Sunni
Layla spots me and begins frantically waving me down. I do my best, winding between all the bodies still milling around. I had planned to take a seat in the back row, keeping my identity less visible. It seems Layla has other plans including the front row.
“Saved you a seat.” She points to the chair next to her. “Even though we’re in the front, I tend to stand most of the fight.”
“Thank you.” I glance at the metal folding chair and then back to her.
“He’s going to be just fine, honey. No need to worry.” She pats my shoulder. “You look like you’re going to puke.”
“I feel like I’m going to puke.” I fidget from one foot to the other. The only thing keeping me grounded is the lingering scent of Jag.
“You’ll get used to all of this.” She gestures with her hand. “It took me a bit even though I grew up in this scene.”
“I don’t know about that.” I ease down on the folding chair with my knees growing weak.
“After Jag takes the first uppercut and has blood flowing down his face, your adrenaline will kick in, and you’ll be screaming at the top of your lungs.”
My eyes grow wide, and my stomach takes a dip, sending a wave of anxiety through my core. Layla rattles on about her nerves and the different bouts. The detail she goes into and the glow on her face as she talks about each fighter encourages me. I try to keep up and fail miserably. The one thing I grasp is something about a tap. If a fighter taps on the mat, they lose. It’s the worst way to lose, as if giving up or something. Hell, I think I’d be flat on the mat tapping like a bitch the second my opponent walked into the cage.
Layla is pulled away by someone wearing Diablo’s Throne gear, something about the ticket system not booting up. I take a sharp inhale of air and slowly let it all out while I relax back in the cold, harsh chair. Jag’s words put an instant smile on my face. When that boy talks dirty, I’m a goner. And what he told me still has my skin sizzling. I have no doubt he’ll make good on his promise. I knew it was coming, and if I’m honest, I had hoped it would’ve happened before now. Jag has taken his time devouring and exploring every inch of me and me doing the same to him.
Trick, Jag’s quiet teammate and friend, is the first name announced that I recognize. My ears ache once the song he walks out to booms throughout the gym accompanied by the cheers of fans. I don’t recognize the music but find myself up on my feet with my hands clasped together.
Layla rushes in front of me, taking her spot next to me. She hip bumps me and then winks before jumping up and down while screaming. Layla has to be the sweetest person I’ve ever met. She’s never made feel like an outsider or sent one judgmental glance my way. I know she and Jag are like brother and sister. He’s told me as much so it means the world she’s accepted me in her life. A twinge of ache attacks my beating heart, but I push it aside, studying what’s happening in the cage.
Trick is in his corner. Boss and other trainers surround him, wiping stuff on his face then slapping his cheeks. The official examines Trick from head to toe then the announcer says something. Everything is a blur to me. The two men take their spots at center stage in the cage. The official once again gets in their faces yelling something. A bell sounds, and all hell breaks loose.
The noise level in the gym escalates. The men dance around each other until the first punch is thrown. It lands square on Trick’s jaw. His head whips back, but his feet don’t stop moving. I swear I see the man smile and taunt the other fighter. Trick throws a few punches, none of them sticking.
The other man dives low, taking Trick down in the blink of an eye. His arms fly, connecting with each side of Trick’s head.
“Oh, you’re fucked now, buddy! You are going to be Trick’s bitch!” Layla screams next to me. “Lights out, bastard!”
My eyes bulge to a near painful point. I’m completely lost. Trick is getting the shit beat out of him. Yet here is Layla next to me excited as hell. From what I can see, Trick is going to be the other guy’s bitch. I’m desperate to question Layla and stare at her profile. The noise level in the gym makes it impossible.
The squeals and screeches around me draw my attention back to the ring. I catch the action just in time. Somehow in a beastly move, Trick flips his opponent on his back. He doesn’t rain down punches like the other guy but wraps him up in some damn spider monkey move. The man’s face burns a bright red. His eyes flicker for a few moments then his head droops to the side.
The official bursts into the action, pulling Trick off the man. He thuds to the mat. My heart leaps out of my chest. Memories of the past invade—my head bouncing off hard tile, similar to the fighters. I shudder then wrap my arms around myself, battling the memories away.
It takes me several beats to even be able to clap my hands together. Three more fights go by. I recognize the fighters but don’t know them as well as Trick. Layla shows the same enthusiasm and respect for each Diablo’s fighter. I follow her lead in deciding when to cheer or wince.
“Your man is up.” She elbows me.
“I can’t do this, Layla.” I face her, shaking my head to the side.
“Yes, you can.” She grabs my hand, squeezing it tight. “He’s at the top of his game right now. You don’t want to miss this.”
Layla doesn’t drop my hand as Jag’s opponent walks to the cage. His song blares and there is complete ruckus. It’s not lost on me the crowd’s cheer for this man is staggeringly loud. It turns my stomach. With my novice knowledge, it seems he’s the favorite, which means the more skilled fighter.
“Stop. It’s the hype surrounding the fight. Jag is about to take this motherfucker down,” Layla whisper-yells in my ear, giving my hand an extra squeeze.
The announcer booms over the speaker. “Your hometown boy. The one your momma warns you about and the same one who can charm you out of your panties and knock your lights out. Jaaaaaaaaag the Punisher.”
Before the announcer’s deep booming voice ends, the crowd goes fucking wild. Sweat beads form on my forehead, and my stomach dips and dive bombs at the sound of his name.
“The fuck?” I whisper to myself, looking all around the gym.
Did they really just fuck up his music? The tune to SpongeBob SquarePants begins playing. I turn to Layla, who is bobbing her head to the music with a smile plastered on her face.
The crowd chants each word to the SpongeBob theme, not missing a beat. Layla screams each word right with them. I’m confused as hell. A sudden screeching sound serenades the gym. The song mixes up, cutting right into the middle of “Straight Out of Compton,” and I find myself shouting each word without second thought. I recognize the song from Jag’s playlist when he’s done cardio in his apartment. The only thing missing is the thumping of his sneakers on his treadmill.
I glance over to Layla with mysterious tears in my eyes as I shout the words. Her expression mirrors mine. Then I spot him. A bobbing black hood trimmed in vibrant teal. Boss and Cruz flank each of his sides. Other Diablo fighters follow right behind. The symbolic image of a family breaks the tears free from my eyes. The amount of pride surging through me is off the charts.
Jag keeps his head down as he strides to the ring. Halfway there, he picks up his pace into a jog. I giggle, knowing it’s pure Jag. The man has one gear, and that’s overdrive. His crew doesn’t pick up the pace with him, letting Jag take the lead. He leaps into the ring, tearing off his black robe and thrusting his fists into the air.
He beats his chest with his face tilted to the heavens. His mouth is wide open, and by the way his throat bobs, I know he’s screaming at the top of his lungs. Jag has always been a force to be reckoned with, but in this environment, he’s a king. He owns the entire arena. I don’t recognize the man he is right now, but holy hell he owns my heart even though this Jag is a stranger.
He glances down to me, winks, and then takes his corner. I have no doubt he knew I’d be right by Layla. Everything is the same as Trick’s fight. Boss is large and in charge, slapping Jag around and screaming in his face. My chest tightens at the sight. Boss is Jag’s father, and the love expressed between the two is enough to bring the cruelest person to their knees. Boss doesn’t have to love Jag because of a blood bond. No, he chooses to love Jag without judgment. And that’s something you don’t find every day.
“Layla,” I scream over the buzz of the crowd. “I’m scared.”
She smiles brightly back at me. “You should be.”
I crane my head in question.
“As hard as he fights in this ring tonight is as hard as he’ll fight for you. You should be scared for your heart, Sunni, because once Jag owns it you’re screwed, and I know he loves you.”
It takes me a few seconds to absorb her message. Once it sinks in, the crowd roars to a deafening state. My head whips back to the octagon. Jag and the other man are already dancing around each other. The long hair on the top of Jag’s head bounces back. It’s then I see his opponent connect a punch to his nose.
The blood dribbles down his face. The other guy gets three more punches in, whipping back Jag’s head. All of my former excitement evaporates. My heart plummets to the cold cement ground, watching the man I love get the shit kicked out of him. Not once does Jag’s jackass grin fade as he takes his punishment. It does nothing to the turmoil brewing inside of me.
“I can’t,” I scream, turning to Layla and burying my face in her shoulder.
Her hand comes up to the side of my head, bracing me in comfort. The sounds of the gym echo around me. Layla’s steady grip keeps me grounded even though the bone-crunching sounds continue. I can’t. I just can’t watch the man who brought me back to life get the shit beat out of him. I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering his knee-weakening grin before his gorgeous face dipped between my legs. I focus on all the good memories that warm my belly.
Layla jumps, causing my head to bounce off her shoulder. Her screams reverberate through my skull. She’s long gone as a post to lean on. Her body bounces up and down, which gives me the courage to look up.
I glance up. It’s all flashes of black, teal, and red until my vision narrows on Jag. His flexing calves come into view first. Then it’s his taut ass in spandex. It pains me to look at my safe place, his chest. When I do, all I see are his bulging and flexing muscles. A long arm comes out with a brutal force. Jag’s fist connects with the other guy’s jaw. He stutters back. Jag doesn’t stop throwing both arms, one after the other, some connecting and some not.
The man’s spine collides with the metal of the cage. Jag doesn’t stop until his opponent’s body collapses to the mat. Jag advances on the slumped figure, wrapping him in a chokehold. Unlike Trick’s opponent, who passed out, this guy slams his palm on the mat.
The official breaks in. He doesn’t have to break the two fighters apart because Jag leaps up in the air, coming down steady on his feet. He beats his chest then does a victory lap around the ring. He climbs the ring like a freak of nature. It takes me a moment to realize Trick has climbed the outer side of the ring. They meet in the middle, both straddling the top as they exchange some beastly shit. Jag and Trick pound their chests and fist their hands in the air.
The crowd goes berserk. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Boss walking back to the locker rooms. His back is strong and steady, his head raised in pride. The crowd near him goes wild. He slings out his hand, giving the on-goers their due. Cruz comes into view, growling into Layla’s ear. I hear him say “locker room” and Layla squeal back, “You didn’t fight.”
“You survived!” she shouts to me as Cruz wraps her up. “I only cuss like a sailor at fights, FYI.”
I smile at the enthusiasm coating each word and manage to nod.
Cruz ends up winning in the end when he scoops her up and grumbles he doesn’t give a fuck about not having a fight or something like that.
I’m left standing alone, watching Jag leap down from the top of the cage and somersault into a standing position. He races to my side of the cage and points at me.
“Door. Five minutes.”
I give him a quizzical stare.
“Door, five fucking minutes,” he shouts louder.
The pride and enthusiasm streaming through my veins forces me to nod. I’d give this guy anything right now. Hell, he’s already brought the best out in me with only the rotten side left. He forced me to love when I didn’t have the ability to. I’d rope the damn moon for him, and that’s no joke.
The crowd thins out quickly. I walk over to the door, feeling out of place. Everyone else is with a group of people laughing and talking. I fiddle with my fingers. They still shake from watching the fight. It’s hard to comprehend that Jag voluntarily enters that ring to get the shit beat out of him.
Tonight was amazing watching him even when he was getting punched. To watch the man who is full of life dominate in the ring has to be the best thing I’ve ever seen. I know he had been on a dry spell from all the talk in the diner and bar. The floodgates have opened, and like Layla said, nothing will stop the man.
I sense him before I ever spot Jag. It’s the inevitable tug and pull between us. The crowd who is left behind slap him on the back and offer up words of encouragement. He acknowledges every single person, making them feel special. The smiles he leaves behind make me grin.
“Good girl. Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Jag dips his face low to my ear with his gym bag slung over his shoulder. “I’m hard as a damn rock.”
“Your face,” I gasp and brush at the cuts and bruises on his face.
“You can put a bag on my head if you need to.” He thrusts his hips into me. “We need to go.”
I burst out laughing.
“Not nice to laugh about a man who has a raging hard-on, baby.”
“Let’s go.” I grab his hand, and we race to his apartment like we did so many nights ago.