“Savannah, baby. Chill.”
She stops pacing the exam room long enough to send me an ice-cold glare. “Are you seriously telling me to chill? You almost had a panic attack the night I was supposed to fight.”
It’s true. I was a wreck that night. I remember the stress and the fear, and the feeling of being totally helpless to stop her. There wasn’t a damn thing I could do or say to change her mind, and the same goes for her.
This is something I have to do. Not just for money, but for revenge. Kerrigan was too much of a pussy to face me in the ring, so he sent three assholes with a baseball bat to take me out the night before our last fight. I can’t let that kind of shit slide.
My pride demands justice.
Marcus grins as he finishes taping my hand. “She’s right, you know. You had your panties in a serious fucking twist that night.”
I scowl at him. “Dude, whose side are you on?”
“Hers.”
Blake snickers from his spot next to the door.
I yank my hand out of Marcus’s grip, glaring at them. “Both of you get the fuck out and give us a minute.”
Marcus stands and rolls the stool he’d been sitting on out of the way, then follows Blake outside.
I hop down from the exam table and stand in front of Savannah as she bites her thumbnail, her brows drawn tight in worry.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she says. “I don’t know if I can go out there and watch you get your ass kicked.”
Ouch. Thanks for the vote of confidence, babe. “You don’t think I’m gonna win?”
Her mouth flops open like I just offended her. “I never said that. You’re the one who said you let them kick your ass before you hand them theirs. You said you had to ‘give ’em a good show,’” she mutters, making an ugly face as she mocks me with air quotes.
I take her face in my hands. “That’s not how tonight’s gonna go down. As soon as I step in that ring, I have one goal—to make that motherfucker bleed. I’m not gonna stop until I’ve repaid every hit, every kick. I’m gonna make him hurt the best way I know how, and that’s by letting every person out there know that I’m the better fighter.”
This seems to appease her. “You promise?”
“Yes.” I press a kiss to her forehead.
Pulling back, I look down at her. Her eyes flicker like she has something to say, but she doesn’t. She just gives me a small, forced smile and glances away.
Things between us have been tense since last night, but we haven’t talked about it. It’s like a heavy cloud lingering above us, casting shadows on every look she gives me and every conversation we try to have.
I just want to pull Savannah to me, wrap my arms around her, and tell her how sorry I am. But she doesn’t want to hear it anymore.
I open my mouth to tell her—I don’t know. Something. Anything. Not to give up on me. To give me a little more time. That I love her.
But before I can get anything out, there’s a knock on the door, followed by Marcus sticking his head inside. “Wrap it up, you two. It’s almost time.” The door closes.
“You should go get settled with Blake. Do not fucking leave his side, okay? Not for anything. If you gotta pee, he goes in the stall with you. Just tell him to turn around, cover his ears, and hum.”
She rolls her eyes. “Why didn’t you just handcuff us together?”
At my thoughtful look, she swats my arm.
“It was a joke,” she says. “I won’t leave Blake’s side, I promise.” She sighs and wraps her arms around my neck. “Give him hell, baby.”
I hold her tight, burying my nose in her hair and breathing deep. “I will.”
She reluctantly lets go and opens the door, glancing back at me one more time before heading off with Blake.
Marcus steps back into the exam room as I rifle through my duffle bag sitting on the counter. I pull out the case for my mouth guard and pop it out, then toss the empty container back in my bag.
“You sure it’s a good idea to have her out there?” he asks. “Your focus needs to be a hundred and ten percent on Kerrigan tonight, not your girl.”
My jaw clenches as I shoot him a glare. “It will be.”
Kerrigan wouldn’t think twice about trying to get to me through Savannah, and there’s no fucking way I’m going to let that happen. I damn sure wasn’t going to leave her and our unborn child home alone tonight, and leaving her back here, trapped with no security guards or witnesses, is not even an option.
The safest place for Savannah is front row in the crowded arena of The Pit, next to Blake and close to Jimmy. His security’s hardcore.
Shit, it’s got to be when you’re supposedly connected to the mob.
A rush of air leaves Marcus, and for the first time I notice his weird expression.
“What?” I ask cautiously. If this is more crap about Savannah, I might throw the first punch before I even step foot in that ring.
He lowers his voice. “Jimmy told me not to tell you, but I think you should know exactly how much you have riding on this match.” He licks his lips. “There are UFC scouts out there. For you.”
Seriously?
I frown. “Huh.”
“Huh? That’s all you have to say? Declan, this is fucking huge.”
“I know.” But I also know that UFC fighters only have like two matches a year. I’ve had eight this year, and I’m getting paid way more than entry-level fighters in the UFC, which is what I’d be if I joined. It’s only the top 5% of fighters who make good money, but it takes time and matches to get there, and that would take fucking forever with a two-match-a-year schedule.
I’ve got a gym to renovate. Bills to pay. A wedding to plan for, and a kid on the way. I can’t afford to take a pay cut like that.
So unless they offer me a phenomenal contract, I can’t imagine leaving The Pit.
Besides, the UFC was never my dream. It was Marcus’s.
He grins and pats me on the back. “I want you to get in that ring and kick that dirty motherfucker’s ass, you hear me? Show those scouts what you’re made of.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” I salute Marcus as he opens the exam room door and then we head out.
Down the halls we go, until we get to the main corridor leading to the arena. As I make my way toward the ring, I hear Jimmy’s voice over the speakers.
“Who’s ready to get wrecked tonight?”
His question evokes cheers and shouts from the audience.
“Then you guys are in for a real treat, because this next fighter destroys his opponents like a wrecking ball destroys everything in its path. Let’s hear it for the hard-hitting, the undefeated, Wreckin’ Declan Whitmoooore.”
A spotlight lands on me and the crowd goes wild.
Kerrigan’s already in the ring as I duck between the ropes, and the cocky grin on his face only fuels my hatred for him.
He smirks at my Lycra shorts. “Nice panties, Whitmore.”
Yes, my vale tudo shorts are a bit more revealing than his knee-length board shorts, but they also aren’t as constricting. They look kind of like small bicycle shorts. Fighting in these feels a lot like fighting naked, I would imagine, since they fit me like a second skin. It frees up my movements, allows me to kick higher. So Kerrigan can suck it, because I’m gonna kick his ass in these “panties.”
I grab my crotch and say, “You’re just jealous ’cause you can’t fill ’em out like I can.”
His mouth presses into a harsh line.
Looks like I hit a nerve.
It’s true, though. I’ve seen what he’s packing in the locker room, and it’s not much.
“Heard about your accident,” he sneers. “You got banged up pretty bad, didn’t you?”
I shrug. “It’s nothing compared to what I’m about to do to you.”
My eyes land on Savannah and Blake in the front row. He hollers at me to knock his ass out. Savannah looks nervous. Scared.
I smile and wink at her, letting her know that I’ve got this.
Jimmy trades the ring for his seat and the ref, Roger, takes over.
I pop my mouth guard in as he says, “Let’s have a clean fight, boys. You know the rules—no eye gouging, no crotch shots, no biting. You win by knockout or tap-out. We clear?”
Kerrigan and I nod and bump bandaged fists.
Roger steps back right as the bell rings and the madness begins. Everyone’s up from their seats, yelling at us to kill, maim, destroy.
If they want blood, I’ll give it to them.
I reach up to guard my face with my fists as we circle each other, sizing one another up for weak spots.
Kerrigan’s about as big as I am, but he’s not as fast. He’s bulky and slow, relying on brute strength to win. His favorite move is the chokehold. That’s why they’ve dubbed him “Python.”
He strikes first and I block his hit. He’s testing my reflexes, trying to find a chink in my armor.
Try all you want, fucker, you won’t find it.
Another hit. Another block. He’s hitting harder, getting impatient.
His fist lashes out again, and this time I dodge and hit back, landing an uppercut to his jaw.
Kerrigan doesn’t like that. He scowls and shakes it off, coming out swinging, but it’s my fist that connects with his face.
Once. Twice.
I feel the cartilage of his nose crunch under my fist.
He stumbles and charges me, taking me down to the ground in a fury of fists and knees as we fight for the upper hand. I take an elbow to the face, tasting blood in my mouth before my arm locks around his neck and squeezes.
Kerrigan thrashes as I use his signature move against him. He tries to elbow me again before futilely attempting to pry my arm away from his throat. He’s not getting out of this chokehold unless he’s got a fucking crowbar. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I lock all my muscles into place, squeezing him with everything in me as I cut off his oxygen.
“You’re not so tough one-on-one, are you?” I grunt into his ear.
He says something in response, but it’s so strangled and garbled that I can’t make it out. I think it’s “Fuck you.”
Roger starts to come over, ready to call it. But I’m not going to let Kerrigan get out of this that easily. I’ve only just started.
I release him and shove him away, hopping up as he gasps for air on all fours. My knee connects with the side of his face, making his head wrench away. He collapses onto the mat, rolling onto his back as he clutches his ear.
Marcus appears by the side of the ring, screaming at me to end him.
But I can’t. Not yet.
Kerrigan’s not broken enough.
My breath is coming fast as he stands. His nose is crooked and bleeding, his face already swollen and red.
He looks angry. Enraged.
Good.
“Finally decide to get up and fight me like a man?” I taunt.
He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. “You’re one to talk. I heard you just laid there like a little bitch while you got your ass kicked.”
Something in me snaps. He swings at me and I duck, wrapping my arms around his sweaty waist as my feet dig into the mat. He’s airborne for about two seconds as I lift him up then slam his back onto the ground, making the whole ring shake like an earthquake hit. I feel the breath deflate out of him as a chorus of cheers erupts around me.
I crawl up his body, straddling his chest as my fists rain blows on his face. Kerrigan’s out of it, his limp arms outstretched beside him as his head lolls back and forth between punches. I’m so focused on beating this motherfucker’s face into a bloody pulp that I don’t hear the end-of-fight bell ring. I don’t even know they’ve called the fight until Roger yanks me off him.
Medics swarm Kerrigan’s unconscious body as Marcus pulls me aside. I wipe away the sweat dripping down my forehead, my chest heaving.
He grabs the back of my neck, leaning in close to talk to me. I can’t hear him over all the screaming and the blood pounding in my ears, but he’s smiling as he speaks, so I just nod along.
He releases me, patting me on the back as Roger lifts my bloody, bandaged fist by my wrist, announcing me winner by knockout.
More screaming. Chaos.
My lungs work furiously to bring in extra oxygen, and my heart beats like a sledgehammer in my chest as adrenaline and testosterone pump through me. I feel fucking invincible right now.
When Roger drops my hand, I tap a passing medic.
“Cut these off me?” My knuckles are already starting to swell and there’s so much tape and gauze on my hands, they need to be cut off.
“Sure.” He sets his bag on the ground, squats down, and pulls out a fresh pair of gloves, some bandage scissors, and a bio-hazard bag.
When the last of the gauze is cut away, I clench and unclench my fists, stretching my knuckles. “Thanks, man.”
My knuckles are red and slightly puffy. It makes the black ink from the words “sink” and “swim” tattooed on my fingers stand out.
I run my thumb across the word “sink,” remembering the day I got the tattoo. It was the day after Pops’ funeral.
I was lost. Devastated by his sudden death from a heart attack. It would’ve been so easy to drown myself in alcohol and pussy, much like I did after my mom died. But Pops wouldn’t have wanted me to take the easy way out.
He used to say to me, “Sink or swim, Declan. What’s it gonna be? You gonna let life keep you down, or are you gonna get your ass up and fight?”
I got the tattoo as a reminder to keep my head up, to always fight for what I wanted out of life because it’s not going to be handed to me. It’s not going to be easy.
If it were, it wouldn’t be worth having.
My head lifts as I seek out Savannah. She’s practically beaming with pride as she mouths, “I love you,” from her spot in the front row.
I thought I’d always chosen to fight for the things I wanted, but that’s not entirely true, is it? This thing with Savannah—I’m not fighting. I’m letting it win.
I’m letting him win.
And that’s just un-fucking-acceptable.
I take a step in her direction when Marcus appears in front of me. “You ready to talk to the scouts now?”
“Nope.” My answer is succinct and offers no room for discussion as I walk around him, heading for my girl.
There are no shiny gold championship belts in The Pit. No cameras, reporters, or fame. Just bruises, blood, and bragging rights. But I’ll be goddamned if I’m not getting a trophy tonight.