Nineteen
Jonah
Raven left for work a few minutes ago. And with her absence came my crushing reality.
My scalp is numb from fisting my hands in my hair. Sitting at my breakfast bar, I stare mindlessly at the black granite countertop, as I attempt to sort out the jumbled thoughts in my head.
Throwing a fight isn’t as easy as it sounds. I can’t just walk into the octagon and stick my chin out. I have to fight. Just not fight good enough to win.
How the fuck am I supposed to do that?
I’m undefeated because I go ape shit when I get hit. It’s impossible to reason with the primitive part of my brain. That, along with the roar of the crowd and shouts of encouragement from my team, is a violent combination, a winning combination. Fuckin’ hell, if that isn’t the problem.
I’m going to have to be completely retrained. I have one week to figure out how the fuck to lose a fight.
I grab my new cell phone that was delivered and punch in a few numbers.
“Blake, meet me at the training center in ten.”
Ending the call, I head out.
Blake is a red belt jiu-jitsu master. He earned the name Blake “The Snake” at seventeen when he constricted a guy in a cage fight and had him out cold in less than thirty seconds. If he can’t help me, I’m fucked.
I pull up to the UFL training center right behind Blake.
“Hey, man. You ready to figure this shit out?” He heads my way through the lot.
“Yeah. I have a few ideas. Wanted to go over a couple techniques with you. That cool?”
Blake shrugs his shoulders. “Whatever helps. This shit’s fucked. Still can’t believe you’re,” he looks around to make sure we’re alone in the parking lot, “really gonna do this.”
I lean against my truck. “You sure you’re up for this? I don’t want to drag you into my shit. Not gonna lie though, I could use your help.”
He rips his sunglasses from his face and leans in. “Don’t start this shit with me. You fuckin’ know I got your back. I’ll give you that one, but you say that kinda fucked up crap again, I’ll kick your ass myself.”
I suppress a grin. “Then let’s do this.” I give him a chin lift and we walk to the center’s doors.
Once geared up, we hit the octagon. It’s quiet, just a few guys working at the heavy bags a dozen yards away.
“The key is to avoid this motherfucker’s jaw like a two-dollar hooker,” he says, then cringes. “Sorry, bad joke.”
I shake my head, thinking I may just have to slide one solid punch in during this training session.
“Right, I know that, fuckwad. What I want to know is how the hell do I keep from flippin’ the switch on his ass when he punches me?”
“Easy. Submissions. Take him to the ground and lock him down. Milk the clock until the ref breaks it up.”
That’s not a bad idea. If I can get him in a solid hold where he can’t get the ground and pound, I should be able to buy some time.
“That might work. Let’s work on some submissions that keep his fists away from my face.”
Blake nods.
Without time on our side, we get to it. Modifying a few key holds isn’t easy, but we manage to come up with a couple strategies. A few take-downs and pinning techniques will help, but I’m going to need more.
“I need to go at least three rounds, and I can’t just sit on the mat holdin’ him like a newborn baby. The fans are expecting some stand-up. If I keep my punches to body shots during the stand-up, that should help.”
Blake shakes his head. “Yeah, until he strikes back and hits you hard enough to bring out the beast, but not knock you out! I’m telling you I’ve seen you fight. You need to stay grounded as much as possible. Protect your head, and keep that fine piece of ass in the forefront of your mind. Then, pray for a miracle.”
And now, I remember why I’m friends with Blake.
After a couple hours of training, I hear a voice call my name. I peer through the octagon chain link to see Taylor Gibbs, the owner of the UFL. He’s in his usual dark suit, wearing his usual schooled expression.
“Taylor. What’s up?”
“Need a word with you in my office when you’re done.”
“Give me five.”
He nods and walks away.
I turn to Blake. “You know what this is about?”
Blake looks at the space Taylor recently vacated then back to me. “No clue.” He shrugs.
We make plans to continue training tomorrow, and I head to Taylor’s office.
He probably wants to talk to me about the fight, but I feel like a kid called to the principal’s office. There’s no way he could know about my deal with Dominick. Dominick isn’t stupid enough to go flapping his gums. Blake and Raven are the only other ones that know. Blake seemed just as caught off guard as I was, and Raven, well, there’s no way she’s talking.
His no-good assistant isn’t at her desk, so I walk in his office without knocking. It’s an asshole thing to do, but I don’t have the patience for social politeness.
Taylor looks up from his computer screen. “Jonah, have a seat.”
I stay standing. “What’s this about?”
He lifts his eyebrows and nods to the chair in front of me. I sit.
“We just signed a deal for a joint campaign with the female MMA fighting league.”
“Okay. What does that have to do with me?”
“Not much, just a few cross promotions, photo shoots, magazine covers—stuff like that.”
I nod. It’s not uncommon that the UFL use me for promotional shit. I still don’t see why this warrants a visit to the boss’s office.
“I’m going to need you to be seen with their headlining fighter, Camille Fisher. Won’t be much, just the pre-fight formal dinner, and we’ll get her seats by your corner for the title fight. After that, a few sightings out at the clubs ought to do it.”
Pretending to date a girl I don’t even know so that the suits can pull off a campaign? Hell no.
“No. I’m not doing that.”
His eyes narrow and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “No? Why not.”
“I’m dating someone. I’ll be bringing her to the formal dinner, and she’ll have my seats at the fight.”
With a chuckle, he leans back into his chair, relaxed. “That it? Surely a few dates with another girl won’t bother her. Tell her it’s for work. Besides, have you seen Camille? She’s hot. I’m doing you a favor, my friend.”
What kind of man does he think I am? The kind that fucks girls whose names he doesn’t know without a second thought. Not anymore.
“Look, Taylor, I want to help you out. I’ll do photo shoots, press junkets, whatever, but I’m not cheating on my girl even if it’s staged for publicity. Have Del Toro do it.”
“She doesn’t want Del Toro. She’s requested you personally.”
I shake my head, completely solid, unwavering.
“Who’s this girl who’s got you by the balls?” he asks with genuine curiosity.
My head tilts slightly as I fix my stare on him. “Don’t see how that’s your business.”
“You’ve been fighting for me for eight years, and I’ve never even heard a rumor about you getting serious with a girl. Now, just weeks before your title fight, a fight that is going to make me a lot of money, you get serious?”
I shrug. Where in the hell is he going with this?
“No bullshit, I’m worried. I need you on your game, no distractions. I think it’s in the best interest of the organization for you to put your relationship on hold until after the fight.”
I sit forward, leaning one elbow on my knee. This guy’s got his head shoved up his own ass if he thinks I’d give up Raven to please him.
“Haven’t had a dad since I was twelve, Taylor. Managed to make it this far without one. Don’t need one now.”
“I’m not speaking as a parent, Jonah. I’m speaking as your boss.”
“Don’t remember seeing you dictating who I date in my contract.”
“I can’t force you, but I can advise you.”
“Consider me advised. We done?”
“No. Don’t forget about the press conference.”
“That’s what I have a publicist for. Now, we done?”
He studies my face for a few long seconds then shrugs.
I stand to leave, but turn just before walking out the door. “Let your assistant know I’ll be bringing a date to the pre-fight dinner.”
His eyes dart to mine and narrow a fraction. I smile back before walking out.
Who the fuck does he think he is?
~*~
Raven
“Hey, Dog.” I place his food on the bottom step and scratch behind his ears. He purrs as he eats. I smile at the content sound, knowing I’d be making the same one if I could.
After last night, I’ve been walking around in a perpetual state of contentment, robbing me of my focus.
“Yeah, I know how you feel. Feels good to be taken care of.” I rub Dog from head to tail and back. “Good kitty.”
My phone rings, scaring Dog and sending him down the alley and behind a dumpster.
“Hey, Eve.” I take the conversation inside, hoping my absence will bring Dog back to finish his food.
“How are you? I’m so sorry about last night, I felt like shit after you left. It looked like you’d been crying, and I should have sent Vince home and had you stay. What happened?” She speaks quickly, whether from guilt or concern, I don’t know.
“Oh, um,” I clear my throat, “Jonah and I just had a little fight, but we’re okay now. Just a misunderstanding.”
I bite my lip and contemplate telling her about Vince. My loyalty to her is warring with my need to protect her.
“Oh, phew. I was so worried after you left. I called your cell, but you didn’t answer. Vince kept telling me that you were probably okay. He said if you weren’t you would call.”
Nice of daddy’s little henchman to comfort my best friend.
“How are things going with you and Vince?” I wait for her answer, ready to read into every word, to feel her out before I decide on full disclosure.
“Pretty good. He’s still so private about stuff, but now that he’s met you, I think he’ll start to come around.”
Private or big fat, disgusting liar?
I can’t sit back and watch her get used. She needs to know. “Eve, there’s something I need to—”
“I know what you’re going to say, Rave. He’s really affectionate, and . . . sometimes it comes across as kinda pervy or whatever. I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable last night. He says he can’t keep his hands off me.” I can hear the smile in her voice.
Yuck. I fight the urge to shove my finger down my throat like a surly twelve year old.
“That’s not what—”
“Enough about boys. I need my girl time. We’re going out tonight. My old waitress from Nori just got hired at Club Six. She said she’d put us on the list and told me if I slip the bouncer a fifty he’d let us in without ID’s.”
“Tonight? Um—”
“Come on! I’m so sick of the under twenty-one clubs. This is our chance to go to a real club!”
“Okay.” Unable to think of an excuse fast enough and also missing my friend like crazy, I agree to go out with her.
“Come over after work and we can get ready at my house.”
This has play-dress-up-with-Raven written all over it.
“Sounds great,” I say with the enthusiasm of a snail.
“Whatever, Debbie Downer. It’ll be fun and besides . . . I miss you.”
“I miss you too. See you after work.”
Perfect. I’ll tell Eve about Vince after she’s had a couple drinks. That’ll help soften the blow. And being in a public place should keep her from getting too emotional. Ugh, who am I kidding? This is going to be a nightmare.