Roman has been abused before, but not in this fashion. He has suffered gashes to his lower back, a fractured shinbone, a ripped ear, blackened fingers, and toes, as well as teeth being knocked out.
Still, something told Roman that this was not right, yet he felt powerless to do anything about it. Through all her faults, he still loved his mother, as she was the only family he had. He rationalized that she knew what was best, and this is how she took care of him.
When her John arrived, Gladys snatched the twenty dollars and left the apartment without even looking back. Roman hid in the closet, his safe place from all the craziness. However, there was no lock on the door, so the John quickly found him and pulled him out.
The John explained to him that he was taking good care of him and that it would feel good.
The John pulled down Roman’s pants and stared at his member with a sparkle in his eyes. He asked Roman to turn around. Roman stood there, stoic, tears running down his face.
That didn’t matter to the John. He unzipped his own pants and spun Roman around so that his back was to the John. He used his enormous hands to bend Roman over at the waist. He massaged Roman’s cheeks before he reached between his legs and grabbed his small penis and testicles.
Roman screamed in fear as The John shrieked for him to shut up.
But Roman refused to be quiet and, in fact, broke away. He ran into the kitchen as the John took his time following him.
Roman frantically rummaged through a drawer until he found what he was looking for. The John wrapped his arms around Roman’s waist as Roman swung a meat tenderizer at the John’s head. He hit him with such force that an imprint of the tenderizer was left on his forehead.
The John staggered back as he cursed Roman out. Roman’s next instinct was to run, but he felt empowered by what he had just done.
Roman charged the John and knocked him to the ground. The John fell flat on his back. Roman raised the meat tenderizer above his head and came down hard on his skull; right between the eyes.
The John twitched as Roman raised his arm again and again and pulverized the John’s face.
The John’s face was a bloody, pulpy mess. Roman climbed off of the John and just stared at him while his own breathing staggered between short quick breaths and long inhales.
Roman wanted him dead and had hoped he had accomplished that.
The John’s left leg twitched as Roman walked over to the sink and rinsed the blood and hair from the meat tenderizer.
He felt no remorse, no pain, no fear.
He then gathered his clothes and walked out the door. He knocked on Mrs. Lopez’s door. She swung the door open with gaiety, but then quickly shook in horror at the sight of Roman splattered in blood.
That was the last time he stepped foot in that apartment, and the last time he saw his mother.
Chapter Eleven
Roman tosses his duffel bag to one of the kids at the Boys and Girls Club as another child shoves his way to the front of the group. Usually, this kind of kid would be reprimanded by an instructor for not waiting his turn. However, Roman sees the anger in this kids eyes and the burn inside his belly.
This may be his only opportunity to get validation of his worth.
And Roman will give it to him.
Some parents don’t want their kids to learn Mixed Martial Arts as they feel it teaches violence at a young age. That may be true, but it’s a violent world, and Roman wants these kids to be prepared. Roman stresses to their parents that Mixed Martial Arts also teach discipline and values.
Roman doesn’t shy away from any element of his sport. He picks up the kid who shoved his way to the front and carries him to the mat where he puts him down. Roman orders him to lead the group in calisthenics.
Roman stands next to the boy, “Jumping Jacks,” he shouts.
The boy echoes his orders to the kids, “Jumping Jacks, One Hundred.”
Once the group completes the jumping jacks, “Drop Squat Lung,” Roman demands.
The boy again echoes, “Drop Squat Lunges, fifty.”
The kids comply, although not all can make it to fifty. In fact, most can’t even make it past thirty, but they keep trying.
Roman lords it over the group as he gives further demands for additional exercises.
Once this part of the routine is complete, Roman breaks them up into smaller groups where they work on additional skills.
A nine-year-old lifts her elevated leg and pounds away at a kicking pad with such force, the boy holding it in place loses his footing and falls backward on his butt. He quickly gets back up and holds the bag even tighter as he prepares for the next onslaught of kicks.
Roman pushes the kids past their normal limits, and he has seen drastic results in the three years he has volunteered here.
His final lesson today involves Muay Thai, where the kids are taught to strike with their feet, shins, fists, knees and elbows.
Today is a good day as no one gets hurt. But these types of days are few and far between.
Roman wraps up today by handing out protein shakes to the kids.
As the kids grab their gear and exit to be picked up by a parent, Roman hangs back to see if Sam’s father will arrive on time.
Sam, a blond kid with a buzz-cut and a crooked front tooth, is the introvert of the class. However, he’s the first to pick up new techniques with his own style and finesse.
* * *
Roman strolls outside and sits next to Sam as they wait for his ride.
“You did damn good today, little man,” Roman says to distract Sam.
“You think so? I thought I screwed up,” Sam comments.
“Oh, you did fuck up today, Sam, with your kicks. You have to learn to keep them low and pivot from the hips,” Roman says, "but other than that, you were golden.”
Sam gives Roman a half-smile as he knows that this is about as good a compliment as he’s going to get out of Roman.
Roman glances at his watch, “What time is your dad supposed to pick you up?”
“Whenever he gets here,” Sam informs. “He’s a busy man. People depend on him.”
Roman is not much for consoling kids as he doesn’t know how; so he wings it. Inside these doors, things click and he’s in teacher-mode. But once the session is over, and the lights go out; he has nothing left to say to these kids.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll wait with you here until your dad comes.”
Sam’s embarrassed and doesn’t want to accept the offer, “No thanks. He’ll be here soon. I don’t want you here when he comes.”
There are fewer things more difficult than arguing with a kid and trying to change their mind.
Roman picks up his duffel bag and walks to his car. He climbs in and sits. But he’s not going anywhere until Sam is picked up.
An hour later, Sam’s father arrives. He’s a white-collar man with his ear permanently attached to his cell phone. He honks for Sam to climb into the car so they can get going.
Sam looks at his dad and runs away in the opposite direction. Sam just takes off after seeing his dad on the phone again. Sam’s dad climbs out of his car and calls out to Sam in-between a phone conversation.
Roman gets out of his car and jogs towards the father, “Are you going after him?” Roman asks.
“He’ll be back,” the father says as he shouts into his cell phone about an unbalanced budget.
“It’s late. You should go after him,” Roman reprimands.
The father covers his cell phone receiver with his hand, ‘Who the hell do you think you are? He’s my son. Mind your own goddamn business, or I’ll call the cops.”
Roman could so quickly snap this thin man in half without any effort whatsoever, but he is more concerned about Sam.
Roman takes off running after Sam while Sam’s dad leans back against his car and continues his phone conversation.
“Sam, Sam,” Roman calls out as he runs down the road. It’s a two lane street with very little traffic. Farmland is t
o the right and tract houses to the left.
Roman’s eyes dart side to side for any hint as to which direction Sam went. He jogs another quarter mile before he spots recently flattened grass that leads to a foreclosed home. The property is overgrown and boarded up.
Sam has climbed a tree near the front porch of the property. Roman approaches him without saying a word.
Neither speak.
After ten minutes, Sam says, ‘Well, aren’t you going to say something? Aren’t you going to tell me I'm a dumb kid and to get out of this tree?”
Roman doesn’t know what to say to Sam, so he remains silent.
Sam speaks more up in that tree than the entire time since Roman has known him. “I like it up here. I can live up here, and there is nobody who can tell me otherwise.”
Roman again says nothing, just leans up against the tree. He doesn’t even look up at Sam.
“I hate my dad. I hate my life,” Sam spills.
Now Roman has something to work with, “Are you shitting me, Sam? You hate your life because you have a prick instead of a dad? You’ve got it damn good.”
Roman continues, “Has anyone ever molested you?”
Sam is shocked by the question, “Molested? As in some perv touching me? No.”
“When is the last time you ate?” Roman asks.
“Before practice,” Sam announces.
“When is the last time you went to bed in a closet, cold, without a blanket?”
Sam instinctually understands that this is not a question Roman expects an answer to, that he is making a point.
Sam climbs down from the tree, “I wish I were like you. I wish you were my dad.”
Roman grabs Sam by the upper arms and shakes him, “Don’t you EVER say that again,” before he releases him.
Shocked, Sam backs away from Roman.
“Now run your ass back to your father’s car,” Roman orders.
And Sam does just that.
Chapter Twelve
Roman finishes his five-hour workout today and has successfully managed to avoid Tuesday. It wasn’t hard as she works to avoid him as well.
Tuesday draws the blinds in her office, and Roman has completed his circuits without any distractions.
Al approaches Roman and swings a towel around The Pretty’s neck to sop up the sweat.
“We have a match up,” Al announces.
* * *

Roman and Al waltz into Allistor’s office. The leather seats are tufted and plush and the desk mahogany. Big Game animal heads span two walls.
Roman is by no means a tree-hugger or insane animal lover. But the sight of majestic animals on the walls of a pompous egomaniac’s office, sickens him. Only men with large egos and small dicks partake in such sport; that is if you can call it a sport.
“How do you like my latest conquest?” Allistor says as he gestures at the head of a Giselle. “Tracking this lady was hell. She put up a valiant fight.”
Roman doesn’t hold his tongue, “Tracking? Fight? Are you shitting me? You call it a fight? What type of weapon did the Giselle have? You and your type disgust me. You’re a small pathetic man who gets his rocks off by killing powerless animals, strictly for pleasure.”
Allistor’s smile evaporates from his face as he puts out a cigar. “Isn’t that exactly what you are, The Pretty? I suppose if the rules of the game were changed, that you would walk into a cage, slap a man on the back and be on your way? No, I don’t believe so. You belong in that cage, like an animal. You train for the precious few moments you get to step into that coop and bash the head in of another man. And you call me pathetic?”
Roman places his knuckles on Allistor’s desk and leans in, “At least it’s a well-matched fight; an even playing field.”
“And that is why I’ve asked you here. Have a seat,’ Allistor requests as he gestures to which seat he wants Roman to sit in. Roman opts for another one.
Allistor chuckles to himself, ‘You alpha males are so predictable.”
Allistor takes a seat behind his desk, “I’ve spoken with the commission, and we’ve come up with your opponent for the championship bout. Would you like to know who it is?”
Al pipes up, “Who is it? The Dragon? Bones?”
There is a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Allistor says as Lucky Lewis enters the room.
“The Pretty,” Lucky utters as he does a reverse nod in Roman’s direction.
Roman stands and approaches Lucky. “You’re not in fighting shape.”
“Says who? You?” Lucky shoots back.
“Do you really want to do this, Lucky?” Roman asks.
“Roman, I respect you. But I’m going to beat the shit out of you in the ring.”
Roman lets his emotions overtake him, “Your record is 8-6-1. You’re not ready. I don’t want to have to put you down, Lucky.”
Lucky takes a step closer to Roman. They are inches away from each other, as if in a standoff.
“This is my shot, and I’m taking it. I have a few tricks up my sleeves. You won’t be on top of the pedestal after I’m done,” Lucky threatens.
Roman turns to Al, “I won’t fight him.”
Al gestures for Roman to come closer. He whispers, “It’s your choice, Roman. But remember, it’s what you’ve been working your entire career for. Lucky wants it bad. If he gets knocked out on his ass, it has nothing to do with you. If not Lucky, even the next guy on the list isn’t worthy of you. He wouldn’t give you enough of a challenge either; the fight would be over in the first round. Lucky isn’t highly ranked; that’s true. Be he deserves a shot as much as anyone else. He’s prepared to get in shape. He’ll be at his best when you send him to hell.”
Roman thinks for a moment before he turns back to face Lucky.
“Are you being pressured?” he asks Lucky.
Lucky laughs right in his face, “We’re evenly matched. The title will be mine; even if I have to mess up that pretty face of yours.”
Roman turns to face Allistor, “I want to see the contract.”
Allistor pulls out the contract and hands it to Lucky who doesn’t bother to read it. He just signs it as he stares down Roman.
Roman takes the contract and sits down. He’s going to take his time reading over all the clauses. Al sits next to him and points out several points of the contract.
Roman crosses out certain addendum’s and initials the changes. He also crosses out the amount he is to be paid for the fight and doubles it.
He slings the contract back at Allistor, who puts on his glasses to read the changes. He comes to the dollar amount of the purse.
“I knew you thought of yourself very highly, but this figure? Are your balls made of platinum?” Allistor says as he awaits a response.
“I’m worth double that figure, and you know it. There is no room for negotiations. That’s my price,” Roman announces as he lays down the law.
Allistor looks over the rims of his glasses at Roman. He can see that the deal hinges on this; it’s all or nothing.
Allistor signs the contract, “It’s settled. We have a championship bout. I’ll announce it to the press.”
“I want a copy of the contract sent over by tonight, Roman orders as he strides out the room. Al follows and shuts the door behind him.
Chapter Thirteen
Tuesday walks down a dark corridor towards a nondescript door. She knocks on it twice before a woman on the other side calls out.
“Speak your name,” the voice utters.
“Tuesday.”
The door unlocks, and Tuesday walks inside. The lead door quickly swings shut behind her with an obnoxious boom.
“I apologize for the theatrics,” the woman says to Tuesday. “But we have to be careful.”
The woman of thirty is quite short in stature with a pixie red hair cut. She is not at all what Tuesday was expecting.
Candles burn out of necessity, rather than for ritual, as there is no electricity in the vac
ant room.
“I’m Megan by the way. And please, don’t let the candles scare you. This place is off the radar. If we had utility bills, that would defeat the purpose. And that thunderous lead door keeps the uninvited forces out.”
The PRETTY (EROM Curvy Romance #1) Page 5