🏆Wattpad's 1st and Only #Neo-Noir + #Multimedia Story
🏆 '18 Earnesty Writer Awards Hall of Fame
🥇1st Place - '18 Shining Star Awards - Action
🥇1st Place - '18 Ohana Awards - Action
"The Brotherhood separates humans from the animals, athletes fro...
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Tupac's California Love echoed against the concrete walls of the Elite Fight Gym in Van Nuys, where East Coast rap was forbidden and affection for hip-hop grew in Conner's Texan eardrums as he battled the impulse to bop his head.
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He propelled all one hundred ninety pounds of himself into the punches he slammed on Max's padded hands, who demanded that Conner "show some attitude".
A deflated warrior, Max "The Mutt" Ollier looked every second of his fifty years, forty of which he had spent with gloves on his hands and fifteen of which he spent coaching. His cheeks were swollen from decades of punches, and his Salvadorian wife's cooking comprised his growing pot belly. His widow's peak hairline receded from the front, and his left eye was a chipped blue marble.
