that Iām a girl. So, I show them the funny part of the joke: Me beating them to the ground. Itās not funny to them, but it sure is to me.
āAlright, White Wolf, youāve made ten grand so far. Want to continue, or leave with the money?ā Nancy, my manager, asked me, waving the cash in my face.
I smiled and took a swig from my water bottle.
āIāll leave. Iām a bit tired,ā I told Nancy. I took seven grand from her, leaving her with three.
Thatās how it works between Nancy and me. Sheās the only one who really gets me. She saw me fight one night and offered to help me get better, as long as she could be my manager.
I accepted, and over time, we became close. Sheās like the older sister I never had.
I still have parents, but theyāre both heavy drinkers. My mom smokes sometimes, and my dad smokes and drinks.
I donāt know what happened to make them change when I was younger, but thatās in the past. Itās better to leave it there.
Every other night, I go out and street fight. Iāve fought girls too, and theyāve left with bloody, sometimes broken, noses.
Nancy nodded and went to tell the announcer. Thatās when I felt someone watching me.
I turned around and scanned the crowd until I locked eyes with a pair of stormy grey ones.
I always keep my hood up so no one knows who I am. Not even the idiot who comes every other night to watch me fight and try to figure out who I am.
I stared back at him. Blake Johnson. The so-called ābad boyā at our school. But I know thatās not true. Heās just labeled that way because heās popular and a player.
Apparently, youāre a ābad boyā if you hang out with the popular crowd, play girls like theyāre toys, wear leather jackets, and ride a motorcycle. I always stay away from that crowd.
I donāt make friends because I wonāt risk them getting hurt. Like I said, Iām basically unbeatable. But that also means I have a lot of enemies who want revenge, and my blood.
Besides, Iāve learned what love isā¦ and look how that turned out. As you can probably tell, heās gone.
The boy I fell in love withāand thought loved meāleft. Thatās when I learned to protect my heart.
I wonāt let myself go through that heartbreak again.
I glared at Blake one more time, then turned back to Nancy. The funny thing is, Blakeās always been interested in White Wolf.
Iām called White Wolf because white wolves are my favorite animals, and Iām, and I quote, āAs ferocious and feistyā as a white wolf. So, that became my boxing name.
But Blakeās always been curious about White Wolf, and has been trying to figure out who she is.
The thing is, heās closer to finding out than he thinks. We go to the same school, and weāre neighbors. Thatās right: Neighbors.
My name is Claire Walker, and he doesnāt even notice me because I stay out of the crowd. I donāt want to be noticed.
Blake doesnāt pay attention to Claire, but he seems to have fallen for White Wolf.
As if! I thought. Thereās no way Iād ever give him a chance. I have my reasons for boxing, and doing it for attention is honestly one of the smaller reasons.
I box to show guys that they got beat by a girl and for my own reasons.
Iām seventeen, and in my last year of school, senior year. Seven months of school are left.
āWhite Wolf, letās go.ā Nancy was on her phone, signaling me to gather my things. I nodded, turning back to pick up my iPhone, gym bag, and water bottle.
I shot one last glare at Blake before following Nancy to her blue convertible.
āYouāve got a good technique. Three more matches in two nights. Be ready,ā Nancy said, pulling away from the curb and heading towards my parentsā house.
I had a driverās license, but no car. I could afford one, but that would mean spending time I didnāt have. Between school, boxing, and my parents, my plate was full. And that didnāt even account for the constant fear of being attacked or killed out of revenge.
I nodded at Nancy. āThanks,ā I said, keeping it short. I wasnāt in the mood for chit-chat.
Iām usually more talkative when Iām not so tired and grumpy, which is rare. Maybe on weekends when Iām in a better mood. Probably because I get the sleep I need.
As Nancy pulled up to my house, I gave her a quick hug and wave before stepping out and walking up my gravel driveway.
I glanced over and saw Blakeās bedroom light on. Typical. His light would still be on at one in the morning, I thought with a hint of sarcasm.
I quietly opened the front door and looked at the couch. My mom was asleep on her side, and my dad was passed out in his favorite recliner.
Deciding to be kind, I grabbed two blankets and draped them over my parents, hoping to make them a bit more comfortable.
My mom let out a soft groan and shifted before settling back into sleep. My dad didnāt stir, just continued to snore softly.
I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto my mattress. It was Friday, so I had the whole weekend to relax a bit.
I quickly fell into a deep sleep. But I knew Iād probably have another stupid memory. I always do.
Every night, I have a small flashback from my past, and sometimes it gets so intense that I end up at the gym to train.
Wouldnāt be surprised if it happened again, I thought, closing my eyes and hoping for a dreamless sleep.
