by TC Matson
His smile is hiding something else. Something more sullen. “Came to see how you’ve been doing.”
I shake my head. “I’m always good. You?”
He glances away, twisting his thumbs before jamming his hands into his pockets. He looks exhausted. “Been better. Hey, you still looking for some help?”
“Who’s asking?”
He drops his view to his feet. “Me.”
I nod my head behind me. “Want to punch it out? Always helps me.”
His face lights up, his sad brown eyes glimmering as he nods.
I grab the pads and it’s as if he’s waited for this for a while. He means business, slamming his glove-covered knuckles into my hands. Swing after swing, he dumps all his frustrations. He looks different with sweat forming across his brow. I’ve not seen this much pissed off determination from him ever. He’s always carried himself quietly. Although I know he’s got a cocky mouth, he’s normally timid.
He stops, hands on his thighs, and tries catching his breath. Sweat drips from his face.
I knew he would run out of gas fast. “You can’t hold your breath as you swing.” I straighten him up. “You’ll breathe better standing up,” I inform him.
He nods loosely, gulping in air. “My stepdad found out my mom’s been helping me with the apartment.”
“I can always use a helping hand. It’ll only be part time, though,” I say.
“You probably think I’m a punk who can’t do shit on his own,” he bites.
I tighten my lips. “It sounds like you need to quit listening to your stepdad. People hit hard times. Getting help doesn’t make you a punk.”
This spasm of compassion is Whitney’s fault. Fucking shit. She’s rubbing off on me.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I had a good job, but the owner went through a horrible divorce. Somehow his ex-wife took it all and forced him to shut it down. He got me another job at a factory. I like the job, but the fucking pay sucks. I’m already at top pay. No damn where else to go.”
I’m not used to this. So I nod like I understand. Truthfully, I don’t. When I turned eighteen, I was lucky enough to have a contract that promised me a hefty paycheck. Before that, it was odds and ends. But my parents made sure none of us Hayes boys struggled.
“Sorry, dude.” He shakes his arms out. “I’m pissed.”
I go over his part time roll at the gym. His hours are flexible, but I expect him to show up every day. It’s an easy job. Boring honestly.
After showing Carter around, I came home and showered. The sun is setting when Whit comes through the door and sets her purse and a binder on the counter. She drops, arms out to her side, flat on her back onto the couch.
I chuckle. “Bad day?”
“Not bad. Just really long.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Candice had Chinese delivered. How was your day?” she asks, lifting her head to me.
“I gave Carter a job today,” I tell her.
She pushes up and her eyes widen with warmth. “Really? I bet he’s excited. That was sweet of you.”
“I don’t do sweet except to you,” I remind her. “But your compassion is wreaking havoc on me.”
She giggles and then moves to me, sitting on my lap. “I think it’s sexy,” she says.
“I’ve always been sexy,” I counter.
She places a soft kiss on my chin. “That you have.”
“Can I give you a shower?” I ask with all the right intentions of fucking her.
She hears it and grins impishly. “Do you sit around when I’m not here and think of sex?”
I laugh. “No.”
“You’re a virile man.”
“You sound like you’re complaining,” I say.
She shakes her head, but my phone rings underneath us, cutting our conversation short.
“Pussy whipped,” I sing, answering the phone.
“Oh, hell no. You’re the one engaged to get married. You’re the ultimate whipped,” Matt cackles.
“Wait? Are your eyes the green ones now?” I laugh.
“You dumb fuck. They’ve always been green,” he jokes.
“That’s right. You’ve always been envious of me,” I banter back.
“Pfft. In your damn dreams. You’re just competitive and had to outdo me, that’s all.”
I bark out a laugh.
“Look,” he switches, sounding more serious. “I’m not going to make it to your fight. Work won’t let me off that day. But I’ll have it on the television. Holly is excited about it too. She’s just having a hard time expressing it,” he laughs.
Yeah, right. Holly wishes I’d fall off the face of the Earth. Girl code bullshit.
“I get it. It’s all good. Just be ready to celebrate,” I tell him.
“I’m fucking stoked, man. It’s your dream. Show these dickheads what the motherfucking Striker is about.”
“Yeah, man.”
After our goodbyes, I hang up and kiss Whitney, suddenly feeling more invigorated. “I’m so fucking ready for this.”
She smiles that gorgeous, proud, reassuring smile of hers. “You’ve got this.”
Chapter 9
We flew into Florida early yesterday morning. He rushed through the weigh ins without any altercations—which, I didn’t expect any. Jared Parsons is too nice and laid back to be an asshole.
Brian called a meeting between Ryker and the coaches, and Ryker was instructed to leave me out of it. It pissed Ryker off, but being in the business I’m in, I brushed it off. I’d only be there as an arm weight anyway.
I went to the gym on the ground floor and hit the treadmill for about an hour and then came back to shower. I grab a container of fruit—pineapple, apple, and strawberries, and then head out to the balcony. The sun is blazing. The weather at home is barreling into winter, but here, the palm trees rustle in the soft breeze, the sky a beautiful blue, and I’m sweating.
Since this morning, Ryker’s already in his head. He’s gotten quiet and even though his smiles and glances are full of adoration, they’re also not here. He’s focused. I’m not complaining because I understand how important this is.
This is big.
Really big.
Colossally big.
It’s what he’s been training for, dreaming of for as long as he can remember. He can smell the goal he’s worked so hard for, and after he wins tonight, he’s onto the next step—title holder for his weight class in the pros. After that…well, he swears he wants to own the MMAP. I’m interested in seeing how all this plays out for him. I know he can do anything he sets his mind to.
“I told you that bikini you tossed to the side should’ve been packed,” he grins, his eyes roaming my body.
“You wouldn’t have left it on me long enough to get some sun,” I quip.
“There’s not enough fabric on it to matter. You could lay out naked,” he says mischievously.
I giggle. “You’re setting me up for a trap.”
“Are you going to fall for it?”
I smile at him. “What do you think?”
His dimple emerges and he sits in the chair beside me. “I’m going to have you out here moaning my name tonight.”
I purse my lips. “Maybe inside the hotel room, but not out here. Not for everyone…” I trail off.
He hums a chuckle.
“How was your meeting?” I ask, changing the subject before he shows me how easily he can sway my mind.
His face slacks. “Brian wanted to go over our strategies. Manager or not, I don’t delve into that subject.”
“You think he’d go tell your opponent?” I ask.
He chuckles shaking his head. “And rid himself of his best paycheck? Not a chance. But I’m set in my ways.”
“Superstitious ways?”
“No. Cautious. Spontaneous. My way.”
I nod and shift to sit back in my chair. “Your way is good.”
Silence settles around us. He’s back in his head again.
The arena is vibrating with energy as we step through the fighters’ entrance. Sensing my hesitation and nervousness, Ryker squeezes my hand and tugs me closer. He peers at me but keeps his head forward and continues without a word. I’m flanked on his side. Kyce trails directly behind us.
They both walk with so much confidence and certainty, I feel way out of place. I’m a brittle little mouse.
Inside his locker room, Daniel and Flynn rise to their feet when we enter. This room is huge. I guess being the main event, you get better treatment? The air is even cool instead of humid and sticky. It smells of anticipation, confidence, and testosterone.
Ryker’s been quiet since we left the hotel. He rode in the back with his headphones on while Kyce took the wheel and drove the rented black Tahoe. I anxiously tapped my toes inside my sneakers. I do it to keep my fear hidden from Ryker…or at least make an attempt to. I pray it doesn’t show in my eyes.
He bends his head. “Sit over there.” He points to a chair at a small round table and kisses my temple.
I’m back to tapping my toes as I watch Daniel, Flynn, and Kyce begin pumping him up and readying him for battle. I’m playing between my phone and a lose string from the holes in the knee of my jeans, and watching him. I fidget with my fingernails and turn my engagement ring around my finger.
I’m a basket case of anxiety. How he suppresses it is beyond me.
A man steps in and speaks quietly to the men before disappearing back out the door and shutting it quietly. I’m back on three white strands on my pants, braiding them.
I can feel his eyes on me. As I glance up, fondness is staring back at me, but he blinks quickly, averting his view back to the pads on Kyce’s hands. Those quick glances always strangle my heart. The brief glimpses into his heart…
The sound of air exiting his mouth as he shadowboxes and the echoes of his gloves thudding against the leather pads surround me. It infuses more tension in me. I grab my phone and scroll through Pinterest because what woman planning a wedding can’t get lost and distracted on it?
A knock on the door has my heart surging and immediately my hands shake.
It’s time for him to get ready and head out.
He shrugs into a shirt and steps to me.
“You betting on the other guy?” he asks with a small smirk.
I swallow and grin. “I do think he’s a pretty nice guy.”
His eyes pulsate. “Nice guys finish last. How much are we betting?”
I rock back on my heel and lift my head to him. “You’ve used up everything.”
He chuckles sinisterly. “I win, the hotel terrace has our name on it.”
My eyes widen. “Sneaky bastard,” I whisper. “And if you lose?”
His lips pull all the way up into a smile that reaches his eyes. “Jacksonville will be hearing you moan tonight.”
He slants his mouth to mine and kisses me…hard. When he pulls back, he winks, and then sinks away into the Striker—stoic, solid, and cold.
Kyce takes me by the elbow, and we start out the door. I glance over my shoulder, one last time, but Ryker isn’t paying me any attention as Flynn is in his face saying something.
We’re zigzagging our way through the crowd when a large, rugged man with jet black hair steps in our way. “The Shitter will lose tonight.”
Kyce’s grip tightens, and he pulls me a closer…protectively. He grins wickedly. “You’re wrong. Parsons will lose.”
Scruffy jaw shakes his head. “Parsons will dominate him, and if Striker is serious about it…” His eyes land on me so nefariously, I shiver. “He’ll lose tonight.”
Kyce laughs. “That makes no fucking sense, man.” He tugs me and we step around and walk away to our seats.
We’re always front and center. Always in plain sight. Always way too close.
The energy in this place is suffocating. The suspense blankets the place. The air is thick, heavy, and so full with enthusiasm my lungs don’t seem to want to work right.
I sit. Kyce sits.
I’m wringing my fingers. Kyce is playing the drums on his knees with his.
I’m tapping my foot. Kyce is still.
I’m shaking. Kyce is relaxed.
But I keep seeing him look behind us. I turn to see a gorgeous, dark-haired woman with dark eyes and plump lips outlining a really pretty smile has his attention.
He pats my leg. “I’ll be right back.”
I grab his arm, stopping him. “Ryker said—”
He rolls his eyes. “He won’t know a thing if you don’t tell him. He worries too much anyway. I’ll be right back.”
He leaps over his chair and struts to the woman, dropping into the empty seat beside her. Immediately, he’s in her ear saying something. She laughs, placing her hand on his thigh.
That’s when I cut my eyes back to the ring. And of freaking course, it’s when my nervous bladder speaks up. I glance back to Kyce and wave my hand.
“I have to pee,” I whisper-yell, but he dismisses me like he didn’t hear me.
I try again, this time getting a finger held up telling me to hold on.
I glance back to the entrance, knowing the bathroom is just a little way back. I won’t use the visitor’s bathroom. There’s too many people and probably a long line. I want the secluded bathroom in the fighter’s hall. Less traffic.
I peek back at Kyce and try once more. “Kyce. He’ll be out soon. I—”
She giggles at something he says in her ear, ignoring me.
I bite my lip and go. I can get there and back before Ryker comes out. I rush back through the crowd and make it to the restroom. I’m done in record time. Pretty sure I just pressure washed the toilet bowl. Quickly, I jam my hand under the soap dispenser, scrub, and begin to rinse.
“I never thought you’d get away from your guard dog.” The voice grates my spine, snapping it straight.
I flick my view to the mirror. The large burly man from earlier stands in front of the door, blocking my exit with his arms crossed. He looks amused with wickedness lacing the lines in his face.
“I’ll be out of your way in a minute.” My voice remains steady, unlike my body, which is now trembling.
I grab a paper towel, only ripping the corner of it. It’s fine. It’ll do. I need to get out of here.
He pushes his lips out through a malice smirk. “I’m in no rush.”
My legs feel like rubber. “Excuse me,” I state trying to move past him.
His green eyes are dark. Maliciously dark. Villainous vibes billow from him and my body becomes hyperaware I’m in trouble.
He grabs my arms and slams my back against the wall causing me to yelp.
“Your punk ass boyfriend will not be winning tonight,” he growls.
I swallow. “I-I can’t control who wins.” My voice shakes.
A chuckle rumbles from his throat, dark and diabolically. “I can.”
I try pulling my arms free, but he only tightens his grip. My heart is thrashing in my chest. My breath speeding up.
“Imagine his anger when he doesn’t see his pretty little woman sitting where she’s supposed to. He’ll be so distraught.” He grins.
“Stop!” I yell, twisting to get out of his grips. His fingers tighten, biting into the skin of my arm. Pain shoots down to my fingertips and it causes something inside of me to snap.
Flight or fight engages and I want to fight my way to flight.
I yank my knee intending to land it in his nuts, but I miss, I fucking miss, and shove it into his thigh instead. He sucks a breath and groans before glancing down at my leg. When he blinks back to me, his eyes are on fire with so much vile my stomach drops.
He slams a punch into my ribs. It sucks the breath out of me. My legs give out.
“Please,” I gasp, but it comes out silent.
“I would’ve thought you were spunkier.” He growls his laughter. “You’re a fucking ragdoll. Your boyfriend should be disgusted.”
The screams from the crowd in t
he arena rattle the room. He looks to the ceiling and blinks back to me. “Not much longer and he’ll toss in the towel.”
I get my feet on the ground, trying to straighten up through the pain of my ribs. A tear spills onto my cheek.
“Don’t fight with me and I won’t make you regret it,” he grumbles.
I’m trembling, scared out of my damn wits, but I’m not going to just stand here vulnerable. “Hel—”
I’m unable to finish my scream as he smacks my face and then shoves his palm over my mouth. He leans in close, and the smell of liquor on his breath makes me nauseous. “Shut the fuck up, stupid bitch.”
I claw at his face with the one hand I have free and try kicking him away to make a dash for the door, but he shoves me against the wall. Bright lights glimmer as my head hits the bricks, but adrenaline is coursing. I try to duck away, but he grabs my throat, squeezing my neck.
My eyes spring open widely as the air slows to my head. I scratch at his hands.
A vile smile spreads his lips. “Stand still and I won’t tighten anymore.”
My face is stinging where he slapped me. Tears are pouring from my eyes.
Always assess everything. Find your opening. Visualize how it’s going to happen. Think it through quickly and then execute it, Ryker’s voice storms my thoughts.
He’s glowering at me, both hands around my neck. Keeping my eyes on him, I try taking in everything and then try taking a deep breath through the grip on my neck.
Simultaneously, I punch him in the face, stomp his foot, and then jerk my knee into his ribs. He grunts, releasing me and I lunge, making a mad dash for the door, but I’m stopped. He grabs my hair and yanks back, throwing me on the ground. I’m flailing my legs, trying to scramble backward. That’s when the bright lights burst. A stomach-churning crunch deafens me.
I scream.
He straddles me, sitting on my hips. Pain is pulsing everywhere. He bends his face to mine, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. My head jerks again as he lifts it by a handful of hair, and out of nowhere, his fist is in my face again.
Everything turns brilliantly white.