Vassili
Today, Nestor and I are working on my takedowns. He has me pinned against the cage and the ground. This is where some fighters fuck up and get the shit slammed out of them. That’s the difference between them and me. As he isolates my abdomen, I’m calculating my exit strategy in a split second. My arms are pressed against my sides, so I use my left leg, jamming it up and through his legs. Mind you, this motherfucker is padded and protected. So, the hits I’m dishing, which would otherwise hurt extremely bad, are being warded off from the Ukrainian.
“C’mon, Karo, get the fuck up,” Nestor taunts.
I keep going at my abdomen. I suck in a breath.
“I see your fucking opening, get your way out!” He says, not dumb enough to go in for a submission.
I wedge my left arm out and jab at him.
“What the fuck, you ain’t killing ‘em today, Karo,” he grunts out.
“Dah?” I finally have my leg anchored around his. Even with his upper body padding, my positioning hocks his entire body around, and I press him into a leg slicer submission hold. “So, I ain’t Karo today, eh? Just regular ol’ motherfucking Vassili?”
Nestor isn’t talking anymore. His breaths are slamming through his teeth as he mentally tapers off the pain.
Vadim steps over shaking his head. “Did I tell the two of you to work on submissions? Nyet!”
“Dah!” I correct my coach while tightening my thighs, in the leg slicer position. “You want me to perfect myself when my opponent has the takedown.”
Nestor grits his teeth.
“Tap the fuck out, brah!” I tell him.
His hand slaps down on the canvas.
“Vassili, come see me before you leave.” Vadim cocks his head to his office. He doesn’t offer a chance for me to respond because he’s already heading to the dog-face looking motherfucker, Rhy. The two of us mix like oil and water. I think Nestor put him in rotation with Vadim after me in order to screw us both because either I’m late or Rhy’s early, and my sparring mate loves to fuck with me.
As Rhy glares at me like we’re two gangbangers on the opposite side of the street, Vadim gestures toward the conditioning ropes. I grin and nod. Those ropes that Zariah can hardly lift up is something that we usually do in our spare time before Vadim works with us. Apparently, Vadim is cutting into his time for not being prepared.
“You did this?” I ask Nestor as we both take our stand.
He shakes out his leg and offers a lazy smile. “Yup. Keep you on your toes, Vassili.”
I chuckle, open the door to the cage, and saunter down the steps.
“What does Vadim want with me?” I glare at my cousin, who is shaking a few more Cheetos, from the chip bag onto the table top in front of Natasha’s stroller.
“The fuck would I know, kazen?” He shrugs.
“You know.” I glare him down hard. My cousin’s gaze never wavers, but instinct warns that Yuri is more aware than he’s letting on. “Okay, come,” I tell him while getting behind Natasha’s stroller to steer.
“Follow you to Vadim’s office?” Yuri moves like an old ass man, as if he’s unsure about what I asked.
“Dah, you make a lot of money off me. It’s all fun, fighting. Now, join in on the other shit,” I toss over my shoulder, moving along, aware that Vadim has intentions to give me grief. Natasha’s mini Jordan goes flying. I continue to cart her along, she looks back at me in confusion. My little girl is fucking with me, too. She loves to keep me running after her shoes.
“Oh, this is fun to you?” I tell her, although Yuri catches up to get the flyaway tennis shoe. “Maybe you should wear the old lady walking shoes your mom likes.”
Her face falls into a frown since she doesn’t notice my cousin toss the damn shoe into the undercarriage of her stroller.
We head into the elevator and up to the second floor to Vadim’s office. The place I cornered Zariah during our first encounter. MMA memorabilia still clutter each wall. And even more statues, that reach almost as tall as my own height, are placed around, making it an effort to squeeze Natasha’s stroller inside. Retired belts are even on the wall. I glance at a place where my belt will be in the future, once I’m ready to call it a day.
Yuri stuffs in his stomach and moves around me to another seat. I choose to stand.
My coach is seated in his chair, scrawny white legs crossed at the ankles and propped up on the edge of his table. “Oh great, Yuri, you and Natasha can get the truth out of ‘em.”
Yuri grunts. There’s more of a flicker of something in his eyes. One that reads he was previously aware of what Vadim has cornered me for and didn’t want to be a part of telling me so.
“How’s your fucking knee, Vassili?” Vadim asks. “And look at cutie pie before you answer anything other than the truth.”
My eyebrow cocks. I glance over at Natasha, who rarely has an attitude with me, but the foul with her Jordan must’ve dug under her skin. Her pretty brown eyes seem to narrow in understanding. Don’t lie to me, my child is saying.
Fuck.
I rub a hand over my face. “Khorosho. Khorosho—Good. Good… Nyet.” I take it back. Using my hand as a lever, I gesture and add, “Okay.”
“Okay?” Vadim’s wrinkly face is spread into a frown.
“Okay as in you’ll fight Rhy in October or okay as in surgery should be in the cards, first?” Yuri inquires.
My head tilts as I toss a glare in his direction. Rhy? The dog-faced fucker whose body conditioning at this very second? “What do you mean, I’ll fight Rhy? He’s nobody. And fuck no, no surgery necessary here, brat.”
“Rhy’s making a name for himself in this world,” Vadim sits up. “He fought Laquerre.”
“Fuck Laquerrre, Kong is my next sub!”
“Like I just said, Rhy fought Laquerre, don’t be so fucking cocky, Vassili. Laquerre and Kong are almost where you once were. And by process of elimination, Rhy might just very well put his paws on your belt before you do.” He takes a deep breath. “You are both on my team. I talked with him about it first. You’re money, Vassili. Fighting you puts money into his pockets while he guns for the belt.”
I slam a closed paw against my chest. “And what the fuck does it do for me? I don’t give a damn how many cocks he’s sucked in the cage! My target is Gotti.” And you were my coach before you were his, so fuck that cunt! Okay, dah, it’s a little too much like a bitch for me to actually say that out loud. My coach and mentor continues to keep his cool. Due to my outburst, he’s content with making me wait a few moments before responding.
“Gotti will be out before you know it, Vassili.” Vadim clucks. “Speaking of sucking cocks to get by, Rhy doesn’t have as many decisions as you think. He’s got Subs and TKO’s. And if you close your cunt long enough to think, you’d realize this sport is like a game of chess. Any sudden movement can take the queen. In your instance, you did it to yourself. Your knee screwed you. So, can you fight Rhy or should I hold your fucking hand, call your doctor, schedule an appointment regarding your motherfucking knee, and shit, I’ll even pay for the Uber on surgery day.”
“You done?” I gesture.
He grunts.
“Kazen, are you okay?” Yuri stands up. His concern for me makes me glare hard back at him. “Vassili, you are as much my brat—brother as Igor. Sometimes you say I make money off ya—”
I hold up a hand to cut off his need for an emotional moment. “I’m just fucking with you, Yuri.”
“But are you good, as in you can fight Rhy? Or are you good, as in you’re capable of fighting Kong in Australia in six weeks?”
I glare at him. “I’m good enough.”
“Gotti isn’t shit. He fought a nobody after grabbing your belt. His fans are gonna call foul soon if he keeps it in the clutch. But tell me, should we set everything aside right now and have you visit the doctors? That’s not the manager in me talking but blood.”