Chapter 2 (Jackson)
“And in this corner- weighing in at 235lbs of pure steel. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you- 'Jack the Ripperrrrrr,' ” the announcer yells, while I inwardly cringe.
There are no words to describe how much I truly hate my stage name.
Needless to say, I didn't choose it.
Just like every other decision for the last 3 years, it was made for me.
I have no control over my own life anymore. And I fucking hate it.
Ricardo, my mob appointed coach; taps my back and whispers words of encouragement. I nod my head as he walks off to sit in the far corner.
I look up at the camera positioned directly above the ring and give another nod. This one's for the devil himself, Bruno DeLuca.
I'd only met him once, but I know for a fact that he watches every single match, without fail.
I search the crowd for Tyrone, yes—that Tyrone who fought in Mike's place that horrible night. Funny how the world works. Shortly after I joined the 'DeLuca family', Tyrone ended up joining as well.
Obviously, not of his own free will. He got involved with the wrong crowd, in his hometown of Alabama; and ended up going down for some shit that really wasn't his fault, but got put on him anyway.
That's, of course, when DeLuca came in to save the day.
Not only is Tyrone one hell of a fighter, but he's also my good friend and roommate. He's also the only person I talk to about Lilly in my darkest times.
He's not scheduled to fight tonight, but we always show up to support one another.
I lock eyes with him briefly. He gives me a big smile and fist pumps the air. “Give em' hell, J-man! Break bad on em',” he shouts in his thick Southern accent.
I try not to smirk, and study my opponent instead.
I've got about an inch on him, but he's got a good 10-15lbs on me. From what Ricardo told me about him, he's more of a boxer, rather than an MMA fighter.
This should be an interesting match.
That's the other thing about DeLuca's fight club. It's pretty much anything goes. Even dirty style fighting.
Especially dirty style fighting.
My opponent rolls his shoulders and snorts.
The announcer walks off and I hear the sound of the cage being locked around us.
I assume my stance and the bell rings.
Adrenaline pulses through me as he advances toward me and attempts a right jab to my face.
I deflect and cock my arm at a 90-degree angle and get him with a right hook instead. He grunts and comes at me with another jab and quickly attempts to grab me. He almost had me for a second, but I get him with a sharp uppercut to his jaw.
Blood spews out and he begins to stumble backward.
Then I see it.
Out in the crowd, I can't help but notice her in the second row.
The same girl who entered my dressing room earlier.
Only, it's not her long blonde hair, smokin' body, or beautiful hazel eyes that grab my attention this time.
It's the utter fear I see in them.
I look down and see that some asshole has his fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist...and he's not letting up. It looks like she was trying to serve him a drink, but instead, he's forcing her to sit on his lap.
His movements are only getting more aggressive, and no one's doing a damn thing about it. He then reaches up with his other hand and palms one of her breasts.
That's when I lose my shit.
I run over to the side of the cage. “Let her go! Now!”
Both he and the crowd ignore me and begin to chant my name instead. I cock my head to the side and look at Ricardo. “Help her! Get her out of here!” I scream.
He points to his ear and shakes his head.
Fuck, he can't hear me.
I scan the crowd for that asshole, Luke, who's supposed to be in charge of the ring girls. He looks over at her, but instead of helping her, he only shrugs and smiles at me.
I growl and flip him the bird.
I look out into the crowd for Tyrone and begin rattling the cage. The crowd cheers even louder then.
Bastards.
I begin scaling the cage, and finally; Tyrone looks at me. I point in her direction. “Get her out of here, now...” I start to say until I'm quickly yanked back.
Something solid hits my eye with enough force to turn my head and knock my mouth guard out.
I can hear the crowd collectively gasp.
I've never been hit dead on before. I've always been able to deflect it.
My opponent smiles from ear to ear...but little does he know that he just unleashed hell.
Out of the corner of my good eye, I see Tyrone heading in her direction.
At least, she'll be safe now. This is no place for a girl like her, that's for sure.
Visions of Lilly flash through my mind. The pain flows through me and I let my opponent have it.
We start to grapple, but it's a lost cause for him. I'm hitting him with numerous elbow strikes, uppercuts, and jabs. I don't even realize I've already knocked him out until someone bombards the cage and pulls me off of him.
I almost take a swing at them, before I hear Ricardo's voice. “You got him, man. He's out. You did it,” he says.
I stare down at my opponent and all I see is Mike...all I see is that night.
Despite the crowds frantic cheers, I run out of there.
***
After a shower and a brisk visit with one of the mob doc's, it's declared that, although extremely swollen, there's no permanent damage to my eye.
All the fights scheduled for the night are now over, so I grab my bag and head out into the cool late September night air.
As soon as I step out...I'm immediately struck by a tiny fist to the face.
What the hell?
“Thanks a lot, dick,” a woman's voice yells.
I look down and can hardly believe my eyes. It's the same blonde from earlier. Except this time, she looks beyond pissed.
Not something I was expecting.
I pull my bag up higher over my shoulder and stare at her. “You know, usually, damsel's in distress say 'thank you' after being saved.”
She lifts her chin. “Fuck you,” she spews. “I really needed this job and now I'm fired.” She jabs a finger into my chest. “All because of you. Didn't anyone ever teach you how to mind your own business? I was fine in there.”
I shake my head and begin walking. “You weren't fine. You were being assaulted.” I stop walking and look at her. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
She tightens her leather jacket around her and crosses her arms over her chest. “I just told you. I got fired and I really needed that job.”
I shrug. “Trust me, you're better off. This is no place for a girl like you.”
“You don't even know me,” she whispers.
Well, she has me there.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a wad of cash. She begins to protest, but I give her no choice. “Here. Sorry for the inconvenience I caused you. Obviously, you really need the money or you wouldn't have punched me in the face over it. Word to the wise...not all men would react the same way I would to being punched, so be careful out there.”
I continue walking, even though I can hear her footsteps following behind me. “Thanks, but I can't accept this. I like to earn my money.”
She tries handing it back to me, but I decline. “Look, Luke owed you money for the night anyway. Consider this your payment from the club.”
She begins walking beside me. “How's your eye?”
“Fine. No permanent damage.” I cross the street with her still in toe beside me. “Do you live around here or something?” I ask.
She looks at me curiously and I see the corner of her lips twitch. “Well, unlike you. Yes, I'm a New Yorker.”
“What gave it away?”
She smiles and I see the hint of a dimple on the left side of her cheek peek out. “I don't know, but that's a wicked cool accent you got there, Boston.”
I can't help but smile myself. She's good, I'll give her that much. “So, damsel, what's your name?”
She shoots me an icy cold stare. “I'm not a damsel. And I'll tell you, if you promise to never call me that again.”
“Deal, but that deals only in effect until the next time I see you.” I give her a wink. “Then all bet's are off,” I tease.
“Alyssa.”
I give her a smirk. “So does that mean you're planning on seeing me again in the future?”
She shakes her head as we cross another street and walk down another block. “No offense, Jackson. But you're not really my type.”
Not gonna lie, that stung a little. Then, I think about the reality of the situation and know she's right. I already know that this girl deserves a lot better than someone like me. Not to mention the fact that dating isn't exactly my thing. “Yeah, you're probably right. Take care,” I say before I begin walking ahead of her.
“Jackson,” she calls out and I can't help but turn around. “Thank you,” she says before she opens a car door.
I nod my head, but can't help but wonder. “You drive?”
“Yeah, I live on Long Island. Nassau County to be exact,” she says.
“I thought you said before that you were a real New Yorker?”
She snorts and her eyes shoot daggers at me. She lets out a slew of curses finally ending with, “I am a New Yorker, you Boston prick.”
Then she slams her car door and guns the engine.
That's when I notice it. It's a few years old...but she's definitely driving a BMW.
She's obviously not that hard up for money after all. And I just gave her everything in my wallet.
Shit, I guess it's true what they say. There really is a sucker born every minute.