Falling for Tyson

by Erica Breyer

  ‘A little pain never hurt anyone,’ he thought to himself, bobbing on his toes slightly. Too many long seconds had passed, and he knew the crowd would get antsy if they drew this out any longer. Someone had to make the first move.

  “Go get him, Carter-Man! Knock him out!” someone shouted from the front rows of the crowd. Carter grinned, and Tyson stepped in with a swift kick to his thigh, then danced out of range as Carter swung a tight cross towards his head. They locked eyes. Tyson inhaled, stepped back in with another sharp kick, then another. Same thigh, same spot.

  ‘Take out the legs…’ he thought.

  Carter’s eyes narrowed, but he gave no other sign of pain. Tyson bobbed in for another kick, but Carter was ready and twisted to the side, delivering a tight jab to his ribs. Tyson felt the pain radiate through his chest but kept moving, not giving him a chance to land another as he aimed a fist at Carter’s sternum. The connection of fist with flesh was satisfying in a way he would never be able to describe. Carter stayed steady, but Tyson knew he’d sucked the wind from him for a second. It was a strategy he planned to maintain. With the pair of them looking so evenly matched, it was going to be a game of wits…and fitness. Unless one of them got a lucky break, it might end up being a question of who could keep going till the other one gassed. He weighed up the odds. Winning on points was fine, but the crowd loved a crushing defeat.

  He danced in again. Carter’s gloved fists were tight, a few inches from his head. Protecting his face. Protecting his body. ‘Good, I’ll take your legs again,’ Tyson thought with satisfaction, landing two more kicks to that thigh. He thought he saw a slight dip in Carter’s hip. It had to be throbbing by now. Those big muscles were strong, but they couldn’t hold out forever. He ducked in to slam a fist into Carter’s gut—

  And then a flash of scarlet caught his eye.

  For the briefest fraction of a second, he glanced to the side. Cassie in a red dress, in amongst the rest of the crew sitting ringside. Jesus, that dress… It looked like it had been sprayed onto her sweet curves. His mouth dropped open for a second, and that was a bad thing because—

  Bam!

  Carter’s infamous right connected with his jaw. That falling safe. Tyson saw stars…bad ones. One moment he was on his feet, and the next, he was flat on his back on the mat. The crowd went wild, screaming, jumping to their feet. Having someone go down so soon in the fight was a rush. But a disaster when it was the main card…the drawcard fight. Fans had waited for weeks to watch the pair of them face off. A 20-second takedown was the premature ejaculation of the pro circuit.

  “Fuck!” he gasped around his mouthguard. It was his own fault. He’d broken his own cardinal rule. Keep your eye on the bastard. The ref was on his knees beside his head.

  “Get up! Get him, Killer! Don’t let him take you out!” he recognized Crank’s voice from the crowd.

  “Oh, my God, Tyson!” a woman’s voice screamed. Cassie… “You bastard! I’ll kill you! Tyson! Get up!”

  Tyson shook his head, raised himself into a sitting position. The referee had stopped the countdown. Tyson was getting to his feet.

  “You good?” the ref asked, staring into his eyes, checking for signs of trauma.

  Tyson gave a curt nod, shaking his head again. ‘Jesus wept! That right hand!’ He wasn’t going to let that happen again. ‘Focus, motherfucker,’ he gave himself a sharp shake-up. Carter was waiting on the other side of the ring, smirking. ‘Oh, you’re gonna pay for that!’ Tyson thought, zoning in on his opponent. His head was still whirling, and he knew his jaw was going to ache for days. Sensing his unbalance, Carter took the offensive and rushed in with a flurry of tight jabs to his body. Tyson went for a cover-up – pulled his fists in front of him to fend off the blows, landing a few of his own. ‘Gotta get it together,’ his mind kept repeating.

  Thankfully the bell rang for the end of the round, and he turned to his corner, sucking air.

  “Ty! What are you doing out there?” asked Maxwell as he crashed down onto the seat in the corner. He handed him a water bottle, and Tyson spat out his mouthguard and drank thirstily while Maxwell examined his face for injury. “You good,” he announced. Not a question. “You gonna get your shit straight?” he continued. Tyson nodded.

  “Go, Tyson! You can do it, babe!” a voice from the crowd. Cassie again. He could pick out her voice from a million others.

  “Now, you know the power of that right hand, yeah?” Maxwell chuckled, and Tyson gave another nod. No sense in wasting breath on chitchat. “You gonna keep away from that mother. You gonna take out his legs. Get him to ground. That’s your kingdom down there, yeah?” Tyson gave yet another nod. “Good boy! You go back there, keep it tight. Take him to The Killer’s kingdom. Show him who’s king. Right?”

  “Right!” Tyson rolled his shoulders and bounded to his feet.

  “That’s it, Tyson! Go get him!” Cassie screamed again. A clamor of voices joined hers, but he could care less what they were saying. Carter had bounded out of his corner with a look of smug confidence.

  ‘He thinks he’s got me,’ thought Tyson. ‘Good. It’ll make him careless.’ He moved towards Carter, his steps deliberately tentative. Carter smirked again, rushed in, landed a fist just below his ribs. ‘Kidney shot. Fucker!’

  “No!” Cassie screamed from the side. “You bastard! Tyson, take him out!” It wasn’t the time to laugh, but Tyson wanted to. He spun a kick towards Carter’s hip, then landed a quick jab to his chin. There was power behind it that the Predator hadn’t expected; probably focused so much on Tyson’s rolling rep that he hadn’t remembered he’d started as a boxer. The man’s eyes widened, and he staggered back a step. He lifted his fists in front of his face to cover up, shifting from foot to foot. That one had hurt.

  ‘Bob and weave, tiger, bob, and weave…’ Tyson felt a slow sensation unfurling in his gut; that sixth sense that was a combination of testosterone and heightened awareness. Picking up a million minute signs that the enemy was weakening.

  “Kick him in the head!” Cassie yelled.

  ‘In the head? Talk about high expectations, Cass!’ Now Tyson was inwardly laughing. Holy hell, she was vicious. He could do it, though – Muay Thai move – nasty flying knee kick. The crowd loved that shit…and he owed them. The man was waiting for a clinch. He could feel it, could see how he was bracing for it. The kick was going to come out of nowhere. Tyson took three strides forward, launched himself into the air, and slammed a knee to Carter’s chin. He heard the contact as Carter barreled backward. Tyson dropped down, pressed in, hooking a heel behind Carter’s knee.

  Bam! Carter was down on the mat, and Tyson was on top of him, straddling his trunk as he rained blows down on his head.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Cassie shrieked. He could still hear her voice. “You got him! You got him! Don’t let him go!”

  Carter had his fists up to protect his face, soon realizing that this was a bad place to be. He twisted beneath Tyson, jamming a knee up to his back and using the movement to spin onto his belly, hoist to his knees and then buckle over backward. Had to give the guy credit for the sheer power it took to get there. The Predator was an animal, no doubt about it. Now Tyson was on his back on the mat, and Carter was lying on top of him, face up.

  ‘Bad move, motherfucker,’ Tyson thought as he twisted his calves around Carter’s upper thighs, snaking an arm around his throat. ‘Get the hooks in…’ His elbow was under Carter’s chin, his other arm locked over his forearm behind Carter’s head. The man bucked and twisted to release himself, trying to get at Tyson with his elbows.

  “Don’t let him move! Don’t you let him fucking move!” Cassie’s voice was hoarse from screaming. Tyson set his jaw and tightened the chokehold. The ref was on his knees beside the sweating, writhing men. Carter’s struggles were growing weaker, but Tyson didn’t ease his grip. ‘MY kingdom…I’m king…fucker!’ If his jaw was going to hurt for a week, Carter’s throat would be aching for a month.

  And then he felt
it. Three sharp taps on the mat. He released his hold in an instant, felt Carter go limp, and give a heaving gasp for air. The ref waved his hands over their heads, declaring the fight over.

  “Yes! Yes, you beauty! You fucking warrior!” Cassie was having a ringside meltdown, and Tyson was holding back laughter behind his mouthguard. He leaped to his feet and bounded to the center of the octagon as the crowd exploded with sound. He could feel his chest swelling with pride. His heart was dancing. He wanted to laugh out loud. He’d lost count of how many fights he’d won, but this was different. He threw a glance to where the crew was seated, right at the side of the cage. Cassie was on her feet – in a pair of killer heels – the lush mounds of her breasts bouncing as she jumped up and down on the spot.

  He was vaguely aware of the referee getting Carter to his feet. The announcer joining him in the ring, speaking excitedly into the mike. The judges talking amongst themselves. He didn’t give a shit.

  Cassie in that dress…

  Someone had their grasp around his wrist above the wrap of his glove. The announcer. A lot of excited jabbering.

  Her ass was jiggling beneath the tight fabric. ‘Sweet mother of all that is holy…’ He couldn’t catch his breath, and it had nothing to do with the fight. His arm was being hoisted up, and the announcer was booming.

  “And the winner by submission in round two isssss Tyson ‘The Killerrrrrrrr’ Killorrrannnn!” the announcer yelled.

  Cassie had both arms in the air and was screaming again. Those breasts…Fuck… Tyson’s body was humming with adrenaline and hormones. He needed to get out of this damn ring. He needed to rip off that beautiful goddamn dress, wrap his hands around that sweet flesh. Get her on all fours… He needed to—

  “Tyson…Tyson!” the announcer jerked him back to reality. “Any words for our viewers out there?”

  “Uh…yeah,” he collected himself, spitting out the mouthguard and wiping a forearm across his face to stop the sweat streaming into his eyes. The lights were blinding. It was better if he kept staring at Cassie. But then he couldn’t think…

  “Yeah. I’d like to thank Carter Hawkes. Great man, great fighter. Much respect.” He tapped his chest and looked over at Carter, who gave him a tight nod. Might be a while before they had that beer together. “To my crew, my sponsors. I’d particularly like to thank them for giving me the opportunity to fight for my cause. My winnings for this fight will go towards the Inner Beauty campaign and the treatment of those with body dysmorphic disorder. I fight for the right to have healthy bodies and healthy minds, regardless of shape or size.” He took a second to catch his breath, aware that he was running off at the mouth a bit. “I also fight for the underdogs. The kids who get bullied. The ones who don’t make the team.” He looked up into the camera. “I’m on your side, guys! You don’t have to do it alone. Be the best you that you can be, and don’t let anyone tell you any different. If they do, you call me! And finally, to the woman out there who showed me where true beauty lies…” he tapped his chest again. “I’ll take a knock for you any day!”

  The announcer gave a practiced chuckle and took back the mike. “Rousing words from Tyson Killoran here today, folks. A crushing victory and a moving message. Now on to another message…from our sponsors.”

  ✽✽✽

  “To the woman out there who showed me where true beauty lies…I’ll take a knock for you any day,” he said, looking out into the crowd of spectators. Cassie’s breath caught. For a moment, it was as if he was looking straight at her. And then…and then a little shriek caught her attention. One of the ring girls standing at the side of the octagon in front of them was clutching a hand to her mouth. As Tyson handed the microphone back to the announcer and headed for the gate to the cage, the leggy blonde was bounding to the stairs.

  Cassie’s teeth ground as she noticed how the girl’s perfectly toned ass barely moved beneath the snug Lycra bottoms of her swimsuit. A swimsuit…in front of an international audience. That took guts. Before Tyson had even made it down the stairs, the girl had launched herself against his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. He stood there for a moment, setting his hands on her hips as she planted her lips against his in a scorching kiss.

  The ring announcer gave a short laugh. “And there you have it, folks. Seems like we have more than one winner here tonight!”

  Cassie reached for her bag and rose unsteadily. Andy glanced up at her as she stood. He’d joined her without Nat, who’d bowed out of the invitation, citing an aversion to bloodshed.

  “You okay, Cass?” he asked. She gave a curt nod, not trusting herself to speak for a second.

  “Gotta…” her voice was hoarse, and she cleared her throat. “Gotta go, stuff to do. Tell Tyson I said congrats,” she mumbled, then clambered through the seats to get to the closest aisle. The exit seemed like a million miles away, but she barely noticed the shouting crowd around her as she hurried to get out. All she could think of was that beautiful blonde plastered against Tyson’s gleaming skin. Inner beauty? Theirs was all out there.

  She left.

  ✽✽✽

  “Great fight, Ty!” Andy was slapping him on his shoulder as he made it to the locker rooms.

  “Thanks, buddy. Where’s—?” Tyson stopped short, scanning the group waiting outside for him. He’d escaped the mikes and cameras. The thundering music and applause were dying down as the spectators began to disperse. “Where’s…?” he started again.

  “Cass?” asked Andy. “She left. A minute ago. Just as you left the ring. She said congrats.”

  Tyson frowned and rubbed his face. “Any idea where she went?” he asked.

  “No, bro,” said Clint, handing him a fresh towel. “Seems like a fiery one you got there. Took three of us to hold her back when that asshole took you down. I thought she was going to climb in the cage with you!” Clint started laughing, and some of the other guys joined in. Tyson gave a wry chuckle before reaching for his kit and ducking towards the showers. Andy shouted goodbye, heading back to an evening with Nat.

  Short minutes later, he was out and in a change of clothes. Black sweats clung to his still-damp skin. He was going to be sore tomorrow. These fights always left a few battle scars. Another hot shower would be a good idea later…maybe with Cass. He grinned. A bunch of the guys from the gym was still gathered outside, exchanging banter. He waved a hand, reached for his bag and jacket, and turned towards the change-room door. With luck, he might sneak out.

  “Where you think you going?” Maxwell said from behind him, clapping him on the back. Tyson winced – although not because of Maxwell. Yip, tomorrow was definitely going to be a sore day.

  “I think I’ll turn in, Max,” he said to his manager, sliding his arms into his leather jacket. “Long day. Things to do.”

  “What?” Clint objected. “You’re not coming to the afterparty? You’re the guest of honor!”

  “Nah, bro,” Tyson shook his head. “I’ll sit this one out.”

  “Getting old, man!” Clint laughed. “No worries, we’ll catch you in the gym Monday.”

  Tyson gave a nod and reached out to slap Maxwell’s shoulder. “Thanks, buddy.”

  “You did good out there,” the other man replied.

  “Can’t do it without you,” Tyson responded as they bumped fists. One of the guys passed him the motorcycle helmet he’d held for safekeeping. Tyson nodded in thanks and turned for the door, reaching into the side pocket of his gym bag for his phone. He tapped a number and held the device to his ear, listening to it ring. Several seconds later, a voice responded.

  “Hi. You’ve reached Cassie. I’m sorry I can’t take your call right now, but if you know what to do next, I might call you later.” Beep.

  Tyson smiled and shook his head, cutting the call and striding down the corridor towards the exit. A gaggle of fans crowded around to bump fists and talk shit. He paused, shared a few words, then extracted himself, trying her number again. The same voicemail responded, and he left a message. />
  “Hey, Cassie…it’s Ty. I’m so glad you came tonight. I’m getting out now. Are you around?”

  Five minutes later, after negotiating more of the crowd, he finally reached his bike. Still no reply. He dropped a text.

  ‘Hey! You still near the stadium? Let’s meet up.’

  He frowned as he saw the message delivered but not read. Part of him wanted to believe she just hadn’t seen the message, but another part told him that she wasn’t taking his calls. He swung a leg over the seat of his bike, then sat back and tried again.

  ‘Cass? Everything ok? What’s up?’