The Immortal Warriors Boxed Set: Books 1-11

by H. T. Night

  I received the call from the California Commission. My opponent will be an up-and-coming fighter like myself. His name was Pablo Sanchez. He was from the Dominican Republic and he’d been mowing down opponents as of late, just as I had. He had a rough first few fights. It took him a while to figure out the sport, but lately, Sanchez had been on fire. He had knocked out his last ten opponents.

  Do they think I’m a putz or do they want to see what I’m made of?

  I decided on the latter.

  Sanchez had fought a lot more than I had. This kid fought every month. The soonest the commission would let you fight was thirty days. This kid took advantage of it by the day. He was a perfect opponent to see if I had what it took. I decided that was why they put the two of us together.

  One night, Josiah and I were splitting a pizza. I was in training mode, so I just had two slices. Which gave eight pieces to Josiah, and he was happy to have them. He had a great metabolism. That boy ate a lot. But he had something on his mind tonight.

  “Tommy, can we talk?”

  I could tell it was going to be a talk of a more serious nature, just by the tone in which he addressed me.

  I quit picking at the sausage on my pizza and looked up at Josiah. “What’s up, man?”

  “Tommy, I don’t know about MMA anymore.”

  “That’s a decision you’ll have to make,” I said, a little shocked. “It would be a shame not to see you compete in a sport that you were born to do.”

  “I feel like there is something even bigger and grander out there for both of us.”

  I wasn’t sure what Josiah was saying. I wasn’t sure if he was insinuating that he knew I was a werewolf. I couldn’t get a read on the kid.

  “Also, I don’t know if you’re in shape, bro,” Josiah said, worried. “You’re going up against Sanchez. He’s a freaking beast. You drank so much during your training that I wonder if it even matters if you trained at all.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Be worried about Sanchez. Because I’m going to take out all my pain on his face.”

  “Just don’t gas out. Your fight is in four days. No more drinking till then.” He paused. “You do know better than to drink during training, right?”

  I looked at Josiah and it touched me that he cared so much. “Yes. Sure, Josiah, I can do that.”

  It was a tough four nights. I discovered that I just might have a serious drinking problem. Holy hell! I had the shakes and sweats.

  By the day of my fight, I was pretty jumpy. The fight was in San Diego. That was about two hours from where we lived. I left on my bike with a backpack on my back and headed south down the 15 freeway. I wanted to get to the San Diego convention center by noon.

  I was detoxing seriously bad the whole ride down there. I decided to pull over and buy a bottle of tequila and put it in my backpack. If this became any worse, I was going to have to drink some of it before the fight. I was not going to lose a fight because I was having withdrawal from alcohol.

  Josiah decided to drive down later in his truck. Wise move.

  I arrived at the convention center and I put my bag in the outside lockers.

  That tequila bottle was calling my name, but I could get in big time trouble with the commission if I came to a fight drunk and they found out.

  Josiah showed up around five and I was shaky and sweaty. I told Josiah it was just nerves, but I knew I needed a drink. I knew Josiah was going to be upset. But I couldn’t be having alcohol withdrawal during my fight. I stepped out of my dressing room and went to my locker that was outside the prefight dressing room. I took my backpack out of the locker and went to the outside bathroom.

  I wanted no one to see what I was doing.

  I found the men’s bathroom outside, and I went into the bathroom and then inside the stall. I sat on the toilet with the lid up. I unscrewed the top of the tequila bottle and I chugged that tequila like it was Evian water. I took five giant gulps. Each gulp was harder to put down. But I did it anyway, quelling the urge to drink even more.

  I just needed the withdrawal to go away, not get drunk before a fight. I couldn’t even make a sensible decision about how much tequila was necessary and how much would make me feel better, yet not put me off my game.

  I had to go to desperate measures. I put the bottle back in my bag. I gargled with soapy water to try to get the alcohol off my breath. It was not only gross, it did no good. But that nasty taste in my mouth would keep me from drinking any more tequila right now.

  I fixed myself up and I was buzzing hard already from the tequila. I might have already been a little drunk. That was the weirdest feeling, going from withdrawal to drunk in about ten minutes.

  This was getting hardcore. I hoped I was still on my game for the fight. One thing I knew, I was going to have to deal with this serious problem soon. Very soon.

  I stepped back in the dressing room and looked at my crew. I had my usual three guys in my corner. Rick Reynolds, my trainer. Anthony Rondo, my cut man. And the recently added Josiah Reign. He was an insanely gifted fighter who saw things in the ring that no one else saw. And he was the best sparring partner I had ever had. Almost tireless. Uncomplaining. Disciplined. A hard worker. Serious about winning. All of the things I needed to be, Josiah already was.

  I was able to mask to everyone that I was drunk. Or, at least in my drunken state, I thought I was hiding it. Or maybe I just prayed no one else knew.

  I was fourth on the card.

  I was scared that the alcohol was hitting me because of the time that passed before my fight. The alcohol was not dissipating. The drunk effect was getting stronger as it began to metabolize in my cells.

  Finally, it was time for my fight. It was nice just thinking about a fight and not absolutely needing the money. I’d done a good job not spending my newly acquired money. Other than alcohol, gas and cigarettes, I hadn’t bought anything since Vegas except for that ticket to see Annie. And the motorcycle.

  I was led to the ring by my crew. Josiah massaged my shoulders from the back as I entered the convention center. Tonight, San Diego was my kind of town. Laid back and chill.

  It was the opposite of Las Vegas. Let’s be honest, Las Vegas was totally my kind of town, too. Some of the things I thought about before a fight amused me. I laughed at my own thought out loud and Josiah gave me a hard look.

  I stepped into the ring and looked at Pablo Sanchez, who was already in the ring. He didn’t even make eye contact with me.

  I burped and it stunk like tequila. Josiah turned me around. He gave me a look like ‘I can’t believe you’ve been drinking…’ but he knew he couldn’t say anything or they wouldn’t let me fight. He would screw me if he let on that I was drunk before my match. I was extremely lucky to have Josiah in my corner, for more reasons than just that one: his loyalty.

  I walked to my corner and stared at it. I looked at the corner like it was a person. I thought about Maya and how this was my first fight since her death. Then I did something that I didn’t plan on doing. I dropped to one knee and looked up. This one is for you, Maya, I thought. I said it as a silent prayer. I said it as ‘an asking of forgiveness’ for how I’d lived those last few weeks. She would be my heart tonight. I guaranteed it.

  I looked at Pablo Sanchez. Poor guy. He was going to feel my pain poured out in my wrath on him. A wrath that would be aimed at his body and face. Sanchez had a lot of bare-assed, knuckles-to-the-wall fight in him. I had heard rumblings that I might even lose this fight. I might have been drunk every night for the past month, but they had no idea what I was fighting for.

  Maya.

  What was stronger than the pain of lost young love, snatched from a fighter? Emotional pain was an even greater motivator than physical pain. And somehow, this fight would be a tribute to Maya, who had supported my MMA dreams. And she had believed in me like no one else ever had.

  Sanchez was already squirming. I knew a guy like Sanchez would rather scrap than do all this technical crap of trying to get someone t
apped out. But we were here to entertain the crowd. That’s what the commission wanted.

  As far as I was concerned, I was here to do one thing. Win quickly. Not draw it out into round after round. Probably, that attitude wouldn’t be too popular with the commission. Nobody in the audience wanted to pay a hundred bucks for a front-row seat to see a 12-second fight. But they didn’t have to live with the injuries. I did. So, this was going to be a fast fight, according to my plan.

  The longer you allowed an experienced fighter like Sanchez to go, weird things would start happening in his mind. The fighter would start turning into Rocky and begin wanting to win it for his city, his girlfriend, and his dog, Spot. I needed to cut out that hope quick, with a clean slice. I needed to knock him out fast. I thought of it as merciful. I would hit him just once. He would go down. No grounding and pounding.

  Just bam!

  I was going to keep things moving. I felt good tonight. I’d trained hard.

  I just wished Maya was here watching. I wished her parents were, too.

  I was going to win it for all of them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The bell rang to start the match.

  I ran straight for Sanchez and I shot my right arm cleanly in between his legs, picked him up in the air and threw him down on the mat.

  I had top guard and he was on his back. I let the elbows and fists fly. He tried to protect himself, but one of my first punches hit him solidly in his cheek. I was sure I shattered it. So, he must have been seeing stars. It was just a matter of time that he’d tap. And sure enough, tap he did.

  Damn, that was fast.

  TKO. I looked up at the clock and it said 4:47. That meant I’d knocked Sanchez out in thirteen seconds. I looked at Josiah and he smiled. A great big, proud smile that made my toes curl told me he was pleased with my performance. Even though I was his mentor, it mattered what he thought of me. We were in this together.

  “Still undefeated,” I said, mumbling through the mouth guard.

  “That you are,” Josiah came in the ring and hugged me. I gave my trainer and cut man some love, too.

  When they announced my name as the winner and lifted up my hand, tears burned my eyes.

  The crowd was wild, screaming, “Tommy! Tommy!”

  But in my mind, I was screaming, “Maya! Maya!”

  My heart was heavy and this match was far too short. Maybe it would show the commission that I was ready for the big time. They might be mad that I had him tap out so fast, but they were happy to see that I did it on a fighting level. Every move was completely legal.

  I had a heavy heart, but I’d won this one. I’d come out victorious tonight. This night was for Maya. I arrived to my locker as fast as I could so no one could smell the alcohol on me. That, and I wanted more alcohol. I tore off the strings from my gloves with my teeth and dug into my bag. I took out the rest of the tequila. Ridiculously, I drank the rest of my giant bottle.

  I left the venue quickly and I didn’t wait around for Josiah to get through the crowd press to come and get me out of my gloves and talk to me about the fight. I probably should have, but he would just grill me about drinking and fighting. I thought about the day and realized the first full moon was tomorrow night.

  I remembered when this fight was first scheduled, I had to make plans straight after the fight to get out of town. I had been so drunk this month, I could barely remember anything. The only way I had made it here on time was because I had set my smartphone alarm to wake me with the ringtone that sounded like the bell at the ring.

  I knew I needed to drive up north ASAP to get there before the next full moon. The truth about the situation was I didn’t feel like driving north. I didn’t feel like anything at all. I drove through the night at ridiculous speeds. I was hitting 100 miles per hour for most of my ride. I thought about going back to Las Vegas, but in Barstow, I had a change of heart. I decided to take a freeway that would be in the direction of the State of Arizona.

  I hauled ass and within 90 minutes, I’d made it to the city of Needles. The city had a lot of lights and I had been driving in the black of night for about an hour and a half. That was a pretty damn dark road.

  I wasn’t sure if Needles was in Arizona. I wasn’t sure if I was in Arizona, California or Nevada. I was always horrible at geography. California, right near Arizona.

  And it was midnight. I made sick time, going over speeds of 100 miles an hour regularly. Needles was far different than Las Vegas. I had trouble finding a bar that wasn’t a horrible dive. There were like ten bars in the city and each one looked the same. So, I decided to go to the one with the most cars in the parking lot. Heck, maybe I’d have some fun tonight. My kind of fun.

  I looked up at the bar’s name—“Grips”—and for a second, I thought it might be a name of a gay bar. But did small towns like Needles have gay bars? It wouldn’t be the end of the world if it was. I had never been in one, but I had gay friends in college. In fact, I had eaten at a restaurant in West Hollywood that was a very popular gay hangout with my friends. So, who gave a damn? I just want to drink. I was completely sobered up.

  I showed my I.D. and I was trying to get a read on the bouncer to figure out if he was gay. He didn’t look like a typical bouncer. Tall and skinny. Usually, bouncers were as big as houses. That seemed to be the only requirement. I stepped into the lobby and saw something that assured me of where I was. I saw the rainbow flag.

  How does a small town like this have so many gay guys?

  I stepped into the main part of the bar and guys were coupled up. Some were kissing. Some were dancing. Everyone else was just talking and having a good time. I received a couple looks, but I thought I would have received more looks than I did. I wasn’t saying I wanted that, but just two looks? Come on? I was a ripped, lean, sexy machine. Not gay, but still…

  What was I doing?

  I was so fucking competitive. The last thing I needed was to be hit on by gay guys. The guys in the bar gave me my space, and I gave them theirs. I sat at the bar and began my drinking. I must have given off an aura that I wanted to be left alone because no one talked to me. Not even the bartender. The way the bartender and I had been doing my drink orders was sort of like a drunk guy’s sign language. He picked up on it pretty quickly. He was a bartender after all.

  I sat there for 45 minutes until someone walked up to me.

  “You smoke?” the man said.

  “Only when I’m piss drunk,” I said.

  “Are you piss drunk?” The man laughed.

  I finally looked up at him. He had a pleasant face, and an easygoing way about him, so I felt comfortable right off the bat. He had light brown hair and he was as tall as shit. Maybe 6’9”?

  I was 6’2”. At least that was what they listed me at on the programs at my MMA matches. I might be closer to 6’1”, but no one needed to know that.

  “You need a cigarette?” I asked.

  “No. I was wondering if you like to come out to the back where they let degenerates like us smoke and I thought we could talk.”

  I wanted to say, ‘Look, I’m not gay. I’m only here drinking. Leave me alone.’

  But… that wasn’t what I said. “Sure, it’s stuffy in here. It would be nice to get some fresh air.”

  Sure, it’s stuffy in here? It would be nice to get some fresh air?

  What the hell was I saying? I might as well have dropped to my knees in front of him, right there in the bar. You only made a comeback the way I did when you were interested in the guy. Gay or straight, I was sure we all played by the same rules when it came to attraction, and how wordplay is used.

  I stood up. Downed the rest of my beer. I did my usual tequila count in my head. I tried to never go over 20 and only because I was a werewolf. A human would have died at 20. In fact, such things had happened. Twenty was what happened to me in Las Vegas when I woke up in the street. Tonight, I counted 14 shots. Slow night… I needed to pick up my drinking game before it got to be two o’clock.


  “What’s your name?” I asked. I got up from the barstool and began following him toward the back exit. I was walking pretty close to him because the bar seemed to be getting more and more packed. This was shocking the hell out of me. Was the whole town here?

  “I’m Jimmy,” he answered. “What’s your name?”

  I don’t know why I didn’t give him my real name, but I didn’t. “My name is Stew,” I said.

  “Stew?” Jimmy asked as he led me outside. “I’ve never met a Stew before. Is it short for Stewart?”

  Fuck if I knew. It made enough sense. “Yeah,” I said. “My real name is Stewart.” I had never known a Stewart in real life either.

  We both took out our smokes and lit up our cigarettes. It was kind of chilly, but I had on my $400 leather jacket. “So, what brings you out to Needles?” Jimmy asked.

  “What?” I joked. “You can’t tell that I live here?”

  “Trust me. If you lived in this town, every guy in here would know it. I bet you’re not even gay. You just like the company of men.”

  “It’s hard to get women interested in the stuff I like,” I admitted.

  “Yeah, right. What happened? All of the girls in your life tired of your shit lately, so you come here to see if you can find a friendly ear for your narcissistic banter?”

  I laughed. I couldn’t tell if this guy was just making conversation or if he was hitting on me. “No, but you have a great sense of humor.”

  “Keeps the peace,” he said. But then he said something that made me realize he was doing neither—not hitting on me and not making idle conversation.

  “Or maybe you’re a wolf who lost his way,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “You heard me, mutt. I could care less that you’re the hottest guy here. We don’t like your kind. Get the fuck out.”