Chapter 23
What a goddamned nightmare.
Vaughn needed to end this fight, pronto, or it would end him. Those punches were harder than any he'd felt in his life. Like, even the knuckles didn't feel right. Vaughn would bet his left nut that the cheater had illegal fiberglass layered under the gauze beneath the gloves.
Another concrete fist glanced off Vaughn's cheekbone, making him see Tweety Birds for a second. He had to stay on his feet. Couldn't go down.
Holy fucking mother of God, this was bad.
Didn't help that his mental power kept shorting out, demanding that his attention focus on Mariah. Every time that damned ability flowed to her, he lost the beat that kept him ahead of Linc's rapid strikes. Another bad blow like that roundhouse a few seconds ago, and that bastard would drop kick Vaughn's head into next week.
When Wyatt snuck up behind Mariah, Vaughn almost climbed out of the octagon, so badly did his power beg him to get over there and protect her. And when that slime wad dared to touch her? Screw the fight. He'd kill Wyatt and then take out anyone who got near her.
What the actual hell was wrong with him? He ate another fist. Damn it. He swiped his glove over his mouth. It was a miracle he didn't spit out teeth.
One more scan outside the cage; Angelo now stood behind Mariah like an oversized guard dog, and two inspectors were positioned on either side of her. She was safe. Good.
One problem solved.
Next problem? Staying conscious so that the referee or the good doctor had no excuse to stop the fight.
And staying alive. That was important, too.
He sucked wind as Linc nailed him in the solar plexus with his foot. Good shot. Had nothing to do with rigged gloves, either. But the uppercut that followed? Yeah, that thunk was all counterfeit goods.
Shit. As the bell rang to end another round, Vaughn stumbled to his corner. His friends from Bar None MMA rubbed his muscles and shoved freezing, wet sponges on his head and neck, waking him the hell up. The cutman nailed a bleeding spot with the epinephrine swab. Stung like the devil.
Damn it. No way could he last five rounds with Linc. Not with Vaughn's ability on the fritz. Not with those illegal fists.
Those first two rounds went to Linc, no question. Vaughn had to finish this ass wipe once and for all or Linc would finish him instead.
As the seconds ticked down, he did a mental shakedown on his ability, pulling it around him like a blanket. Mariah was safe.
Now. Time for Vaughn to end this joke of a fight. Time to feed his demons. Time to destroy Linc. Did he have enough left in the tank?
He glanced over at Mariah, her wide eyes swimming in that pale face.
Her fear was unacceptable.
As he met Linc's icy glare across the cage, Vaughn's rage grew like a magma chamber under the earth, pushing his world into a new shape. The heat inside of him turned him into a crucible, fired to the point of shattering.
Vaughn wanted her safe and protected? To meet that goal, he'd have to go through Linc.
Suited Vaughn just fine.
* * *
Vaughn pushed to his feet as the bell rang.
Mariah held her breath.
After the first two rounds, normal fighters would come out of their corner tired or in pain. Not him. With a glare locked onto Linc, Vaughn strode out to the center of the ring, refused to touch gloves—and unleashed a blurry barrage of punches, kicks, sweeps, and combinations. Every time Linc pressed him, Vaughn dodged, like Neo in The Matrix watching the bullets pass slowly by him.
Linc still got some blows through the offensive onslaught, but if Vaughn noticed the crunches and thuds of fist on flesh, he gave zero indication.
One hit.
It would take only one blow to the head or body to end the fight, for either man. It would take one blow to end the fighter's life, too. Unable to look away, she leaned forward, taking a step away from Angelo.
The two fighters circled each other, jabbing as they moved forward and then feinting back several steps. Sweat and blood dripped down both of their battered faces.
Around her, the crowd screamed its approval.
Vaughn's left cheek had already turned purple and sported an oozing cut, but his left eye was open. Linc, on the other hand, had one eye that threatened to swell completely shut. The cut on his brow dripped blood but didn't appear to impair his vision. He'd need stitches afterward, of course. By the way Linc was fighting, nothing would stop him from killing Vaughn.
If the serious scowl of concentration on Vaughn's face was any indication, the feeling was mutual.
Ten seconds remaining in the round.
Vaughn's fists blurred in muscle-driven hisses of air as he pummeled Linc to the ground and kept pounding on the man. Mariah winced at the thuds of fist impacting flesh and bone. Linc's eyes glazed over. He stopped defending himself.
Ref, call the fight. Dear God. Call it.
As the ref lifted a hand, about to reach in, the bell rang. Vaughn jumped off Linc and strolled to his corner. Like he wasn't exhausted. Like he didn't have burning arms.
Just another day at work for the guy.
His massive chest heaved, and then slowed to a normal breathing pattern over about thirty seconds. Amazing.
Linc still laid on the floor of the octagon, the ref talking to him.
When the ref motioned to Mariah, her heart dropped—like off a cliff.
The crowd booed.
Linc sat up and waved off the ref, even as Mariah entered the cage. Her steps faltered at the sharp scents of adrenaline, sweat, and blood.
"Check him out, Doc," the ref called to her. "I need an opinion."
Sweat beaded her upper lip as she knelt next to Linc. "Tell me your name."
He pulled out his spit-and blood-covered mouthpiece. "Lincoln fucking McDowell, dammit."
"The month and year?"
"October. 2014."
Wrong answer.
"Where are you?" She projected her voice above the shouts of the crowd.
"In the octagon, about to fight again. So you'd better get out of my way, babe." His words slurred together, the consonants running over each other. His unswollen eyelid drifted shut, like he couldn't stay awake. He swayed back and forth where he sat.
She fished for her penlight. "Look up here at me, please." Checking his pupils, she shook her head. "He's got a brain injury. Not oriented. Pupils sluggish to react. Not tracking."
"Stop?" the ref asked.
Visions of litigation if she failed to protect a fighter from permanent brain damage danced in her imagination. "Yes. Stop. Concussion."
The ref jumped to his feet and waved his hands. "Fight's over. Medical stoppage."
The boos and jeers escalated.
Linc got up and staggered, off-balance, grabbing the ref's arm. "No," he screamed. "I'm fine. I can fight."
The ref shook his head. "It's done. Medical stoppage. That's final."
Linc spun around to her and threw the mouthpiece to the mat. "You did this!" His one open eye glowed red, and she recoiled from the acrid sulfur wave that blew past her.
She froze.
Time slowed. Light and motion and sound blurred.
From the opposite side of the cage, Vaughn whipped his head up and lurched toward her as if pulled by a magnet, arms outstretched, mouth open in a yell.
Before she could react, Linc grabbed the lapels of her blazer, lifted her off the ground and tossed her hard enough to crash into a padded cage corner. Her head banged off the cage beam, and all the air left her with burning, starving lungs. The roar of the crowd faded and stars sparkled on the edges of her vision.
As a furious Linc closed the short distance with his fist raised, Mariah ducked her head behind her arms, shielding herself against a blow...
That never came.
Vaughn's massive frame slid in front of hers, and he grunted with the impact of the blow meant for Mariah. But he remained standing, vulnerable to attack, legs spread, arms extended, fingers looped into the sides of the octagon corner, so that he caged her behind his body. She peeked around his massive back.
A thousand people took a collective breath.
Heat radiated from Vaughn's sweat-covered torso. Funny, even though he didn't fold her into his arms, she still felt enveloped by him. This new stupid headache had to be from hitting her head.
The ref, both corners, Angelo, and the inspectors poured into the octagon, yelling at Linc and pushing the raging man back to the opposite side of the ring. Police followed, and soon they had Linc hustled away, much to the glee of the fickle crowd. The audience who had hated her for stopping the fight thirty seconds ago had some sense of ethics and apparently drew the line when the fighter knocked down the medical personnel.
The announcer, trying to regain control of the event, windmilled his hand in a frantic bid to get Vaughn to join him in the middle of the ring for the announcement.
Instead, Vaughn whipped around, relocking his fingers into the metal mesh on either side of Mariah's head. The gold glinted in his eyes as his face contorted. He was ungodly fury on the edge of losing all control. She'd never seen anything like it.
She suppressed a shiver for anyone else who got close to him right about now. That included herself.
He sucked in a lungful of air. "Fuck," he exhaled, all heat and male sweat and wild adrenaline. Thousands of people surrounding them, and he ignored them all. After a few seconds of staring at her, he said, "Are you okay?"
His sheer intensity made her weak in the knees. "I'm fine. Thanks for helping." She swallowed. "You should, um, go get your winnings. Get your hand raised. That was a great fight."
"Not until you get checked out by another doctor."
"I'm not hurt." On what level was this statement true?
Like he clawed the words out of his throat, he growled, "I don't fucking care what you think. My mind will not function until I know you're okay." His Adam's apple bobbed. Cords of neck muscle flexed. Being the pinpoint focus of this much-concentrated power? Thrilling. Edgy. Sexy. Terrifying.
Sometimes fighters got so buzzed on adrenaline they couldn't concentrate. Maybe he was dealing with something along those lines. "Not a problem. I'll have Dr. Brandeis do a quick check. See? All taken care of," she tried to soothe him. She licked her lips. God, Vaughn was only inches away. Heat poured off of him. "Now. We're making a scene, and I'm getting embarrassed."
"Tough." He turned to the announcer and his corner guys. "Be right back," he barked. Then he held out a hand. "Allow me."
"I don't need help."
"Or I can carry you, which will be way more enjoyable for me, and I guarantee will make a hell of a bigger scene."
Her belly quivered. She reached out, and he snugged his hand under her arm and drew her close to him as they stepped down the stairs out of the octagon to the audience's clapping. Her face burned. Great.
Dr. Brandeis ran up to her.
"Can you check on her?" Vaughn said.
She mostly ignored the exam as Vaughn retreated, his posture rigid, muscles twitching. The announcer called the fight result, much to the wild enthusiasm of the crowd. As Vaughn exited once more, he paused in front of her.
"I want to see you before you leave."
The cold blast shooting down her spine had nothing to do with it being winter in Wyoming.