4
ROCK MUSIC BLARED from the MGM Grand Garden Arena’s speakers as lights flashed in a strobing pattern, spelling out the letters W-F-C across the ceiling. An excited buzz mingled with the music as fans eagerly anticipated the first fight of the night. Megan looked around, taking it all in as she jotted down a few notes about the atmosphere and vibe. Palpable electricity hummed through the air, and she couldn’t help but feed off of the crowd’s energy.
The first time she’d come to a fight with Jules earlier that spring, there’d been a sense of exhilaration that had interested her in the sport. It was so much more than shirtless, sweaty dudes punching and kicking each other. It was discipline and skill and athleticism. It was heart and determination and guts.
Granted, she’d never complain about the shirtless dudes.
“Megan, I’ve only got a couple of minutes, so fire away,” Craig Darcy said as he dropped into the empty seat beside her. He had the same blond hair and blue eyes as Jules, and though he was in his late forties, the former boxer still maintained his athlete’s body.
She shot him a smile as she started her digital recorder, hoping the music wouldn’t interfere too much. “Thanks, Mr. Darcy. Over the past couple of years, the WFC has really started to take off. What’s the secret to your success?”
He shrugged. “No secret, really. I’ve been involved in this sport for nearly as long as you’ve been alive. Like any kind of success, it comes down to luck and hard work, mostly. I haven’t changed my approach even though we’re getting bigger. Simply put, I love what I do, and I work at it every day.”
She nodded, noting the way he gazed out over the arena like a king surveying his kingdom. He didn’t come out and say it, but she could tell he was proud of everything he’d accomplished. “What are your thoughts on Leandro Oliveira?”
He sighed heavily before answering. “Did you know that I fought to get him here? I threw money at him, dangled primo fights in front of him, practically threw myself on my knees and su—” He cut himself off and shot Megan a sheepish glance. “You, uh, you get the picture. And now that he’s here, a part of me wonders what the hell I was thinking. He does what he wants, when he wants it, if he feels like it. But he’s a damn good fighter. My money’s on him tonight. I’d be lying if I didn’t think him against Maddox would be a hell of an interesting fight. In short, my thoughts are . . . I guess conflicted is the right word here.”
Megan nodded again, trying to ignore the way her stomach dipped at the mention of Gabe. “There are rumors that some of the fighters aren’t happy about the Mereo deal, Oliveira included. Any comment on that?”
He rubbed a hand through his hair. “It’s a great opportunity for the fighters. Don’t know what you’ve heard, but they can keep their sponsors and make money from Mereo on top of it. I don’t know what more they could want. With Mereo, all they do is show up and we hand them a check. This deal gives them more time to focus on training, without limiting their income potential. You have to consider who’s complaining. Some of these guys could be making a million bucks a fight, and it still wouldn’t be enough.” He shook his head. “You know, you look at other professional sports, like baseball, football, hockey, whatever, all those guys can get outside endorsement deals. But they still gotta wear the team uniform on the field. It is what it is, and it’s a done deal.” He glanced down at his watch. “I gotta go. Call my assistant if you need more. Nice seeing you, kiddo.” Without so much as a handshake, he stood and left, striding off purposefully through the crowd.
Given the length of his answer and the defensive hunch of his shoulders, she had a feeling she’d touched a nerve with the Mereo question. She turned off her recorder and made a few notes about Darcy’s body language. She hadn’t planned to explore that angle in her article, but after dinner with Jules the other night, and now this, she wondered if it was worth looking into.
Glancing around the arena, she noticed all the different ads. Geico, Dragon Energy Drinks, Dick’s Sporting Goods. Did the fighters get any of the revenue from those ads? She made a note to dig a little more into that, because she wasn’t sure she bought Darcy’s story that the fighters were getting an entirely fair cut.
She scanned the seats closer to the front, looking for Gabe. She hadn’t allowed herself to ask Jules if he was coming tonight. Not after the text she’d gotten from her earlier that day.
I asked Nick about Gabe, and he said “tell Megan that she doesn’t want to go there.” Apparently, he doesn’t date at all.
Fresh disappointment worked its way through her as she tried to pretend Gabe wasn’t still in her head. It would never be more than a crush, and she needed to accept that. Pushing it all aside and trying to focus on work, she rose from her seat and made her way backstage, wanting to observe more of the prefight stuff happening behind the scenes. She flashed her press pass at one of the beefy security guards, who lifted the black curtain for her, letting her through to the draped-off area.
The buzz of the crowd still followed her, but abated slightly as she moved farther backstage. The normally large, open area had been partitioned off with more curtain dividers, creating a whole series of impromptu dressing rooms. Strains of music floated up into the air, and she could hear the thump of a fist or a foot against a punching bag. She walked slowly down the makeshift hallway, catching glimpses of fighters going through their warm-up routines. Stretching out. Talking strategy with their trainers. Sitting on benches, hoods up, headphones in. She jotted a few tidbits down, trying to capture the atmosphere on paper.
This is the place where humans become warriors. It doesn’t happen in the octagon, or in the gym. It happens among black curtains and carpeted floors. The air smells like sweat and nerves—byproducts of the transformation.
Her pen scrawled across the page of her notebook as she wandered and wrote, not wanting to lose the phrasing she’d just found.
“You lost, sweetheart?”
At the unfamiliar male voice, Megan glanced up to find a man wearing an MGM Grand shirt and holding a clipboard, staring at her. He was tall and skinny, with short, dark hair and a beaky nose. There was something about the light in his eyes she didn’t like, something cold and predatory. She’d walked to the end of the dressing room area, leaving it several feet behind her.
She clicked her pen and then held up her press pass. “No, just taking some notes.” She turned to walk back toward the main area, and he fell into step beside her. Holding her notebook like a shield, she clutched it in front of her stomach.
“Oh yeah? You’re a reporter?”
“Mmmhmm.” She nodded, not wanting to talk to him, trying to give off a screw off vibe with her body language.
“You know, I could probably introduce you to some fighters.” She glanced over at him just in time to watch his eyes slide down her body. She fought the urge to shudder and started walking a bit faster. He kept pace with her.
“I already know a lot of fighters, thanks,” she said, her words coming out tense and clipped.
“So, what are you?” he asked, stepping in front of her as he reached out and touched her hair. She jerked away and glanced around. The hallway was empty. Her lip curled. Being biracial, it was a question she’d gotten before, and one she found rude even when it wasn’t coming from a grade-A creep.
“Leave me alone,” she said, wondering if she’d need to scream and make a scene to get away from this guy. Every instinct was telling her he was bad news.
“Now, that’s not very nice,” he sneered, and her heart dropped into her stomach.
“Keep your chin down, and you’ll do fine.” Gabe touched his fists to his training partner’s as he stood to leave the dressing room. Tarek was making his debut in the WFC tonight, so Gabe had stopped by to give him some words of encouragement and help settle his nerves.
“Thanks, man. I’ll make you proud,” Tarek said with a smile.
“I’ll see you out there.” Gabe nodded at the trainers in the makeshift room and stepped out into the hallway, immediately on alert for Oliveira, who was headlining that night. Darcy had told him to stay away from the backstage area, but no way was Gabe letting that loudmouthed asshole keep him from the fighters who looked up to him.
He glanced down the hallway, and his gaze was caught by a couple near the end. Though her back was to him, he immediately recognized Megan. Her dark hair shot through with highlights fell in soft waves past her shoulders. She wore a clingy black dress with a thin red belt that emphasized her tiny waist and the lush curves of her hips. He wasn’t prepared for the flare of jealousy that prickled through his body when he realized she was talking to another man. Misplaced and unwelcome, it settled like a dead weight in his stomach.
Gabe knew he couldn’t give her what she needed—even though a part of him wished that he could be that man for her—so he had no right to begrudge another man the opportunity to talk to her. But he didn’t like it, and he couldn’t look away. If Gabe weren’t so damaged, he could ask her out, and she’d be in his bed. She’d be his, and fuck, that was appealing. His fists clenched in what was quickly becoming impotent rage as he watched her toss her head and imagined her smiling up at the guy. The man was tall and skinny and he had a stupid grin on his face as he took a step toward her, crowding her against the tan cinder-block wall.
There was something about that grin that pissed Gabe off. It wasn’t admiring and respectful, like it should’ve been. Any asshole who was fortunate enough to get a second look from Megan Sinclair should know how goddamn lucky he was. But this bastard was leering at her in a way that was predatory, and it didn’t sit well with Gabe. His jealousy had made him blind to her body language, but now that he was angry, he noticed how her shoulders were hunched and tense, as if she was trying to protect herself. The man grabbed her arm and she pulled it back while trying to slide past him. She glanced down the hallway as if looking for help, and for the first time, Gabe got a clear look at her face and the panic in her eyes.
“The fuck . . .” Gabe murmured as he started toward them with long strides. His heart pounded as adrenaline moved through him. “Get the hell away from her,” Gabe said, but the guy didn’t seem in too big a hurry to leave her alone. Gabe grabbed him by the back of his skinny neck and pulled him away from Megan. His eyes widened when Gabe picked him up by the front of his MGM Grand shirt, his fists snarled in the fabric, and pushed him back against the wall. “You don’t fucking touch her. Ever.”
The guy went pale and his mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish. “Ga . . . um . . . Mr. Maddox. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she was with you.” A pang of longing cut right through the center of Gabe’s chest at the false assumption, but no way was he letting this creep think he had a right to Megan.
“You don’t treat women like that. The fuck’s wrong with you?” Gabe tightened his grip and pushed the guy back against the wall again for good measure, making his breath whoosh out. “Apologize to her, asshole.”
“S-sorry, lady,” he said, and as soon as Gabe let him go, he took off running down the hallway, his shoes slipping on the thin carpet.
Megan leaned against the wall clutching her notebook to her chest, her eyes closed as she took several deep breaths. His gaze traced the softness of her full bottom lip before moving up to the graceful curve of her cheekbone. When he got to the dark fan of her eyelashes resting against her skin, she opened her eyes. They were a warm honey brown with a little bit of green swirled near the pupil. Her gaze met his, and the connection was as startling as a punch to his gut.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded, but she still looked shaken. Gabe was surprised to realize he wanted to pull her against him. He imagined her head would fit nicely tucked beneath his chin. Her body would be warm and soft, feminine and yielding.
“I’m okay,” she said, dropping her arms and then pushing her hair back from her face. His gaze dropped to her breasts with the movement. The buttons of her dress strained against the fabric as she moved. The top one was undone, giving him a peek of soft brown skin. His palms tingled as he imagined the weight of them in his hands, the softness of them against his mouth. His blood rushed through his veins and his jeans got a little tighter.
Jesus. He’d just run that creep off for doing almost the exact same thing. Taking a step back, he forced himself to look away briefly before meeting her gaze. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” She didn’t seem to notice that he’d been ogling her as she gave him a soft smile. “Thank you.”
He nodded, his gaze catching on the tip of her tongue as it darted out to moisten her lips. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “I don’t think he’ll bother you again.”
“Well, you were very convincing.” She let out a laugh, but he could tell it was forced. She was trying to regain her composure instead of dwelling on what had happened. It was a classic fighter move. Shake off the punch that came out of nowhere to knock you on your ass and get back in the match. Turned out his little journalist was a fighter. Who knew?
“Convincing that I could kick his ass?” He raised a brow.
She nodded, her shoulders relaxing. “And that I was with you. Thanks for that.”
He wasn’t prepared for how appealing that was. Her with him. He imagined her slim legs wrapped around him as he pressed her back against the wall, and clenched his jaw against the rush of arousal that moved through him. Dropping his arms, he shifted just in case the bulge in his jeans was noticeable and changed the subject. “What are you working on?” He nodded to the notebook in her hand.
She glanced down as if she’d forgotten about it. “I wanted to be able to share with readers the backstage energy as the athletes prepare for their bouts. Most of the people who read Mosaic will be new to the sport.”
“The place where humans become warriors,” he read the top line. “Warriors. That’s an interesting word choice.” It was no secret that women liked fighters. When he was out with the guys he trained with, it was obvious they worked out a lot, and women were drawn to that. Some of them got off on fucking men who beat people up for a living. They’d come over and flirt, send over drinks. It didn’t bother him. To the contrary, it was convenient given his aversion to commitment, but he never thought those women were into him personally. It was the persona that attracted them. For some reason, he’d thought Megan was different, that they’d had a genuine connection. But maybe she’d only seemed interested because he was a warrior, as she’d written.
“You think?” she asked. “It seems accurate.”
“How so?”
“Because you work hard and sacrifice, as you pointed out in our interview, but plenty of people do that in their jobs every day. It isn’t until you set foot here”—she held her arms out to indicate the backstage area—“that you transform. All of your training builds to this one moment where you’re not simply a human anymore. That all falls away and what you’re left with is a single-minded purpose. To be the best, to beat the other guy, to vanquish your opponent. To be victorious, at any cost. In that moment in the cage, nothing else matters.”
She paused, and he couldn’t speak. His heart pounded so hard that his blood roared in his ears. She looked so calm and serene, as if she hadn’t just summarized his entire life since the car accident that had killed his wife and son. He’d lost everything in that accident. He’d been driving and the guilt coupled with the sheer pain of their loss had broken his life into two parts. Before and after.
He’d spent the past five years living in the after, focusing solely on fighting. He did it so he didn’t have to think about the before. It was too painful. Fighting helped the before to fall away. Only when he was focused on the win and taking down the other guy in the cage could he forget the pain. Oblivion through catharsis. Trading pain for pain.
She smiled and added, “That sounds like the definition of a warrior to me.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that. She saw more than he’d realized, more than he was comfortable sharing, but not nearly enough to let her know that she should leave him alone. If she knew how truly damaged he was, she’d run from him.
The bass from the music in the arena vibrated through the walls. He nodded down the hallway. “Fights are starting.”
She looked down the hallway as if she’d just remembered they were backstage. “You go ahead. I’ll be a minute. I want to take some more notes.”
No way was he leaving her alone with that creep walking around. Gabe wouldn’t put it past him to come back looking for her. The bass stopped and someone opened a door farther down the hall, letting in the roar of the crowd. Craig Darcy’s voice came over the speakers as he opened the night. “Let’s find your seat, Megan.” Gabe put his hand on the small of her back and gently pushed her forward, urging her to fall into step beside him.
“Oh.” Her voice came out as a gasp that had him imagining the sounds she’d make beneath him. He caught the sweet scent of her perfume and gritted his teeth to fight back the accompanying wave of arousal. Everything about the woman was soft and feminine and so damned distracting he couldn’t think straight.
They didn’t speak the entire way to the arena. The usher recognized him and let them in without asking to see tickets. Gabe paused at the top of the steps leading down toward the cage because he wasn’t sure where she was sitting. When he looked over at her, she bit her bottom lip, and that’s when he knew she’d felt the tension between them. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and, fuck, he wanted to put it on her. He wanted to taste every inch of her body. His hand pressed more firmly into her back as she leaned into his touch, and he had to forcibly stop it from grabbing her ass.
“Where to?” he finally managed to say.
She moved in front of him and he had to let her go so they could go down the steps, his gaze on the firm, round cheeks of her ass as she made her way down. His palms tingled again, for a different reason this time. “Thanks,” she said, coming to a stop at the end of a row near the octagon with a few empty seats in the middle. He gave a small wave to Jules, who was already in her seat.
“No problem,” he said. “I’m over here.” He pointed two sections over.
“Okay.” She nodded. “See you. And, um, thanks again.”
He had the feeling she wanted him to say more, but she didn’t elaborate. He took a deep breath, taking another hit of her scent, and gave a nod as he went off to his own seat.
Some of the other fighters were already there, and he spent the next couple of hours watching the fights and talking shit with the guys, but he couldn’t stop looking over at Megan. He’d catch a glimpse of her every now and then, but it was never enough. He wanted more of her. So much more.
Finally, it was time for Oliveira’s fight, and Gabe forced himself to pay attention. The bastard was gunning for Gabe’s belt, and he had no intention of giving it up. Especially not to a cocky, entitled fuck like Oliveira.
The announcer, Gary Watts, walked into the cage. A retired fighter, he walked with the swagger of a man who’d seen many fights, and occasionally, he slurred his words. Gary was legendary for three things. He’d once knocked out an opponent in nine seconds. He’d fought over fifty times. And he could drink any man under the table. Hell, he could probably drink a fucking gorilla under the table, and set about proving it on a daily basis. But he had a baritone voice and a charm that the fans loved. They cheered as soon as he made an appearance. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the main event of the evening!” The crowd went wild and he paused to let them settle down before introducing the fighters. When it was his turn, Oliveira walked into the cage like a king, his head high and fists raised to a chorus of cheers and boos. Gabe waited for him to make eye contact and call him out, but Oliveira was too busy preening for the fans.
The fighters were evenly matched. They spent the first three rounds exchanging blows and taking each other down, but Oliveira edged out O’Malley to take round three, giving him a lead in the points going into round four. But it turned out he didn’t need it. Halfway through the round, Oliveira delivered a spinning wheel kick that knocked O’Malley backward. Oliveira followed him down, but it was obvious he was out, and the referee jumped between them, waving Oliveira off.
The crowd exploded and Oliveira let out a victory roar. Running a lap around the cage, he hoisted himself onto the top and looked around as medical personnel and trainers filed into the octagon. Oliveira spotted Gabe and pointed at him. Gabe couldn’t hear what he yelled over the crowd, but he gave a nod. Darcy wouldn’t announce the next fight just yet, but Gabe knew he’d be defending his belt against Oliveira. Bring it on. Gabe couldn’t wait to give the asshole a lesson in humility.