Twenty-eight
Raven
“What’re you doing here, Ray?” Leo walks into Guy’s office as I’m putting my stuff in a locker. “Thought you’d be spending the day with your man. Big fight tonight.”
I suck in a shaky breath. Big fight is right. That’s why I’m here on my day off. Jonah has to go to the training center, and there isn’t enough work left to do on the Impala to keep my head in a good place until tonight.
“Nah. He’s got official UFL stuff to do all day. I’m going to meet up with him after the fight.” I put on my most unaffected face and stroll past Leo into the garage. “What have we got?” I motion to the few cars in the bay.
“You can run a diagnosis on the Tahoe. Said it’s making some clinking noise. Check the alternator.” He goes back to working on a Toyota.
Greatest thing about working with guys, they never ask too many questions.
I start work on the Tahoe, my hands moving through the procedures, but my head wrapped up in tonight. Flutters of nervous energy turn my stomach and tighten my chest. My phone rings in my pocket, making me jump three feet in the air, and earning me a lowbrow look from Leo.
“Hey, Eve.” I greet my friend loud enough for Leo to hear. He rolls his eyes and disappears back beneath the hood of the car.
“Rave. Ugh, I’m so pissed right now.” Her voice sounds genuinely pissed, and she’s huffing and puffing like she’s just run a marathon.
“Why? Are you okay?” I head back to Guy’s office, close the door, and flop down in his chair.
“Hillary came in two nights ago with the stomach flu. I told her to take the night off, but did she listen? Noooo.” She grunts loudly and I hear something heavy drop. “So here I am, forty-eight hours later with six, six people short for dinner service tonight. On one of the busiest nights of the summer.”
I know where this conversation is going. My nervous flutter turns into a throbbing pound. She’s not coming.
“I have to work. There’s no way around it.”
Darn it.
“I understand. It’s a bummer, but you’re the manager. What can you do?”
“Um . . . I could kill that bitch Hillary for starters.” More banging.
“What are you doing? It sounds like you’re trashing your house.”
“Oh, what am I doing?” Her voice is high and dripping in sarcasm. “I’m setting up the bar. By myself! I have one bartender tonight. One! Man, I need a drink.”
I rub my forehead. How am I going to get through this night without my best friend?
“Where’s the after party?” Her question gets my attention.
“After party?”
“Well, yeah. Duh. The heavyweight champion throws an after party following a big win. Jeez, Rave, how long have you lived in this town?”
“Right. Um . . . okay.” There will be no big win, therefore, no after party, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“I’ll be off by eleven. Text me and I’ll meet you guys out. Just make sure to have Mr. Pecs-n-Abs put me on the list.”
Her mention of being put on the list reminds me of Vince. “Hey, have you heard from Vince?”
Her throat clears followed by an even bigger bang that has me pulling the phone from my ear. “Nope.”
One word answer. Translation: I don’t want to talk about it.
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
One word again.
“I’ll text you after the fight.”
“Sounds good. And Rave, I’m really sorry.”
“No worries. I’ll see you tonight.”
I end the call as a new layer of dread falls on my shoulders. At least I’ll have Katherine there with me. He’s going to lose this fight. Everyone will be devastated, but at least I’ll be free for us to be together. That’s all that matters.
I punch out a quick text to Jonah.
Eve called. Emergency at work. She’s not going to make it.
I’m holding the phone in my hand when it chimes seconds later. New text.
Sorry, baby. Ask Guy? xJ
I never thought to ask Guy. He’d love to go to a UFL championship fight, and I’d love the extra support, even if he has no clue what’s at stake.
Great idea! I love you.
I’m already dialing Guy’s phone number from the garage line when my phone chimes again.
His ticket will be at will call. See you in a few hours. I love you more. xJ
~*~
Jonah
My drive to the UFL Training Center is silent. Usually on fight day, I surround myself with deep, bass-hitting music. It always helps me to get pumped up, ready to destroy my opponent. Not today. I’m lost in the weight of my thoughts. My strategies for the fight play in my head on an endless loop.
Stay away from the jaw. Take him to the ground, lock him down. Keep moving. Do not get hit in the face.
My pulse pounds with adrenaline for the fight. But tonight I’m amped for a different reason.
After tonight, this mess with Dominick will be over. Raven will be free and clear to live a long happy life.
That’s if I avoid flipping the switch. I’ve never, not once, been able to control it from happening. A groan rumbles in my chest. There’s too much on the line for me to doubt myself. I will control it tonight.
Before I know it, I’m pulling into the lot at the training center. I jump out of the truck and head to the door in a daze. My head is a whirlwind. I focus on my pre-fight checklist to keep my mind off the emotion.
Weigh-in, strategy meeting, warm up, arena.
I quicken my pace through the parking lot as a few photographers snap pictures.
“‘Assassin,’ you ready for the fight tonight?” The reporter has a microphone at the end of his outstretched arm.
With a tug to drop my baseball hat lower, I ignore him and keep walking.
“Is it true that fighters never have sex before a big fight?” another reporter shouts.
Fucking idiots.
“Do you have a lucky charm of some kind? Dirty socks or a jock strap?”
Do they really expect me to stop and give them an answer? I force a smile their way, pulling off a sneer at best.
Pushing through the doors, I’m hit with cold air that prickles my skin. Blake’s sitting alone in the lobby, obviously waiting for me.
“Blake.”
He stands and meets me halfway to the hall. His eyes work the room before coming back to me. “You ready for this shit, man?”
I nod.
“All right, dude. I got your back. We do this as planned, shouldn’t be any problems. You’re home in bed with your girl, naked if you’re lucky, by midnight.”
A grin pulls at my lips. “Got it.”
Blake drops his signature crooked smile and his jaw goes hard, eyebrows dropped low. “Let’s fucking do this shit!”
He claps me on the shoulder and leads the way into the locker room. My entire team is there huddled in the back, waiting. I’m greeted with fist bumps and chin lifts.
Guilt eats away at my insides. My crew has worked just as hard as I have to get me this fight. They’ve trained with me non-stop, taken punches, suffered injuries, all for me. I’m letting them down by not going out there and giving it my all.
I sit on a bench, elbows on my knees, focusing on the ground. I force myself to pull an image of Raven to the forefront of my mind: her wide, innocent, aquamarine eyes. That’s it. I need to keep my mind right here.
“You ready?” Owen says as he plops down at my side.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I fix my eyes to the floor. It’s a dick move, but I’m hoping he brushes it off to me getting in the zone.
“Good enough. Let’s warm you up and get you to weigh-in.”
My body moves through all of the pre-fight bullshit, but my mind is absent. I pop in my earbuds and listen to music, mentally walking myself through every round. The guys don’t talk to me much, only direct me where to go and what to do. Every now and then I catch a look from Blake. His jaw set, eyes cold, but knowing. We seem to share the same thought. Let’s get this shit done.
We load up into a white van and head to the arena. The streets are lined with tourists, fans, and paparazzi. I’m grateful for the dark, tinted windows and the inconspicuous car that allows us through without hassle. The driver avoids the front entrance and turns down a ramp to a private parking garage where he parks beneath the arena.
Blake turns around in his seat. “It’s show time.”
We unload from the van where we’re met by a man in a suit. He introduces himself as the event planner and takes us to our assigned dressing room.
The space is about half the size of the locker room at the UFL Training Center. Two large leather couches line the walls with a coffee table in between. The floor has been covered with padded, interlocking mats that provide cushion for a grappling warm up. A heavy bag hangs in the corner, along with some boxing mitts. A small refrigerator sits in the opposite corner, probably stocked with water and a variety of sports drinks.
I drop my bag of gear next to a couch and take a seat while the guys on my team talk to the planner. Blake turns from the group, stalking toward me. His face is hard. Shit. Once he reaches me, his hand motions to his ear for me to pop out my earbuds.
He points to the door. “Motherfucker’s sending in chicks.”
“The fuck you say?”
A woman in this room would cause the exact opposite environment that I need. Before a fight it’s all about relaxation. A relaxed mind is a sharp mind. The last thing any of us need is some chick in here kissing ass.
I shift to the side on the couch to look behind Blake. My team is hovering over the event planner, pointing in his face. The poor suit looks like he might shit his pants. I sit back, shrug, and lock eyes with Blake.
“It’s probably just something the networks orchestrated for ratings. They come, they sit in the corner and keep to themselves. They keep the fuck away from me.”
“Been fighting here for years and never had chicks in the dressing room.” Blake’s eyebrows lower over his eyes. “Gibbs knows we need calm before a fight. Why would he agree to this shit?”
“No clue. But lately this publicity shit is leading him around by his dick.” First Camille, now this. He seems less about the fight and more about the ratings.
Blake nods then turns back to the team and the suit. I pop in my earbuds, drop my head back, close my eyes, and pull up my girl’s face.
I’m lost in the music when the couch dips next to me. I look up to see Blake mouthing something at me, and squint to read his lips.
“. . . fucking told you that dick was up to no good.”
I catch something out of the corner of my eye that makes me do a double take.
Candy.
What the hell is she doing here? Before the question registers in my mind, it’s answered.
Distraction.
Candy and a girl I’ve never seen saunter around the room, asking if there is anything anyone needs. They’re both wearing what amounts to Hooter’s uniforms, minus the owl. Their red shorts look like they’re painted on and their tank tops look more like sports bras.
Fucking Dominick.
“Wes!” My blood is boiling and I’m itching for a fight. I shake my head, half furious and half impressed with Dominick’s play.
If he can’t distract me, he’ll piss me off enough to want to kill someone then put me in the octagon.
My head trainer turns and walks to me. “What’s up, Jonah?”
I stand and meet Wes eye to eye. “I want those girls out of here. Now.” My voice is a low growl.
He looks over his shoulder and back to me, his eyes narrow. “Those girls?” He tilts his head, motioning to Candy and her sidekick.
“Yeah, Wes. Those girls.” I throw my arms out and look around the room. “Who the fuck do you think I’m talking about? They’re the only fucking girls in the room!” Blood pounds in my ears and a low buzz rattles in my head.
“Get ’em out of here, Wes. Seriously.” Blake’s voice is low and threatening at my side.
Wes steps over to the girls and says something I can’t hear. They both look my way, and I spear Candy with a glare that I hope sends fear through her veins.
Her smile disappears and her eyes hit the floor. The girl with her is going into some long explanation about something and Wes listens. After a few minutes, he makes his way back to me.
“They can’t leave. They’ve been assigned to the room. If they leave, they’re afraid they’ll get fired.”
“That’s bullshit!” Blake turns toward the girls. I grab his elbow.
Fuck it. I don’t have the brain space to worry about this shit right now. I’m falling right into Dominick’s trap by getting fired up. He wants me half-cocked before I get to the octagon. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“It’s cool, Blake. You just keep that bitch away from me.”
I suit up and hit the heavy bag. Every punch and kick relieves some of the anger polluting my focus. Blake and I move through some grappling techniques, and I feel the last of my tension dissolve.
Dominick thought he could goad me? Wrong.
Feeling more like myself, I go back to my place on the couch. Owen hits me up with the twenty-minute warning. Finally.
Behind my closed eyes, I play memories that make me relax. My dad and I playing ball in the front yard, him hugging my mom in the kitchen when he’d come home from work. Raven’s face alight with laughter, her peaceful expression when she’s deep in sleep—
A small hand brushes my knee then shoots straight up my shorts. My eyes fly open. I grab the hand and still its progression. Pressing it to my inner thigh, I pin the offender with my stare.
Candy is sitting on the coffee table, her body between my knees. She’s leaning forward in her barely-there clothes, her palm against my skin under my shorts. And I’m holding it there with my hand. Fuck.
The room is almost empty except for a couple guys, who are currently being distracted by Candy’s friend.
I rip her hand from my leg and stand, towering over her. “Nice try, bitch. Next time you put your hand on me, I’ll break it.”
She pulls free from my grip, fear working behind her eyes. She schools her features. “Whatever. Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
It’s time to end this.