by HJ Bellus
“Choke on a bag of dicks, you puss.”
I seriously fear for Darby and Rhett’s children and have often wondered how those two fierce and loud personalities haven’t killed each other. The thing about those two is their love is so strong nothing has the chance of breaking it.
The official talking to the two fighters in the middle of the cage is a blur. Before I know it the bell sounds and the men are dancing around each other. The other fighter matches Cruz’s height and weight; it’s so foreign to see someone who matches him on every level.
Cruz throws a punch, missing. The other fighter sweeps his leg. Cruz is too quick, avoiding the blow. Half of the first round goes much like this until Cruz is throttled with a right hook. I scream, not even recognizing my own voice. Cruz’s head jerks back, his footing unsteady, and the opponent takes full advantage of that fact.
Cruz manages to get one solid punch in. The bell rings. The official breaks up the fighters. There’s no doubt Cruz lost that round. It wasn’t pretty. I can’t see much from his corner besides the bloody rags being tossed to the side.
“No. No. No.” I jump off my seat and pace back and forth. “No.”
All the former reasons I hated fighting flood right back in. This. All of this. Seeing the man I love get beat and battered. I don’t have long to digest all of it before the next round begins. It begins as the last one ended. Cruz taking punch after punch.
“What is he doing?” I scream.
Kip wraps his arms around me telling me something, but I can’t hear him. Zane pipes over the roar of the crowd.
“He’s getting punch-drunk.”
“What?” I know what it means, but why? Jesus, Cruz. I try to step forward having no idea what to do, but Kip pulls me back to him.
Cruz takes another brutal blow to his chin, stumbling backward. He’s going to go down any minute. His face is unrecognizable with blood flowing down it. I see it coming and close my eyes, unable to watch what is about to happen. I slap my palms over my face pressing the hot tears to my face. My knees tremble.
The crowd falls in hushed silence. There are some groans. I can feel the pain and hurt settling in my gut. I can’t look up to see Cruz crumbled on the mat. My shoulder jostles from the side. The crowd erupts into a vicious cheer. Hands grab my shoulders rattling them until I’m forced to glance up.
When I do, the scene has changed. Cruz’s opponent tumbles back to the mat. Cruz reacts with stealth-like moves straddling the man. He’s been energized, swinging his arms like a wild man. Blood sprays across the mats. The man below him fights as much as he can, throwing his arms up. Then he stops.
The official tries to pull Cruz back. He goes easy, slumping back on his ass. He rests his elbows on the top of his knees, burying his face in his sweat-covered wraps. From my spot ringside I can see his entire body shudder.
The noise level is beyond deafening. My dad holds back his team from swarming Cruz. He gives him the time he needs. This fight was for his dad. And he did it. Cruz eventually rises to his feet, walking to the center of the ring. When the official holds his hand up his tears fall. It’s the third time I’ve ever seen the man cry.
Soon he’s wrapped up in the arms of my dad and teammates as the celebration ensues. A microphone is shoved in his face. The poor guy can barely catch his breath.
“Cruz Felix, your story has been a wild one. The league knew you’d always be a force to be reckoned with. How does it feel to be the champ?”
The hair on the back of my neck rises when the scantily dressed ring women saddle up next to him.
Cruz opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He tries a few more times until emotion-riddled words flow out. “This was for my dad. All of it. The sacrifice, heartache, and dedication are all because of him. When he gained his angel wings, he sent me on a journey to Diablo’s Throne, and that’s where I found everything. Boss, there will never be a way to thank you for everything.”
Cruz pauses. Dad nods. Then Cruz utters one final sentence, or should I say a demand?
“Layla, locker room.”
***
“Papi.”
I watch as Bella pokes Cruz’s chest. He rustles around a bit before she continues to poke and sing to him.
“Papi, owie.” She crawls up his chest and places kisses around his swollen eyes. “Oh, Papi.”
Cruz pops open one eye and grins half a smile. His lips are cracked, keeping him from gifting us with his megawatt smile framed with dimples. Bella settles in the middle of Cruz’s chest, raising her palms up in the air in question and concern.
“Owie, Papi.” She tilts her head, concerned.
“Buenos días mi hermosa bebé,” Cruz croons.
“Owie,” Bella continues to repeat over and over.
Cruz pulls Bella down to his chest, kissing the top of her head and running his hand up and down her back. This right here is something he’s worried about. We’ve spent hours at night talking about it. I knew it would make him feel horrible. I reinforced over and over it was part of the lifestyle and wouldn’t affect Bella. It would only show her how strong of a man her dad is. The aftermath of fights isn’t pretty, but Cruz’s will and determination are the silver lining in all of this. The best role model a little girl could have.
I sit back with my cheek propped up on my hand and listen to Cruz explain the fight to his daughter. Bella can no way understand any of it, but it doesn’t stop him. She nods her little head and pets his face as he talks. I cry all the damn time nowadays, and this is no exception.
The door to our room flies open.
“Put the wiener dog away,” Jag announces as he sails onto our bed.
“You ba-jerk.” Cruz cringes when Jag lands on his legs.
Jag didn’t make it to the finals this year. He got caught up in his own head and his past. I know it’s not his ending.
Bella scrambles off Cruz making him cringe one more time. He curls up in a ball, groaning. Bella didn’t hit a sore muscle but rather the baby maker buttons. I can’t help but laugh. Here lies the champion getting beat up in his own bed.
“Not funny.” He grabs my wrist pulling me to his side. I fit perfectly, melting into him just like the first time and every single time since.
We watch Bella squeeze Jag’s cheeks then slap them to get his attention. Once she does, she rattles off her own story about her papi to Jag.
“Pow. Pow. Owie. Jab. Pow. Owie. Papi ganó!” She grips his cheeks harder, squealing and shaking in excitement.
Bella leaves Jag speechless. I think it’s a first this has ever happened. He throws back his head in laughter and plucks her from the bed, joining the rest of the chaos in the living area.
“Door,” Cruz and I both holler in unison.
Jag catches it with his foot slamming it shut, leaving us alone.
“Isn’t it bad luck to see your bride on your wedding day?” Cruz asks, running his hand up my spine.
“Yeah, I think that only applies to normal people, though.” I sit up, tugging my shirt up and over my head.
I move slow, pulling the blankets down and running my palm over his hardening cock. I swing my leg over him until I’m straddling him.
“And I’m certain sex is supposed to be after the ceremony late into the night.” I run my pointer finger down his chest.
“We are making our own rules right fucking now.” Cruz palms my ass.
“We always have.”
THE END
Prologue
8 Years Old
My ears hurt as Mom’s and Dad’s screams echo around the tiny apartment. My tummy rumbles and aches in the hollow. I look down the hallway both ways before darting to the kitchen. Everything is empty. The light in the fridge dims, but I can make out a case of Dad’s favorite beer. A silver wrapper on the counter gets my attention. I reach for it to see a solo Pop-Tart in it. I grab it and sprint back to my room.
I get cozy in the back of my closet before taking the food out of the package. It’s gone be
fore I realize, and my tummy still aches and groans for more. I pick the crumbs off the floor and on my knees until they all disappear.
Booms. Cracks. Screams. I cover my ears, all thoughts of being hungry long forgotten. I swear I can smell her blood from my hiding spot. It goes on forever until there’s only silence lingering around us. I don’t move. I never do. I close my eyes and pray in my head that he would die. I want him gone forever. Mom isn’t much better, but she never hurts me with her balled-up fists, only her open hands.
“José! Get the hell out here, boy.” Feet stomp down the hall.
My heart thunders with each beat. My lips tremble and chin quivers as I rapidly blink, praying so hard he won’t find me. The cracking of the door crashing into the wall startles me. I press my back further into the wall, wishing I’d magically fade away. It never works.
“You dumb little fucker!” The door to the closet flies open.
A red-faced monster with bulging veins in his neck stares back at me for a tick before hoisting me up to him by the collar of my shirt. I hate his smell. Evil, alcohol, and my worst nightmare; it’s the scent that makes me sick every single time.
“I’m so goddamn tired of you and your momma ruining everything. All I ever do is fucking work and come home to this shit hole.” He shakes me. “I’m so fucking tired of it, José.”
I know better than to talk or try to smooth anything over, so I take every single thing the devil has to hand over. I’m flying through the air. When my back hits the hardwood floor, all the air leaves my body as my spine rattles my teeth. It’s just the beginning. A fist full of knuckles connects to my ribs, then my chest, and finally my collarbone. He stumbles on his feet, swaying back and forth. The alcohol I hate so much is about to become my savior. My dad crumbles to the floor. His head bounces off the wood, and he’s passed out for the night.
I scramble to my feet and run. I don’t bother to check on my mom since she’ll claim it was all my fault in the morning. It’s still daylight out. God, I can’t wait for school to start again. At least then I’ll have eight safe hours away from my home. I race down the street until my legs wobble. I slow down but don’t stop. I’ll never be able to get far enough away.
“Hey there.” A large hand lands on top of my shoulder, making me wince. “Where you going in such a hurry?”
I look up and then cower back when the giant comes into view.
“Papí.” A new voice chimes in.
I look to the side to see a little girl holding the giant’s other hand. She’s really pretty with curls and a yellow dress.
“You okay, son?” The man kneels down in front of me.
My eyes go wide, and I nod my head.
“Are you sure?” He gazes at my neck.
I look down to see my shirt collar tugged to the side and a bruise already forming. I nod faster, suddenly scared out of my little head.
The kind eyes of the man soothe me even though he’s two times the size of my dad. I should be scared, but there’s something special about him.
“My daughter, Layla, and I are going for dinner. Would you like to join us?”
I shake my head.
“What’s your name, son?”
I shake my head again.
He turns to his daughter and talks to her in Spanish. I know enough to pick up on the gist of it.
“Go upstairs and get tamales from Abuela.”
The little girl nods and races off with her yellow skirt flowing in the breeze. She’s so careless like the other kids at school. I’ve never known what that feels like. The man eases himself down on the sidewalk. His large sneakers rest on the pavement. He waves his hand for me to sit down. So I do.
“My name is Dexter, little man. Lots of people call me Boss.” He gives me a downward sideways glance. “I fight for a living. The good kind of fighting.”
I scoot away from him, panicked all of a sudden.
“I use my fist in a good way. It’s all disciplined.”
I nod and continue to listen to the man talk about what he does for a living. Before long, the little girl comes back with a Ziploc bag of tamales. Boss doesn’t hesitate pulling open the bag and handing me one. I have it unwrapped and eaten before he starts on his. He hands me another, along with a cold Coca-Cola. The three of us sit and eat until the sun goes down. And I never went back home that night. Before he took me to a safe place and promised my dad would go to jail, I found a piece of paper to write a note to the Boss.
Boss,
Thank you for the fode. Thank you for talkin to me. I will only fight for good to.
Jag
PS- I like my nu name.
***
13 Years Old
I know what being scared feels like. I’ve been there time after time, and what I’m experiencing now is so much worse. I’ve let down everyone who believes in me, and that’s more painful than anything my parents inflicted. Boss got me out of there and into a good foster home, and now it’s going to all go away.
My head bounces on the wall behind me once, twice, and three times. I let my eyes flutter shut and remember the day Boss told me I’d jab my way back to life and be someone. It was the same day he fed me tamales and took pity on a boy he didn’t even know from a stranger on the street. He nicknamed me Jab like a punch that night, but I couldn’t spell it right and signed the note Jag, and it’s stuck ever since.
The door to the suffocating interrogation room bursts open, and Boss steps in. My heart sinks when I see his scrunched eyebrows and worry lines across his forehead. He clenches his fists, and his neck tightens in strain.
“I’m sorry, Boss. I’m so sorry.”
Boss places his palms on the top of the green metal table in front of me, getting in my face. “Don’t be telling me sorry, boy. You best better be fixing to pull your head out of your ass.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jag, I love you like a son, and this is your last chance. Hope your stunt of robbing a convenience store with a group of assholes was worth it. One more chance when you get out of juvie. Show up at the gym the minute you get out.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be there.” I stand up from the chair and without thinking wrap my arms around his neck. Boss doesn’t hesitate before he wraps me up in a hug. Thought my life changed the day he saved me, but I was so very wrong. This is the moment.
Chapter 1
Jag
This dive bar must be the place where we all go to shed our demons. Wasn’t too long ago I sat here with Layla nursing her hurt while stifling my own. I snort as I take a seat. Not too long ago, hell, it’s been three and a half years. Life was great the way it was going until it wasn’t.
“What can I get ya?”
I look up to a familiar face and find myself attempting a grin.
“Sunni? You work here?”
“No, just thought I’d play dress up and sneak behind the bar.”
I shake my head at her dry sense of humor. “Knew you were a wild cat behind your waitress uniform.”
“Jackass.” She tosses a cocktail napkin toward me. It flutters until it lands on the worn bar top. “What’s your poison?”
“Tequila. The whole bottle.”
“Let’s start off with a couple of shots.” She winks at me and is off.
“Top shelf,” I holler after her.
She waves me off and goes about her business. My spine relaxes after a day from hell in the gym. Seems I’ve been beating myself up more than anything else. Can’t connect a fucking upper hook to save my life.
I glance around, seeing no one I know, then focus my gaze behind the bar. Sunni, the sweet waitress from my favorite diner, sways as she pours my shots. Shit, I look forward to seeing her every night I don’t feel like cooking. She’s the perfect amount of everything. Doesn’t talk too much, doesn’t act star struck around me, and knows when I want to be left the hell alone. Doesn’t hurt she’s downright fucking gorgeous in a simple man’s type of way.
Caramel curls sway along her back,
leading down to her sweet juicy ass. She’s not in her waitress uniform tonight. I get a sense this is more the real Sunni. She’s so the cut-off jean shorts, tight tank, and flip-flops type of girl. Her persona is carefree and outgoing, but the darkness that lingers in her brilliant blue eyes tells me otherwise. My dick stirs to life watching her work behind the bar.
I sneak my hand down the front of my gym pants and give it a good squeeze. I’ve never had this reaction to Sunni. It’s no secret I’m a manwhore to the core. But with her, it’s been more of a friend relationship, the listening ear that doesn’t judge when I need one. I bite down on my bottom lip, squeezing the base of my cock one more time before pulling my hand out. Jesus, this tequila better do the trick.
“Here you go, Rocky.” Sunni grins at me as she slides the shots over.
I shake my head. “I’ve told you I don’t box.”
“Potato, potahto.” She waves her hand. “It’s all the same in my book.”
I jerk my chin. “You have no idea.”
The first shot goes down with a hissing burn. I refuse to chase it with anything and slam the second. The magic liquid loosens up the taut knot in the middle of my spine.
“How long have you worked here?” I ask, slamming down the shot glass.
Sunni quirks up an eyebrow. “Longer than the diner.”
“Damn.” I slink back in the barstool and slide over the shot glasses.
“You know what that tells me, Rocky?” Sunni rests her elbows on the bar and leans in.
Her ample cleavage spills out the top of her tight tank, her soft curls float over her shoulders, and a coconut scent punches me straight in the gut. I blink a few times, confused as fuck as to why I’ve never seen Sunni in this light. I know it’s not the tequila, at least not yet.
“What?” I indulge her question.
“That you are not a drinker and don’t belong here.” She reaches out, covering my hand with hers.