Chapter 16

Cooper

––––––––

I’m pretty sure Vlad can tell something is up the next day at morning training, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s a fight day so I need to focus, and dredging up subconscious shit isn’t going to help me do that. Besides, Vlad knows I’m not some punk and he knows I can channel my energy towards a singular goal. My trained ability to hyper-focus and zone in on my target will serve me well. 

Tonight, it’s this punk-ass, rich kid boxer. This kid, Alexei, isn’t even in my league and technically fights in a B-list MMA organization, but he’s between leagues at the moment. No one in his own league will fight him anymore, because they’re beat before they even step into the cage, but no higher organizations would sign him yet. He has to prove his worth; that’s the way it works in MMA fighting, no matter who your daddy is. Anyway, the kid got lucky because my original opponent for tonight’s fight, last year’s second place fighter, was an absolute idiot and got himself shot in a bar brawl. The loser doped like nobody’s business. Anyway, it’s no surprise that his brain was too fried to avoid getting shot right before the big fight. A real man doesn’t need steroids and supplements. A real man works for his victories and wins them through the strength of his body and the force of his mind alone.

Since my original opponent couldn’t fight, and he got himself taken out too close to the match for the league to reschedule, so someone else could fight me, they need someone from another organization to step in for the fight. Giving Alexei a shot was better than just canceling the fight entirely. Too much money was already out there in sold tickets and bets and the fans are already all riled up.

But I’ve seen tape on the kid. He throws a decent punch, but he has no follow-up. He goes all out in the first couple of minutes and then he’s flat for the rest of the fight. His moves are also as predictable as thunder after lightning. Don’t get me wrong—the kid definitely isn’t bad. After all, no one in his own league stands a chance against him. But I’m in a different league and, even in my own league, I’m the king of the cage. I’m coming back up for another win this season, to add to my record-setting streak of seven tournament wins in a row. All in all, I’m not concerned about the punk.

Besides, this isn’t even a tournament match. There are no gloves, no fancy equipment or playbacks, and no complex rules. The only rule is that you don’t kill your opponent—or at least try not to—but beyond that, you can throw any kind of punch, make any kind of jab, and launch any kind of attack. This sort of teaser match, just man versus man, is to get the fans hyped up for the tournament fights, and preview some of the match fighter pairings, so that the crowds are going crazy before the first official fight even starts. It’s the primal stuff that gets them going, whether it’s the men wanting to see two dudes pummel the shit out of each other with skill or the women wanting to see the men use their brute strength in the most primitive, animalistic way.

But when you get cocky is when you fail, so I never go down that road. I fight every match like I’m up against myself.

By the time I’m in the cage, the shouts of the crowd are surging for the start of the match, and Alexei is standing across from me. I’ve successfully blocked the Branna part of my thoughts off with a tight seal. I’m back in my element. The high-pitched screams of the crazed women, cheering ‘Cobra!’ and trying to fling themselves closer to the cage and closer to us, are a familiar soundtrack. The extra energy I have from missing my usual Thursday night bang yesterday is all in my fists as the clock starts and Alexei and I start throwing punches.

To my surprise, it’s a better match than I expected. Alexei has clearly been working hard since the taped fights I watched. He’s blocking more, dodging more, throwing harder punches, and mixing up his moves a little. That’s not to say that he’s any real threat. I keep the lead all throughout the match, but the kid has come far and is rising to the occasion. It’s like he has something to prove.

The men are a mixed crowd, half roaring with adrenaline and half tight-lipped with anxiety. There’s always a lot of money riding on the matches.

The women aren’t divided like the men. The plain, good girl types, the foxy man-eater types, and the seasoned groupies alike are all going crazy. Somewhere in my peripheral vision a bra goes flying through the air, but it means nothing to me. This is my life, this what I do, and this is what I know.

I win, though by a smaller margin than expected and after putting in significantly more work than against the lower-ranked fighters in my league. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone signs him straight out of the cage and have another match, later in the tournament. When we shake hands, the kid looks me straight in the eyes and nods at me like we’re equals, instead of just holding his head and grimacing, like some defeated fighters do. There’s something hard in his face. I don’t know what it is, but the kid has developed some new chip on his shoulder in the past few months.

My military training makes me take note of all of this and my fighter instinct, encouraging me to learn all that I can about my opponent, makes me immediately try to figure out how these changes could affect me. It’s not a big concern, however. He is still far from my toughest opponent, even if he does get signed and join this league, and I’m not threatened.

I see him shortly after, sneaking into the locker rooms with a cheap Malibu Barbie type. Not my type and definitely a little more trashy than necessary, but she’s also not entirely unattractive and the care Alexei takes to look around and move quietly, looking like he’s hiding the girl, seems a little excessive. Or maybe he has a girlfriend and Malibu Barbie isn’t her?

Not my business.

“So, Cooper.” Vlad greets me by my locker with a big bottle of an electrolyte-balanced sports drink and a fresh towel. He doesn’t finish his sentence, just raises his eyebrows at me.

I don’t take the bait, and instead just glug from the bottle of sports drink. After a little while of that, after which Vlad gets that I’m not saying anything of my own volition, he continues.

“What was that all about?” he asks.

“What was what all about?” I ask. I know what he means.

“Is it still the girl?” Vlad asks, ignoring my pointless deflector question. “Who is this chick?”

“I don’t know, man,” I say, pulling my sweat-drenched shirt over my head and starting to unwrap my knuckles. “She’s something else.”

“She must be,” says Vlad, looking bemused. “I haven’t seen you like this before.”

I shake my head. “She’s just my roommate. Don’t get any of your big ideas.”

“So, the usual?” asks Vlad. “Get in, get off, get out?”

I bristle. I don’t like him talking about her like that. “Can we talk about something that matters?” I say. “Like what happened to that kid, Alexei?”

“Surprised you, didn’t he?” Vlad is finally off the subject. There’s nothing that he would rather talk about or think about than fighting strategy. “The little punk has been working hard. That’s why we never get complacent. He’s going to be a decent opponent if you fight again later. Two trainers are arguing over who gets him right now.”

“Yes, sir,” I say. “So, the deal?”

“You know I don’t like gossip,” Vlad starts. I raise an eyebrow. You wouldn’t think it looking at him, since he’s such a tough guy, but Vlad likes little more than to know everything about everyone. It makes sense from a strategic standpoint, but it’s still an entertaining contradiction with his impersonal presentation to those who don’t know him well. Vlad continues, “That Alexei kid, whose face you were pounding a few minutes ago, is the golden boy of Russian Bratva boss Viktor Sokolov.”

“A prince of the streets?” I smirk. It sure didn’t help him win his fight.

“Aye,” nods Vlad, “But a troubled one. After the last big mafia war between the Russians and their rivals, the O’Sullivans, they called a truce by promising that their children would marry at eighteen. Kid got shot days before the girl’s birthday and the wedding was called off. The Bratva sure as hell wasn’t letting that happen with even the smallest chance that the Irish did it.”

“Did they?” I ask.

“Nah,” Vlad shakes his head. “The Armenians, go figure. A union between the Russians and the Irish would concentrate their power and the Armenians don’t want to be weaker in comparison. But all’s well for them, because apparently Alexei’s little miss to be ran off not too long before the wedding. Now there’s talk that the Russians think the Irish are trying to go back on their promise.”

I laugh. “Nah, the little punk couldn’t keep her satisfied.”

“Either way, I wouldn’t be surprised if this starts something,” Vlad said. “You don’t go back on a deal with the Bratva.”

I remember the girl I saw earlier. “So I’m guessing she’s not Malibu Barbie, then? Huh, maybe that’s why. The kid needs to learn to keep it in his pants if he wants to wife that.”

“This, coming from you?” Vlad laughs.

“Hey!” I protest. “I don’t want to wife anyone. What I do works for me.” I don’t know why suddenly I’m hearing Branna’s laugh in my head. I don’t do love and it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than a pretty girl to change that, even a pretty girl with the sort of grit and hunger for life that you don’t see much in women as good looking as her.

Vlad shrugs. “If he doesn’t find his fiancée and get her back soon, word has it that the biggest, deadliest mafia war yet will break out between the Russians and O’Sullivans.”

“Over a girl?” I ask.

“She’s a mobster’s gift of goodwill. She’s not just a girl” Vlad says. “All I can say is that I’m sure as hell glad I’m not that kid right now.”

“Hell, yeah.” I shake my head. “It’s no wonder he’s been training harder. I would, too, to get my mind off of all that.”

Vlad gives me another look. “You already are, and all it took was some cute

girl.”

“Don’t complain,” I say, “You want me to train hard, don’t you?”

“I’m not complaining,” Vlad says, putting his hands up, “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

I head off for a shower without a response. Hell, I’m surprised, too. But since when have I not gone after what I want? Now isn’t the time to start.