Chapter 26
Me: I slept like shit. What is this power you hold over me?
Whitney: I slept like a baby. The empty bed is fantastic.
Me: I hate you’ve lost your innocence.
Whitney: You love it.
Me: It’s you that I do. Will you have time to watch?
Whitney: I’ll be home after the fights start. He’s going last right?
Me: Main event is always the last.
Whitney: Then yes.
Me: I’ll call you after.
Whitney: I love you. Good luck.
Me: Love you
I sigh, shoving my phone back in my pocket and glance up to Carter studying me.
“Can I fucking help you?” I snap.
He grins like a knowing little bastard. “Not at all.”
“Get your ass ready.” I throw his gloves at him. I’ve already wrapped his hands. “Let’s warm you up.”
I hold the pads as he jabs them and I return several punches. I’d be a fucking liar if I said I wasn’t worried about this fight. I’ve studied his opponent, Phinney, and let’s be honest here, the shithead is pretty damn good. He has two years on Carter, which means more fight experience. Carter might be good, but he’s still inexperienced. He doesn’t know it all. Hell, he doesn’t know half of it, but the kid stands his ground well.
The head dickheads threw him to the wolves, planning his last two fights within a month of each other. It tells me they’re worried about me. It’s a fucking compliment. They have all the right to stress because I’m coming for the pros. I’ll be in their octagon, defeating all their precious paychecks. I’ll be the rule changer.
I am the rule changer.
It’s been an hour of keeping him warmed up when the officiant sticks his head in the door to say Carter’s up next. Perturbed determination settles on Carter’s expression, but he doesn’t say anything and grabs his shirt, shrugging into it before taking a swig of his water.
There aren’t any words as we’re ushered to line up just outside the entrance. Even from here you can feel the energy the crowd emits. It’s rolling off everyone in waves. This is where adrenaline begins striking your heart, where your muscles feel the verve, itching to release their strength.
This is where your heart ramps up and if you’re nervous, like he is, it’s where it courses the worst. Once in the octagon, determination lifts the worry. Perseverance tracks through your blood.
That is where you fucking feel the win.
Orange lights radiate his entrance. The mass of people scream, bellowing out their excitement. Whether you win or lose, they came here for a fight, for blood, for the brutal beat down about to happen before them.
Carter bounces from toe to toe, shaking out his arms, nodding his head to music wailing from the speakers. Fans stretch out and we both reach back, because let’s admit it, when the Striker walks in, that’s who they see.
After he’s checked in, I take my post. “You’ve got this. Slow and steady, fast and calculated. Nothing sloppy,” I bark my orders. “He’s a ground player. It’s where he’s comfortable. If you’re not down there, he’s not comfortable. Swiftness.”
Carter nods just before the lights cut back out and Phinney’s entrance begins.
I’m so fucking ready to get back in the cage. So fucking ready to pummel these bastards who think they can destroy me. I’m fucking ready. So motherfucking ready to explode.
The ref centers the men, states the rules, and then backs them up. My body is on fire with anticipation and then my most favorite word is shouted—fight!
They size each other up, circling like vultures, bouncing their hands. Carter is the first to make a move and strikes with a left. Phinney feigns away, watching Carter’s body language intensely.
There’s a slight shift in Phinney’s hips. I catch it, but Carter doesn’t and is surprised by a vicious thigh kick.
“Always signals,” I yell, reminding him.
Carter lunges forward thrashing a left and following up with a right combination. Phinney uses his arms to block it and counters aggressively mirroring Carter’s advances. He forces Carter backward and lands two of the several punches he throws. Carter pushes back, and they begin trading punches, bobbing and weaving trying to block.
Carter’s fucking feet are flat and planted. “Lighten up!” I shout.
Phinney rushes him and drops Carter to his back, catching him in half-mount. He lifts and slams an elbow against Carter’s cheek, but Carter bucks, trying his best to get out of it. Being in half-guard is frustrating, but he has to slow his jets.
“Watch the elbows!” I shout. “Keep his leg. Twist out but no back!”
I know from experience, coaches’ orders don’t always register when you’re in a state of trying to get out of a tricky situation, so it’s no shock that Carter doesn’t listen. He bucks, trying to maneuver Phinney into a position where he can try landing a few stunning blows from the bottom.
The bell rings and Phinney strides to his side while Carter drops onto his stool. I hold an ice pack between his shoulder blades and barrel into his face.
“You’re fucking advertising your moves. Stop. He’s gassing you out. Make every strike count. Remember, every unlanded punch is more energy wasted than landing them. Make them count. His rights are intense. Stay away from them.”
He nods taking a swallow of his water.
“Carter, listen to me.” I square up in his face, forcing him to stare me in the eyes. “You see the opening, you fucking execute it. Keep him on his feet.”
I’m cut off by the warning bell and have to shuffle out. My heart is pounding, blood pressure through the roof. I want in there. I want to knock Phinney the fuck out on my own. I fucking want to destroy the bastard myself.
Something, I don’t know what, draws my attention to my right. It’s as if evil tapped my shoulder. Mr. Walker himself sits calmly with his fingers laced lazily in front of him. He smirks tipping his chin. I arch a brow, and then shift back to Carter.
Fuck that motherfucker.
Phinney has Carter against the chain links, pressing hard into him and limiting his moves. Inexperience shines when Carter twists, giving Phinney his back.
“No!” I roar in panic, but it’s too late. Phinney wraps around Carter like a fucking anaconda.
Carter grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut and flailing his elbows behind him.
“Fucking focus!” I snap. “Don’t panic!”
It’s the last thing he needs to do. Having air slowly restricted from your brain can be scary as fuck if you don’t know what to do, and Carter clearly has alarm all over his face. I watch, like a slow-motion movie, Carter lunge backward, dropping them both on the mat.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I shout. “Twist out of it. Don’t panic.”
I clench my fist. Rookie move. Rookie mistake. Fuck.
Carter thrashes, bucks, and then somehow gets out from the hold, twisting to full mount on top of Phinney. Blood surges through me.
“Bomb him!”
And he does, driving in punch after punch, slamming forearms across his face. Phinney tries to hug him close to his body, but somehow Carter keeps pushing him back down.
The clock says twenty seconds.
“Twenty!” I snap out.
Carter grips Phinney’s neck with his left, pinning him down old-fashioned style, and slams his fist into his face repeatedly. Phinney’s hands lash out, trying to protect himself, but Carter’s patient and waits for his opportunities. Over and over, he strikes and draws back, hoisting his body while delivering a fist into Phinney. Carter uses so much force, his legs jerk straight. Phinney limps out.
“Don’t fucking stop!” My voice strains my throat. “Un-fucking-load.”
And he does, but he only gets two direct punches in before the ref shoves Carter off Phinney, placing his body between the two men.
He won.
Carter fucking won.
He fucking won!
I spring to the mat, leaping to the top of the chain link fence and dropping over it. I charge Carter, bear hugging the fuck out of him. Both of us are bellowing our elation.
“You fucking won,” I thunder out. “You fucking won!”
I’m pushed aside so the announcer can declare the winner and again I’m flooded with happiness. I slap Carter’s shoulder, proud as fuck when the reporter jumps in shoving a microphone into our faces.
“Ryker, how does this feel?” the bald man smiles.
I shake my head and point to Carter. I hate interviews. “This victory is his. Ask him.”
“I can’t believe it. Phinney was tough, the toughest I’ve experienced so far,” Carter gushes.
The reporter laughs. “You’re a rookie and on a three-streak win. How’s that feel and what’s the secret?”
“It feels incredible.” Carter nods his head to me. “I’ve got the best fighter coaching me. The secret’s out.”
“Speaking of,” the reporter grabs my arm, moving me beside him as Mr. Walker walks up. The bald reporter hands him the microphone.
Mr. Walker is in my territory regardless if he owns this shit or not. I battle here and it takes all I have not to knock the heartless fuckhead out.
He congratulates Carter, shaking his hand and then turns to me. “Great job, Ryker.”
What? No formalities?
“On behalf of the MMAT & MMAP, a deal is a deal. Therefore, I’m happy to announce your comeback fight with Malicious Malone, two weeks from tonight in Salt Lake City.”
I want to knock the smug right out of his grin.
Grinning devilishly, I rip the microphone from his hands and level my glower. “Your try at intimidation flatters me. You’re worried. You should be. I hope to see you there.” I shove the microphone into his chest with a bit more thrust than I should, but fuck it. It’s better than the alternative of leaving him spread out on the mat.
But then I wouldn’t get to enjoy the look of vexation on his face right now.
I smirk and turn my back to him.
My interview is over.
“Congratulations!” Whitney screams into the phone.
Pulling it away from my ear, I chuckle. “Thanks.”
“Two weeks, huh? You were cocky as hell, weren’t you?”
A loud laugh booms from me. “You forget who I am?”
“I’m proud of you,” she says and I shit you not, it’s as if she just reached through my chest and squeezed the fuck out of my heart. “You’ve worked so hard for this.”
“You can’t be talking like this while I’m hours away from you,” I warn.
She giggles sweetly.
“Carter wants to go celebrate. Mind if I go?”
What the fuck did I just ask?
“What the hell did you just ask me?” She cackles. “Ryker. Permission? Seriously?”
“You’re a powerful woman, Whit,” I tease.
“The headlines did say I tamed the beast,” she titters. “I should have a whip.” She pauses. “Wait! No. No I shouldn’t.”
“I’m perfectly content keeping the whip out of the room. It’ll take the sting from my palms anyway.” I say thickly.
“Go have fun. You deserve it,” she tells me.
We say our goodbyes and hang up. I shower, change my clothes and head to Carter’s room beside mine.
I remember now why I loathe clubs. I’m surrounded by drunk women, drunker men, all stumbling to find a good time for the night. Easy…it isn’t appealing.
We’ve held down this table along the side wall for an hour. I’ve watched Carter dance, yes, finally able to break free and dance. Although, he can’t move for shit, he gets out there and tries. I’ve been babysitting this beer the whole time. My last hangover had me wishing death would push through the door and take my agony away. But Carter, on the other hand, is going to hate life tomorrow. He’s about five shots and two beers down…and it’s only been an hour.
He returns from the dance floor, striding proudly with his arm wrapped around a copper brunette. Her dark purple dress hugs her body as she hugs him.
“Ryker, this is Becca.” He releases her name on desire.
I laugh inwardly. I remember these nights. Just starting out and thinking I was something. All the women flocked to me and I fucking enjoyed the hell out of it. Something about a bad boy attracts all the good lays.
She puts her hand out for me to take. Not shake.
I tip my head leaving the petite hand dangling. “Nice to meet you.”
She blinks seductively, dragging her teeth along her bottom lip. “It’s nice to meet you too.”
Carter plops his drunk ass on the stool and pulls her onto his lap. She giggles, wrapping her arms around his neck, and they start whispering amongst themselves.
If he plays his cards right, he’ll have a damn good night.
“Hey,” a voice says behind me.
I drop my view to the hand on my arm before turning around. Smokey, stunning “down to fuck” eyes peer up at me. Her lips are rocking a ravishing red color, quirked up with seduction.
“How come you’re standing here alone?” she purrs, placing herself to my front.
My brow jumps high and the corner of my lips pull. “Because my wife is at home.”
She runs her tongue across her top lip and bats her eyes flirtatiously. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her then,” she says as she’s running her paws up my chest.
I laugh. “Aren’t you a prize.” My tone is laced with sarcastic annoyance.
She steps back and runs her hands down her body giving her hips more attention. “Don’t pretend you don’t like what you see.”
Jesus…this is what I used to thrive on.
I shake my head. “I didn’t.”
She leans closer with come-hither eyes. “Then let me take care of you tonight.”
I stretch my head from shoulder to shoulder, glancing to the amused Carter.
“What’s your name?” I ask low.
“Kelly,” she sighs, touching my arm again.
I bend my head, placing my lips right beside her ear. I pause, listening to her breath pick up before I speak. “Kelly…” I draw it out setting her up. “I married my fantasy. No need to try to be what you’re not.”
Shock dons in her expression as she withdraws her hand, taking a step away. Her stunning eyes are filled with angry rejection. “That was pretty rude.”
It surprises a chuckle from me. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you wanted respect with how sluttastic you were acting,” I deadpan.
She just stands there blinking at me. I wait but I get nothing.
Tipping my head to Carter, I tell her. “You’ll have better chance with him. Maybe his friend won’t mind if you join.”
Carter’s eyes nearly bug out. I’ll admit, mine did the first time I was offered, and I wasted abso-fucking-lutely no time rushing to my room to consume the entire situation.
I don’t wait to see what plays out and step past, clapping Carter’s shoulder. “Plane flies out at ten. Keep it safe.”
The hotel is two blocks from the club, so instead of catching a cab, my ass walks, whistling motherfucking dixie.
“Hello?” my beautiful wife answers sleepily.
“My sleeping beauty,” I croon into the phone.
“Are you drunk?”
I laugh. “No. But I had to call you and tell you. I’ve still got it.”
“You thought you lost it? You’re delusional.”
“You forgot sexy,” I say.
“That’s a given.” Her voice says she’s smiling. “Was she pretty?”
Women—why do you ask such questions expecting the honest raw truth? You know you don’t want to hear it.
“I’m pretty sure Carter will have a fun night. I, on the other hand, will be snoring until morning.”
“Marriage has changed you,” she snickers. “You used to be more…oh, I don’t know what the word is. Filthy? Dirty mouthed?”
“You want me to say I’m heading back to rub one out? Cause, Whit, it’ll be your face I’m coming on.”
She gets quiet and I swear I can feel the heat of her blush through the phone. This too makes me laugh.
“You’d think I would’ve corrupted you by now,” I say.
“At times, my purity is tested.”
“Please tell me you didn’t have a straight face when you said that,” I ask.
“Not a chance,” she admits.
“I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon,” I say.
“I’ll be waiting.”
We hang up just as I step into the hotel lobby. Once inside the room, I strip and rest with my hands behind my head. I know I’ve changed, but it’s for her. I’m still the same Ryker without the wild arrogance. Now I have a purpose, something more to live life for. And right now, I’m missing the fuck out of her scent.