Chapter 12
Three Months before UCC 132
The energy enveloped Bretten, the air thick with anticipation. He walked beside Brooke. Whit was on the other side of her. He fought through groping hands, one after the other. Some he gave five to, others he brushed past. The pathway was impossibly narrow, the crowd unrelenting.
He caught a glimpse of Brooke, she was relaxed, focused. He knew the game plan marched through her head, knew she told herself she was prepared, and she was right. Finally they were cage side. She peeled off her shirt revealing a smooth hard upper body. She turned and gave him a hug before being wiped with Vaseline by the cut man. Then she was gone. He saw something in her eyes that told him she felt exactly like he did before each fight. This was a chance to beat the past into oblivion.
She joined Latisha Jones in the cage, and the two eyed each other. Bretten and Whit made their way around to the corner, and Whit went right into coaching. Bretten glanced around, the lights, the music, the eager crowd. It was almost too much. It shook his nerves when he considered that he’d be climbing into the cage at UCC 132.
He thought the pace of his career and life, like a train pulling into the station, was chugging toward a slower speed, but that wasn’t the case. Bear set him up at the very next SRV Fights to defend his title in only a few weeks. Whit thought it was way too soon, but Bretten wanted to fight. Eventually his coach relented.
Then, only two days ago, here in Las Vegas, he’d sat down with Bear and UCC vice president Stein Berglund. The man didn’t say much, the complete opposite of how most thought a big-time promoter should be. His normal attire consisted of blue jeans, boots, and short sleeved collared shirts. He smiled easy, but didn’t offer much more, never overblown or wordy. When he did speak, everyone listened.
He’d sunk into the chair at the opposite side of the dark wooden desk, smiled, and introduced himself. He then scribbled something on a piece of paper.
Bretten exchanged a glance with Bear. His agent nodded as if he had it under control. Stein slid the paper across the desk, and both men read it together...Three fights, 20/20, with win 30/30, with win 40/40 guaranteed title shot.
It only took Bretten a moment to decipher the meaning. The offer was a three-fight deal with twenty thousand guaranteed in the first fight and a twenty thousand win bonus. The deal continued, thirty thousand and finally forty thousand.
This looked incredible, and Bretten started to speak, but Bear waved him off and whipped out his own pen. Nobody said a word as his meaty hand scribbled out more numbers. He flashed them to his client, and Bretten tried to keep a poker face. He couldn’t believe what Bear had scrawled, 40/40, 60/60, 80/80.
Stein glanced at the paper, chuckled, and finally somebody spoke. “Sorry guys, I can’t go with that. How bout 30, 40, 50 with a guaranteed title shot after three victories? That’s solid if you ask me. In a year you can have two hundred forty thousand and a belt.”
Bretten and Bear exchanged another glance. “I think we can live with that,” Bear said.
Bear’s voice now roused Bretten from his thoughts. “You got this Brooke, get in there and kick her ass,” he was yelling.
He stood in the first row, and his voice cut above all the rest. Bretten looked up as the announcer belted out Brooke’s name. She waved to the crowd, and then in a moment she was in a fight.
Bretten followed Whit’s lead and yelled instructions, but had a hard time shaking through the unfolding events. She was throwing elbows and knees, searching for openings, looking to stop her opponent, just like he did every time he fought. He expected it. He trained with her daily, knew her abilities, but to see it in action in front of twelve thousand screaming fans, was altogether different.
The two women went back and forth, trading blows and circling the cage. Brooke landed a leg kick, then another. Whit noticed something. “Throw it again, change the target!” he yelled.
Bretten knew immediately this meant to kick high. Latisha dropped her arms on the last low kick. Brooke threw another one to the leg, and looked as if she’d stick with the tactic. She focused on her opponent’s knee, and then shot her leg up to the head.
Her right shin just above the foot collided with Latisha’s head. She never saw the kick coming, and her muscles stopped working. Her body twisted and tumbled to the floor, her knee bent at a funny angle. And it was over.
Brooke raised her hands in triumph and stooped to check on her opponent.
Bretten watched all this as he squeezed through the cage door, and a thought completely askew with the surroundings jolted him. Damn I want to marry this girl!
Chapter 13
Bretten rested at the foot of the bed and listened to the shower. He wasn’t the one that fought, but felt tired nonetheless. It seemed odd, now here high above the Vegas Strip in the Tropical Sands Hotel they were just like any other couple preparing for a night on the town. But only a couple hours ago Brooke was kicking Latisha Jones in the head. That thought evaporated and was replaced by another. He imagined Brooke’s body under the hot stream of water and considered joining her.
She didn’t give him a chance. The shower stopped and he listened to her climb out. The door was cracked, and he caught a glimpse of her naked body in the mirror. Her wet hair appeared darker than usual. Her body, a perfect milky color, still glistened from the water, her breasts round and centered by two light pink nipples. Bretten felt a hint of embarrassment for staring, but couldn’t pull himself away.
Barely aware of the movement, he found himself at the bathroom door. He poked his head in, allowing his eyes to drift over her body. She noticed, and smiled meekly, a touch of shyness.
“You’re a gorgeous and amazing woman. Let me jump in the shower, and then I’ll give you a massage. You gotta need it after the fight.”
She thought for a second. “We have to be in the lobby in thirty minutes or so—”
“I’ll hurry. I mean with the shower.”
Again, she considered. “How can I turn down a massage? Besides, who cares if we’re a little late?”
She wrapped the towel around her body and walked between him and the door frame. She paused, gave him a light kiss, and slid her hand from his chest to his muscular stomach and then lower, just a light graze, and then she moved on.
Bretten was in and out of the shower in a heartbeat. He found her on the bed under the sheet. Her towel was hanging on a chair. He climbed onto the bed and let his towel fall to the side, revealing his body. Now she looked him up and down, and he felt shy.
She rolled onto her stomach, and he pulled the sheet down. He couldn’t decide where to go, and finally slipped his knees between her legs. She opened them slightly. He squeezed lotion into his palms and rubbed to warm it up, then planted his hands on her back. She inhaled sharply at his touch, the coolness of the lotion, the warmness of his hands, the images of where this was heading.
She relaxed and breathed deeply as he massaged her back and shoulders for a few moments, drifting over her muscles and tracing his fingers along her sides. Her body tingled with pleasure as his hands glided over her skin. She felt herself heating up and wanted him to touch her everywhere. She wanted to touch him everywhere, as well.
He slid his hands over her butt to her hardened legs. She looked incredible. He fought the urge to forgo the massage altogether. His hands moved up and down her legs, and with each stroke inched up her inner thighs. Finally, his fingers could go no higher. She again took in a sharp breath as he touched her there. He felt the warmth and became fully erect. Again, he struggled to continue the massage.
She turned over. The look in her eyes was something he had not seen. She wrapped her legs around him, reached out and grasped him gently, and then guided him on top of her.
He brought his mouth down to her pink nipple and traced his tongue in circles around it. She moaned and began to stroke him softly. He intertwined his fingers with her hair and gently pulled, exposing her beautiful neck. His tongue moved upward to her neck a
nd then back down to her nipple, the touch making her body tingle.
“I want you so badly,” she whispered.
“I want you, too.”
She pulled him downward and guided him to her. He slid in slowly at first. It was the most miraculous feeling he’d ever experienced. Their hands found each other and locked as he pushed his hips up. She pushed hers down to meet him.
She reached around him, her fingers pressing into his muscular back. He lifted up, his arms supporting him, and arched his back as he pushed all the way inside of her.
“Oh, God, YES! You feel so good,” she moaned.
“You do too, and you’re so beautiful.”
He lowered himself, his hands reaching under her shoulders and neck. His right hand pulled on her wet hair once again. She let out a gasp, and dug her fingers into his muscular backside. “Yes, I want it so bad,” she breathed.
Her legs wrapped around him, and she lifted her hips off the bed. They both sped up as their desire for every bit of each other reached a breaking point.
They were oblivious to each passing minute. There was no way they’d be on time to the lobby, neither cared.
They were desperate for each other, desperate for this release. They climaxed together and crumbled into the sheets, both breathing heavy with passion. She whispered in his ear. “You know, I love you.”
It was a statement, not a question, and he knew. Bretten propped up on his elbows, brushed the hair back from her forehead. “I love you, too”
And again Bretten thought, I’m going to marry this girl!
Chapter 14
The gym’s back wall cast a shadow across the gray alley, similar to Tristan’s mood before he left...dark and brooding. Fortunately for everybody he didn’t stay too long after the near confrontation at the bar. A couple days, then he headed back to Kansas City. He’d returned the week of Brooke’s UCC fight, but just long enough to gather his things. He was done training at Whit’s. It seemed to make everyone happier, Bretten the happiest. His SRV Fights title defense was close. He didn’t need any more tension.
The mid-morning sun was bright in the pale blue sky. Bretten stood with Rodrigo behind the gym just inside the shadow. He took a deep breath and prepared. Rodrigo had been saying repeatedly, “Keep blasting, pushing, and flowing.”
It took Bretten a while, then it clicked, the flowing gave it away. They’d been working on takedown defense when it came to him. “Ah, it’s Bruce Lee! ‘Keep blasting, pushing, and flowing.’”
“Who else?” Rodrigo said.
The quote had become their mantra. Now, the two men stood in the narrow uneven alley, two giant tractor tires resting at their feet. Rodrigo said it again, “Keep blasting, pushing, and flowing, last exercise of the morning. Let’s make it good.”
They hit knuckles and dug into the dirt-caked tires. They each gripped and struggled, their muscles worked in unison, flexed, extended, pushed, and pulled. They grunted and heaved until their tire was upright for an instant and then pushed to the ground with a thunderous crash. One grueling flip after another, they moved down the shaded alley.
Sweat poured from their heads, their front sides were covered in dirt, muscles quivered, and oxygen was hard to come by. “Keep blasting!” Bretten said.
“Hell yeah,” Rodrigo said. And the men turned to retrace their steps.
Upon arriving at the starting point, they collapsed onto the tires. The sunshine now edged over the building, the shadow had retreated and the mixture of breeze and sun felt good. Their morning session complete, but both men loathed the task of replacing the tires against the wall, so they sat and recovered.
Birds chirped and the occasional car rumbled by. “I think you’re ready to fight bro, you’re moving fast and looking strong.”
“Thanks man. It’s always good to hear somebody tell you you’re ready,” Bretten said.
“I know we’ve been drilling takedown defense, but I’ve seen this Griffin kid fight, he’s a damn good wrestler. You’re going to have to stay on your feet.”
“Yeah, he was Big Ten champ at Michigan State. But you know it’s all different when somebody punches you in the face.”
“You’re right about that,” Rodrigo said. “I know you’re training right, but for real you gotta get through this one. The UCC will promote you that much more with a win.”
“I’ve thought about that. It’s going to be the most important fight of my career. And I know you won’t be too far behind me getting into the UCC.”
“I hope, but I haven’t had all these freaking fights in a row like you. I’ll get a couple more wins, be there with you by the end of the year.”
The two men started to stir, recovered enough to take on the task of hauling the tires to the wall. They stood, and Bretten said, “There’s something I got to talk to you about. I’ve got to see what you think.”
Rodrigo groaned. “Oh crap, you know I’m not Dr. Phil right?”
“You kind of look like him dude.”
“If I wasn’t so tired I’d rub your face in the gravel, Minuteman. Brooke probably knows all about that nickname.”
Bretten threw a lazy round house into Rodrigo’s leg and laughed. “That’s harsh man, way too harsh, but that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Brooke.”
“What about her?”
“Well, I know I’ve only known her for a few months now, but things are going fast.”
Rodrigo cut in. “You know why? It’s because of the lives we live. We’re always on edge, pushed into these physically and emotionally difficult situations, and they make us closer. It’s almost like a drug that enhances everything. We see things clearer, have deeper relationships, we feel so alive because we have to. It’s part of being a fighter.”
Bretten shook his head. “Damn dude, you jumped into the deep end all of a sudden. What you’re saying makes sense, but here’s the thing. I think I want to ask her to marry me.”
The words froze Rodrigo as he processed them. The wind picked up and a Taco Mayo wrapper bounced along the ground through the alley. It hit one of the tires and tumbled around it before coming to rest against a chain link fence. Rodrigo watched until it came to a halt, then turned back toward Bretten. “Seriously? You’ve only known her for a few months.”
“What about all that stuff you just said, about our situations making us closer?” Bretten asked.
“They do, but still man. Are you sure?”
“I don’t know, I know it’s fast, that’s why I’m trying to get your opinion.”
“You know, I love Bruce Lee and I’m always spitting out his quotes, sure I buy into them, but also do it because it’s just kind of my thing, right? Well, he’s also said something about love. I can’t remember the whole thing, but it’s something like this, ‘Love is like a friendship caught on fire, at first fierce but still just flickering. As love grows our hearts mature, and love is like coals, deep-burning’.”
“Bull shit! Bruce Lee said that? And how can you remember shit like that? So you’re telling me we’re still on fire? I should wait.”
“It was something like that. Bruce was a lover and a fighter. I don’t know where you are with Brooke, but you gotta decide if your hearts are mature. But what the hell do I know? You should’ve asked Whit or Doc about this stuff. Both their hearts gotta be mature because they’re old as the dirt on these tires.”
Bretten laughed. “Naw, I asked you because you know your shit. Now speaking of these tires, help me move this one.”
The two lifted together and placed the first tire against the brick wall. “If you do decide to pop the question, let me know. I want to help you come up with a badass proposal.”
“You got it bro.”
Chapter 15
Dana eased the Taurus toward the center median, glanced at the Wal-Mart sign and made a mental note to pick up a few things after meeting with Sherry. A tourist bus sat almost directly underneath the sign, skewing the Open 24 Hours part, as it waited for its occupants to re
turn from Sam’s Town Casino. She shook her head, thoughts of gambling invariably led to images of poor Harold in the desert. She started to make the turn toward Chili’s Grill and Bar. The casino loomed to her right, a giant boat on a sea of sand. The sea was restless. The March wind lifted tiny particles and whipped them across Boulder Highway. They twisted and swirled around her car.
She cut through southbound traffic and bounced into the half-full parking lot, glad to have the casino in her rear view mirror.
Another car, one of which she was completely unaware, turned toward Wal-Mart then drifted along the smooth parking surface heading northwest, directly toward the Chili’s. The driver said under his breath in a poor Humphrey Bogart imitation, “Mitch, she called you, this is for the case. This isn’t creepy. I know there is something about her, but you’re a detective man.” It came out as Bogart because he played Sam Spade in the 1941 version of The Maltese Falcon. Spade was Detective Mitch Westingham’s favorite.
He angled into a makeshift parking place next to a well-worn Chevy pickup. The truck pointed toward the highway and was plastered with for sale signs. He shut off the engine, raised his arm with flair and said a little louder this time. “Here’s looking at you kid.”
Westingham knew the line wasn’t Sam Spade’s. It came from Rick Blaine, the cynical American expatriate in Casablanca, but since Bogart played Blaine he said it anyway. He liked his Bogart voice and often mixed and matched his lines.
He squinted past the glare of the highway and saw Dana Murphy enter the Chili’s. He decided to give it fifteen minutes or so and then make his way over. He glanced in the mirror and winked. Sure, his friends on the force thought he was a little off. He preferred the word eccentric.
Caged Love: MMA Contemporary Suspense (Book Three) Page 5