Chapter 20
Ryker decided I was going whether I liked it or not. I won’t lie, I’m elated, nervous, proud, and scared shitless. This is where it all blurs. I’ve never lived on adrenaline, risk, and violence, yet here I am with Ryker in our hotel room, taking a shower and shaking like a damn leaf getting ready for his fight in mere hours.
On the flight here, I listened to him and his coaches discuss “a long mile of new strategies” for Ryker to implement, how he’s been trained and has been training weeks for it. Unfortunately, everything sounded like a different language, falling on uneducated ears, and I was entirely lost. All I could deduce from all the lingo was he better guard his face. Ryker promises I’ll catch on and he’ll do his best to remember to explain things. I feel incredibly inadequate in his world.
He hasn’t talked about it much, not like I assumed he would. Instead, all he’s told me was his opponent is known for hard left hooks because he’s a southpaw—which I learned has something to do with his stance because his strong hand is his left instead of his right. I don’t know if he was trying to take the edge off me, but he infused it more.
Yesterday was the weigh-ins and it was definitely something different to experience. There were tons of people screaming their heads off—brute men, half-naked women, and many different coaches, not to mention the countless photographers snapping pictures.
The energy in the place was intense and made it hard to breathe. The whole time Ryker didn’t really speak with the center of his attention on not losing his shit when he came face to face with Lascher. When it was his turn, he strolled up the stage, stripped from his shirt and stood on the scale. After his weight was announced, he smirked to the crowd and then walked over to his rather bulky opponent and posed for pictures. My heart braced for impact because they looked like they were going to kill each other right there. Seconds turned into what felt like hours, but then he was patted on the shoulder by a man in black. After that, he walked back across the stage lugging his shirt back over his head, back down the steps, grabbed my hand and we walked out.
I believe that was my warmup and tonight I’ll be tossed in the fire.
I dress in a pair of ripped up jeans and a navy-blue and white shirt with a tank top under it since it has a tendency to fall off my shoulders. After doing my makeup and pulling my hair half up, I step out of the bathroom and slide in my black flats.
Ryker eyes me from head to toe, his face remaining completely emotionless as I brace for him to ruin all my efforts to look good for him. Since whatever the hell possessed me to have sex with him without protection, he’s been more primal than usual. It opened a door, one he takes full advantage of. He no longer has to worry about the condom leftovers. Instead I’m left with the remnants of our romps. He catches me off guard often, granting me with quickies anywhere he wants.
Personally, I like my carelessness with the condom ordeal. It’s like I claimed my spot, declaring what’s mine in such a natural way and taking what no one else has.
His gaze has been on me for so long, I’m starting to feel a bit self-conscious, worried I might have overstepped a boundary, and I point to myself. “Is this okay?”
He blinks bringing his view to mine. “Yeah,” he answers. “You ready?” He’s clipped.
That wasn’t expected but I smile anyway. “Whenever you are.”
Ryker insists on me riding up front while he sits in the back. I almost start to argue, but one glance at Kyce’s “just do it” look, and I abandon and comply. Ryker rides in the back, listening to his headphones, zoned out, or maybe zoning in. Either way, his eyes are closed and he is nodding along with whatever he’s listening to.
We’re directed to park in a specific area in the parking garage, which is already jam packed. We take an elevator down to the main floor and enter the building of bustling bodies through a side entrance. Big, large, burly men wearing black shirts with the word Security in bold yellow are hovering all over the place, at every corner, and in every open door we pass.
I’m tucked into Ryker’s side as he and Kyce seem to know exactly where they’re going. We follow a hall with many name tags on metal clips in the center of the doors when I spot a familiar face. Daniel is leaned against the door frame looking down at his phone when he glances up and spots us. Then he motions for us.
The moment we step into the room, I can feel the shift in the air. It’s thicker, more potent with testosterone and determination. It smells of dried sweat, old blood, and cleaning supplies…the combination isn’t a sweet one.
Ryker lets go of my hand. “Sit over there while I get ready and warm up.” He tips his chin to a bench along the back wall. “Don’t move.”
Maybe it’s the testosterone seeping into my veins, but the way he’s demanding me makes me want to buck the idea. Instead, I nod and do as I’m told.
Flynn wraps his hands in a really pretty and vibrant blue as they sit across from each other in metal chairs. Kyce stands at Ryker’s side talking, and by the looks of his hand movements and the way his arms are tossing around, he’s pepping Ryker up.
I watch Ryker stretch and then warm up by sparring between both trainers and Kyce. He’s not paid me a lot of attention, only glancing at me a few times, but I’m okay with that. This is his moment. His time to shine. The last thing he needs is me being a distraction.
Occasionally, the building vibrates from the crowd or the music, hazy in the distance. It causes prickles of nerves to claw at my skin and threatens to rip my stomach apart.
A bang on the door causes me to yelp and I leap out of my skin and to my feet. Ryker’s eyes show laughter, but his expression remains blank and resigned.
He stalks to me. “Stay with Kyce. Understand?”
I feel at any given moment, my angst is going to explode and I’ll lose my shit, bursting in tears, begging him not to go out there. So I keep my mouth shut and nod.
He places a chaste kiss to my lips, but when he pulls back his hardened eyes soften and his face cracks with a smile. “You gonna root for me?”
As if he has to ask. I crinkle my nose. “No. I think I’m going for the other guy.”
He puffs a chuckle. “Don’t place all your money on him. How about we make our own little wager?”
Something about the mischievous way he’s looking at me causes a shiver to thread down my spine. “That is?”
“When I win, you let me have my delicious way with you.”
I settle back on my heel. “And if you lose?”
That sexy arched brow I’ve come to yearn for shows up. “You think I will?”
I shrug my shoulder pretending to be unperturbed, but cave into my guilt and answer him. “No.”
The deep grumble shoots straight into my chest and makes heat warm my center. “Good. Expect to be fucked on every surface of the hotel room tonight.”
He dips his head, kissing me tenderly, before straightening up and turning completely stoic again.
Kyce grasps my arm and we start down the hall. I glance back, watching the cameras flood the doorway, and turn back exhaling. My nerves are front and center. He keeps a firm hand around my arm as he guides us through the halls and out to our seats. We’re really close to the ring with nothing between us but a walkway, empty space, and the black chain-linked fence atop the stage.
“What do I do if I need to puke?” I ask more serious than not.
Kyce belly laughs. “Keep it off my shoes.”
I sit, wringing my hands in my lap when he pats my shoulder compelling me to rip my stare from the black painted pole in front of me and look up. “You’ll be fine. Just breathe through your nose and out your mouth. He’ll be entering from over here.” He points to our right.
It seems like nodding is my only form of communication for the night.
Relax. Calm down. This is what he does. Take a deep breath.
The lights cut out and the masses of people around me roar to such an ear-splitting level it causes me to squint from the pain, my stomach to cramp and my heart to thunder.
Blue strobe lights flicker across the excited crowd and the place lights up again, becoming alive with screams as the energy transforms from a thick tenseness to an elated excitement. Every hair on my body stands straight up. Music pours from the speakers and the rabble, yet again, changes the verve under the roof.
Noticing there isn’t a soul who isn’t on their feet except me—his girlfriend—I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and stand on shaky legs. A light moves, illuminating the entrance and revealing Ryker’s platinum blond and vivid red streak. He’s bouncing, nodding his head with his arms out to the side as people reach out to him.
As he passes, he doesn’t even look my way, keeping his view in front of him. I’m okay with it. I’m sure I look just as petrified as I fear and I don’t want him to see it. He has to stop before entering the ring and I watch as he strips from his shirt unveiling his mouth-watering body. A man in black with blue latex gloves pats him down from head to toe.
I nudge Kyce and point, silently asking what’s going on.
“Making sure there aren’t any cheats on him,” he yells and I’m barely able to make out what he’s saying.
After showing his mouth guard, Ryker bounds up the stairs and circles the cage to his side of the octagon where Daniel and Flynn are just on the other side. He rocks his head back and forth, from shoulder to shoulder, stretching his neck out and swinging his arms. Rigid, crazed, and slightly possessed eyes flick to me, penetrating me. The right side of his mouth tips up in an imperious but satisfying smirk and he winks. But his attention on me vanishes into the darkness as the lights go out again.
My heart is going to break through the walls of my chest. It’s rapid, hard, and I’m all but gulping for air.
The next fighter enters the ring with the same threatening music, gets checked out and then darts in the ring in a flash, running past Ryker, glaring at him as if he’s his intended murder victim.
They stand across from each other and the referee calls them to the middle. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but Ryker looks homicidal staring Lascher down, and even when they’re backed up to their spots, Ryker’s glare doesn’t stray from his opponent.
“Fight!” the referee calls with a quick motion of his hand and the crowd shouts their excitement.
Both men stalk toward the middle and tap gloves. That ends the friendliness. Lascher wastes no time and punches first, but Ryker leans back, moving away from it. Lascher kicks and Ryker slides away from it, but then he rushes forward and slams a few punches into Lascher’s face.
Both men bounce back and forth, from leg to leg before Lascher advances and connects a few punches. Ryker ducks and blocks. A loud thud to Ryker’s thigh silences the arena for a brief second. I flinch, but he doesn’t.
I can hear Daniel screaming things, but I can’t make out what. Kyce is sitting, but only by a prayer. His legs are bouncing at an incredible speed and he’s gripping his fist, pulling at his knuckles.
When I look back up, Lascher has Ryker against the fence on the other side of the octagon. But then the crowd goes wild and Kyce jumps to his feet, pulling me along with him.
The men are slugging it out, trading punches—lefts and rights—quick ones. Strong ones. Relentlessly.
A loud horn blows and the fight stops.
Kyce smiles at me. “He won that round.”
How the hell do we know this? Ryker’s sitting on a stool with Daniel and Flynn in his face talking to him. Flynn holds an ice pack on his back as Daniel gives him water.
But just as quickly as they sit, they’re back out standing and waiting. The ref yells the anticipated word and in a flash, Lascher leaps and begins unloading a bunch of punches into Ryker. Ryker stumbles backward into the fence, ducking and trying to block the unrelenting strikes. He dips right and then back left heaving a right punch up. Lascher falls to the mat and Ryker dives on top of him, slamming furious punches and raining forearms into Lasher’s face.
Kyce leaps back to his feet and begins shouting. The crowd is at a deafening roar again as the ref shoves Ryker off. He leaps to his feet and sprints several steps away with his arms in the air, screaming a guttural roar. He bends, punching elation into the empty space in front of him and then straightens back up.
He pins me with his eyes, stretching his arm out and pointing to me with a mouth-guard covered smile.
I’m overwhelmed with such a mixture of emotions—exuberant, horrified, and proud—but conjure up the best prideful smile. This…this is what he enjoys? Intentionally beating the shit out of someone. It isn’t a life or death, fight to survive situation, but for sport—a very barbaric sport. And he does it for…fun?
When the announcer declares the winner and raises Ryker’s arm high above, Kyce grabs my arm.
“Come on,” he says lugging me behind him quickly.
He drags me through the crowd, zig-zagging around people and down the hall back into Ryker’s room.
He shoves the door open and I enter. “He’s still full of adrenaline, so he’s going to be loud and rambunctious.”
I don’t reply, sitting where Ryker told me to sit prior to the fight.
“You good?” he asks and I glance up to him.
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
I’m not okay. I’m revolted. I’m… “Not good.”
Kyce swings back around to me with wide, bemused eyes. “He won. You should be ecstatic.”
“I’m happy, but that…” I trail off shaking my head.
“Was the first fight you’ve ever seen?”
“One like that, yes,” I admit.
I’ve seen fights before, the last one being in high school. It too was brutal as two girls fought the dickens out of each other over Craig Ellis, the star quarterback. Apparently, they both were his girlfriends and they didn’t like it. But they had a reason to fight, as stupid as is was.
A sharp laugh slices through the air and then he sobers quickly, securing a genuine stare on me. “Martial arts have been his passion since I can remember. Once he got his first taste of it, there wasn’t any holding him back. He loves it. Breathes it. Bleeds it. Dreams of it. And is dedicated to it. He’s brilliant at finding a balance between this life and the one outside of it. But fighting reigns.”
“It’s barbaric.”
“It’s competition. It’s a sport. You know just as much as I do, the man in the ring doesn’t define the real Ryker.”
“But that was excruciating to watch,” I admit feeling dumb that I’m not overly excited as I feel I should be.
He smiles tenderly. “Only when you don’t know what you’re looking for. Soak in everything you can learn about it. Go to the gym and watch him more. Listen to him when he talks about it. Watch his older fights and you’ll see how much he’s grown.”
I sigh and realize I’m shaking.
“There are highs and lows to this fucked up roller coaster. You’ll thrive on his highs. If you love him, you have to find a method of accepting this is him. Don’t make him choose. It won’t be fair.”
The door swings open, ending our conversation and the coaches enter first with a sweaty, grinning Ryker behind them. He bounces on his feet and shoves Kyce in the shoulder, both of them hollering their happiness. He rotates to me.
I swallow my self-pity and give him the biggest, most sincere elated grin.
“You!” He points.
“You.” I giggle, standing up. “Just won!” I shriek with enthusiasm.
He steps to me, putting his hands on my hips. He looks smug as hell. “Hope you didn’t lose too much betting on the other guy.”
I puff a laugh and peer up to him. “Do you really think I would bet against you? You’re my man. I knew you had this.”
Satisfaction erupts across his lips and he lifts me.
“No! You’re nasty and sweaty!” I squeal with laughter.
He kisses me hard and then drops me.
His attention is back on Kyce and they have a funny brotherly boxing match, laughing and cutting up while Daniel and Flynn go over everything. I don’t think Ryker’s listening as they brag, boast, scold, and inflate his ego.
I sit back down, tucking my hands under my legs, and take in the sight before me. They’re a huge family, bonded by determination, respect, and their love for the same sport.