Chapter One

Ryder

When MMA fighting had taken off, things in the local gyms had gone a little insane. Everyone suddenly believed they had what it takes to step in the octagon. My gym had turned into a circus. Everyone wanted to be the tough guy. The thing was, not everyone was so tough.

“If you aren’t going to lift that correctly, then move off the machine,” I snapped at a smaller man who had been hogging the machine for at least fifteen minutes longer than the few sets he probably had planned should have taken him.

It was a struggle not to yell at him. But the MMA life took more work than most expected, and more work than most would ever have the spirit to put in. I knew in my heart the work involved was what I wanted, no, what I needed. The work I was putting in had given me more than just the small fights I’d had so far. But, after decimating everyone that I stepped into the ring with, it was only a matter of time before I got the invite every fighter hoped for.

“I’ll be done in a minute,” the man said over his shoulder, setting the bar back in its cradle. “It will be much faster if you aren’t standing over me.”

“You need to work on your definition of fast, sir.”

He gave me a look like he wondered who, between the two of us, would win in the ring. I gave him the same look back. He probably stood just under six feet tall. I was larger…much larger. Six foot three, and I carried my weight well. With the way my body was naturally built, I looked a lot bigger than 185 pounds. But clearly I wasn’t intimidating enough for this slow-poke to hurry his ass up.

I walked across the gym, wiping the sweat from my brow and trying to figure out what to do instead of the exercise I had wanted. I was particular about my workouts and preferred to do them in a specific order. Was I OCD? No, but I also wasn't a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kinda guy when it came to my workouts. I trained hard to get where I was, and it showed.

After running on the treadmill and cursing the man on the weight machine for thirty minutes, he finally finished, and I moved back to the machine. Thirty reps at 125 pounds later, I moved to the next station. Workouts were my job, and they were long and took up a good portion of my day.

I had decided at an early age that I wanted to be a fighter. I had studied jiu-jitsu for over ten years, and it played a significant role in my fighting style. It made me on of the most agile and fastest fighters in the lower circuits. My speed had been a factor in more than one fight, but my stamina was my ace in the hole. I could take a beating and still win simply because I was able to outlast every competitor I had faced—and it had paid off.

When I finished my workout, I leaned back against the lockers and smiled to myself. My invite had been less than a month ago, and I wasn’t taking the opportunity lightly. I was finally getting my chance in the big ring for big money. Winnings from my fights had covered all of my expenses thus far, but never left me with much when everything had been paid out.

The smaller circuits prepared me for what the MMA circuit would be, but I knew the fighters were more experienced. On the plus side, they were also a little older. I was at my peak, and my fighting style was different, but I wasn’t so cocky that I thought everything would be easy.

My thoughts went to my father. He wasn’t too thrilled that this was my chosen career path for several reasons, but he supported my decision anyway. We talked daily. In fact, it had been my dad who had pushed me so hard, made me a better fighter. He always told me I could do whatever I put my mind to, but that I was going to have to work for it. And he never let me quit anything once I started it.

I showered and dressed quickly, looking forward to my date tonight. Fighting was my life and if it wasn't on my agenda, women were.

“Hey, Ryder!” I heard Bret, the gym manager, call out as I was leaving. “See you in the morning?”

Bret helped me spar on occasion but wasn't exactly what I’d call a friend. He was a washed up fifty-something fighter who never made it past the smaller circuits, but he could train the hell out of some of these younger douches.

“Yeah, see ya then,” I said as I pushed the doors open and headed into the night.

* * * * *

“So, Ryder, who you taking to Vegas with you?” the petite redhead asked as she pulled her panties over her hips.

“Me, myself and I,” I smirked as I leaned back against the pillows.

“Maybe one day you’ll take me.” She smiled and leaned over to place a quick kiss on my cheek. I knew she wasn't serious—she was here for the ride and knew it would never be more than that. Of course, that didn’t stop me from making sure she was aware of just where she stood and then making her doubt it.

“Not likely, Red, but you never know,” I said.

“Oh, don't tease me, you jerk. All those lights and drunks. It might just ruin a sweet little country girl like me.” She placed her hand over her heart and pretended to swoon.

“Right. I think that train left the station a few years ago,” I joked.

Red laughed a throaty laugh and turned, picking up her bag. “If you weren’t so good with your dick, I might just walk away forever after that statement. But, no such luck. Talk to you soon.” She blew me a kiss then sauntered out of my bedroom.

I listened, waiting until I heard the front door open and shut, then I got up. I threw on a pair of boxers and walked through my modest apartment to the kitchen.

After grabbing several things from the fridge, I pulled out my blender and started filling it. After adding the protein powder, I hit the button and stood there thinking about the upcoming fight. I had been studying this opponent, Tate, for weeks. He was a skilled fighter, but I’d found his weaknesses. He was slow to the left, and his footwork could get messy after a few hits. I’d have to get him off his game and do it in the first round, or I wouldn’t stand a chance.

After grabbing my shake off the counter, I opened my laptop to watch one of the latest fights between two guys who had no business in the major arena. I could take them both with one arm tied behind my back. I could never get over how many of these young, inexperienced guys were allowed to step into the ring. I mean, some of them never fought again.

My father had told me more than once that humility went a long way, but — much to my father’s dismay — there wasn't a drop of that anywhere to be found in my system. I knew how good I was and made sure that everyone around me knew it, too. My plan was that, in two days’ time, every MMA big-wig would also know it. Vegas would never be the same.

* * * * *

The tiny airplane seat made me squirm, as if by moving slightly, I could get it to suddenly get wider. The smoker next to me probably used a pack a day and then some, and the older Southern lady on my other side wore way too much perfume.

Hopefully, after this weekend, I’d at least be able to fly first class. By the time I reached my hotel room, I was in desperate need of a shower, so I dropped my bags at the door and headed straight for the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, I pressed my earbuds into place and laid back on the comforter. The music pulled me into my zone, allowing me to center my thoughts. Excitement bubbled through my veins and began to settle some of the anxiety that was trying to work its way through.

I woke up from a short nap and glanced at the clock. It was noon. With the fight set for eight p.m., I had time to hit the gym. A light workout would not only loosen me up, but help calm my nerves. Granted, it was going to cost me to secure a gym so that I was alone, but I needed the solitude.

I called Roger and set up an hour of time in his gym near the arena. He didn't charge me much, but it was enough that I had to move money around to pay him. Most of my earnings would be gone before I got home, but I wouldn’t change what I was doing for anything.

* * * * *

The arena was buzzing, and the energy of the crowd charged me. The cheering, the shouts. The scents of sweat and blood and money.

I bounced from foot to foot. I was ready for the fight that could change my career. Pulling my hoodie up over my head, I stopped bouncing around and concentrated. I closed my eyes saw Tate’s moves playing back in my head as I reminded myself of his weaknesses and the quickest way to take him down. He had more fights under his belt, but I had more wins. He had trash-talked all the way through weigh-ins and took every opportunity to make sure everyone knew how he felt about my fighting style. His attitude was all fluff for the cameras, and it didn't make any difference to me. His words were the catalyst to my current mood. I was a better fighter—and he knew it, the MMA circuit knew it, and I was pretty damn sure his management team knew it. For those reasons, the words didn't hurt like he thought they would. Head games were his style, not mine, and they didn't change the fact that he was going down.

“You ready?” I heard from behind me.

I grunted without looking up.

“We have your song cued up, and we should start moving in about ten minutes.”

I stretched and bounced around to keep my muscles warmed up. My song began— “Sabotage” by the Beastie Boys. Rolling my shoulders once, I started walking toward the arena.

There was nothing better than pushing the ropes apart and stepping into the cage. The crowd cheered, but their excitement for me was nothing compared to when Tate entered the arena. Listening to the crowd chant his name, I knew when I took him to the mat, my name would become more than just the name I’d inherited from my dad. It would become a name that people knew. A name famous in the fighting world. My dream of making it to the big leagues was within my reach, I could feel it.

The announcer made his way to the center of the cage and called both our names. We touched fists then went back to our corners and waited for the bell.

The bell rang, and Tate came at me. He threw a series of punches, landing one. My head resonated with the contact, but I pushed through throwing my leg out and catching him off guard. He went down hard, and I was on him before he had time to recover. Keeping my movements on his left side, I found my advantage. I went at him with everything I had, wrapping my arm firmly around his neck. I watched as his body started to weaken with his fight to free himself. I pulled and pushed, trying to get into the right position. Once I had him where I wanted, I tightened my hold and waited. He struggled and tried to roll on me, but I held fast and waited. I squeezed again.

Finally, the sound I had been holding out for — two small taps on the mat.

I had done it.

I’d won in the first round, in less than thirty seconds. The crowd went wild, and as I stood, I took it all in. The referee raised my arm over my head, and the announcer quickly moved in and began talking to me, asking questions, but I had no answers. I was so lost in the moment, all I wanted was to hear the crowd screaming and be blinded by the array of flashbulbs going off. It was my moment, and I wasn't going to let anyone ruin it. I looked down at the announcer, smiled, and walked away.