by TC Matson
“It took everything I had not to put Kyce in a body bag. My parents are to thank for that,” I tell her. “I don’t want you to feel responsible for what happened. Whitney, I’d do it all over again without any hesitations.” I take her hand in mine.
“You’re so protective of me. You’re trying to protect me from you. From your life. I thought I was a part of it?” she finally breaks her silence.
“You are,” I tell her.
“I suddenly don’t feel like I am.” She sighs and glances to me. “I messed up your lifelong dream.”
A chuckle grumbles from me. “Nah. It’s just redirected.”
“I think you should ask Carter to be your fighter,” she says.
“Been wondering what you heard from that meeting,” I say.
“Does it matter? Why can’t you just tell me?” she pleas. “Why do I feel like you’re pushing me away?” She blinks back tears.
I slide closer and pull her into my side, kissing the top of her head. “Whit, you have to understand my life just went to shambles in front of me. The woman I love was beaten because of my ambitions. My professional contract was ripped up in front of me.”
Her head rolls forward and I watch as a tear falls to her lap. “I hate this.”
“So do I, but we’ll get through it.”
“With your determination and strength, we’ll get through anything, but it doesn’t curb the despise I have for all this.”
“You’re discrediting your own strength, Whitney.”
She squeezes my hand and tries smiling. “What do you plan on doing?”
I shrug. “I’ve got time to figure it out.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder. “I was planning on talking it over with you.”
She silences, snuggling into me.
“I’m sorry, Whit,” I tell her.
She stifles a chuckle. “I’m hearing a lot of that lately. Can you say something different?”
I lay my head on hers. “I love you?”
She laughs. “Do you have to ask yourself?”
I kiss her head. “Not for one second. I’d like to take you home and show you.”
Chapter 15
I’m at the gym slamming my knuckles into the heavy bag—the same one I’ve been trying to bust the seams on for years when Whitney strolls through the door. She’s dressed in a navy-blue pencil skirt and a pink blouse, her hair bouncing with each step.
She hooks her arm around my waist and grins before tiptoeing to kiss my jaw. “Jesus, you steal the oxygen from the room.”
She giggles sweetly and then kisses me again. “You make me hungry,” she says against my lips causing my brows to perk up. “Want to do lunch?”
Sliding my hands around her hips, I pull her body against mine and then crush to her mouth. She parts her lips, allowing my tongue to plunge in and sweep across hers. My dick itches to feel her. Her hands lock behind my neck and she moans that sexy fucking moan of hers.
The door opens and immediately the fucking energy shifts.
I glance up to a pitch black faux hawk and intent blue eyes. Levi glances around as he steps over the threshold.
He’s on my turf. My territory. In my gym.
My entire body tenses, and I move Whitney to my side. Anger boils inside of me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I grit.
Levi’s in front of me with the biggest asshole grin, spreading his hands and looking around. “Nice place you got here.”
“You didn’t come here to use it. What the hell do you want?” I snap.
He looks to Whitney. “I’m glad to see you’re healing up well.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ve got an idea. More of a ‘fuck it, let’s try it’ plan.” He raises a shoulder.
Glaring, I reply, “With what?”
Every subtle move has me on edge. I don’t know what he’s up to and not knowing what he’s fully capable of doing has me ready to pounce.
“I’ve heard the head honchos denied your access into the pros. You’ve got, what? A few days left before you’re forced to make a final decision?”
I’m going to snap Matt’s neck. Rip his head right off his shoulders, piss down the empty cavity, and duct tape it back on. He’s the only one close to Levi who had that information.
“Why do you care?” I grumble.
He drops his hands to his sides and smirks like a bastard. “Cause you’re a fucking badass beast I enjoy fighting. I appreciate our growing rivalry and I don’t want to see a fighter like you wasted.”
My eyebrows jump. “I relish our rivalry too, but that still doesn’t explain why the hell you’ve switched from wanting to pummel me to fighting for me.”
Whitney squeezes my hip but I don’t look to her.
“Maybe we can change their minds and have another shot at fighting each other again,” Levi offers.
“What’s your plan?” Whit asks and I’m glad she did. My stubbornness isn’t allowing me to urge him for the answer.
“You set a meet,” he nods at me. “We, the two biggest enemies, infused with hatred, walk in together. You slap some pictures of her aftermath in their faces while we go over the events that played out. Hopefully it’s enough they’ll give it a second thought.”
“Wait.” I shift, releasing Whit. “You want me to utilize her most defenseless and awful moments in hopes they’d renounce their decision?” I shake my head in dispute. “I’m not doing that to her. I’m not going to exploit her privacy.”
“Have they seen what she went through? The damages she incurred? If not, how do they know the severity of the situation?”
I ponder it before I shrug. “My manager and coaches went in my defense. I’m sure they explained.”
“All without you,” he states smugly. “Let’s walk in there and change their fucking minds.”
Whitney turns to me, placing her hands on my chest. “If you’re worried of how I feel, I think it’s worth a shot.” Her tone is sweet. “It’s my fault you lost your goal, so if there’s a chance, I support whatever measures you take. What’s the worst they’ll say? They stand by their decision?”
I walk away from both of them and lean my hip on the side of my ring. Placing my palms to the side, I stare at my feet, trying to figure out what I should do.
The commissioners knew it was an emergency. They knew the sonofabitch was charged and found guilty of assault. They knew of his confession. He placed his life fucking savings on Parsons and he didn’t want his wife to find out. Wife…the fucker had a family—two kids. One boy. One girl.
Pathetic, selfish, worthless sorry fucker.
Whitney presses her hand to my arm.
“I’m playing fucking poker, wagering everything I have on your battered pictures just to shed light on the events that played out that night with the one person everyone knows I share a hatred-filled history.” I flick my gaze to her. “Forgive me if I’m dubious.”
She jumps up on the ring, her pink little heels dangling. “You gave up everything for me. You always settle on my happiness. For the record, I want you happy too. Put it somewhere in your mind that I want this just as much as you do. I’m begging you to try.”
“You loathe me fighting,” I remind her.
She titters. “I don’t. I hate the thought of you getting hurt. I think you can appreciate why I feel that way.” We sit in silence as my mind works. And then she says, “Please, Ryker. For me, give it a shot.”
I glance to Levi. “What happens if they don’t take it?”
“You coach. Word is coaches can call each other out and land some fun in the ring.” He smirks. “Or you can lie down like a pussy and do nothing.”
I shove off the ring and stalk to him. “I’ve got a ring right here,” I jerk my head. “I can remind you who’ll lie down first.”
His eyes flare with amusement. “And let the world miss it? Sounds like you’re more worried about a second loss than I thought.”
“You won’t win again,” I reply. “Maybe we should settle o
ur animosity.”
Levi barks a laugh. “Are you wanting to be my friend now? Sounds like it.” His tone is heavy with sarcasm.
I narrow my eyes. “Says the man in my gym, trying to convince me to master a plan to get me back.”
Levi grins.
“What’s the saying? Keep your friends close but your enemies closer?” I add.
He sticks his hand out for me to shake. “Do I despise your worthless ass? Abso-fucking-lutely. But you’re my only real competition in the sport. I’ve taken a liking to you. You remind me of myself.”
“You basically stated you don’t like yourself.”
He nods. “I did. I can be a nasty motherfucker when I want.” He glances to Whitney before settling back to me. “Besides, seems we have some new shine in our lives.”
“I’ll set up the meeting,” I state. “I’m not happy about this, but it’s worth a fucking try.”
He tips his chin. “No one says you have to be happy.”
Three days after contacting Brian to set up the meeting, I’m striding up to Levi, who’s waiting for me by the coffee shop in the Las Vegas airport. We’re both dressed to impress—him in a white button down with sleeves rolled to his elbows and black slacks. I’m identical but with an azure shirt. Whitney says it brings out the seriousness in my eyes and emits power. I’d wear tights right about now if she said I was hot in them.
“We could pass as twins,” Levi gives me a once over.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I deadpan.
“I was giving you the compliment. Not me.”
We hail a cab and travel into town to the brown slated building holding the head honchos. Inside the lobby, framed posters of past and present fighters clutter the walls. There’s one of Levi and his malevolent stare walking out of the entrance and toward the cage. There’s one of me, splattering the face of Tyler Holloway. I grin. That punch knocked him out cold.
Sport magazines, mainly MMA, are stacked on the corners of the end tables. It’s quiet in here.
The elevator dings and Brian steps out. He stumbles when his eyes land on Levi, but he quickly recovers.
“He’s coming in with us,” I tell him.
Suspicion etches his eyes. “Does Cory know you’re here?”
Levi smirks. “Give him a call and find out.”
I tap the manila envelope to the palm of my hand. “We’ve got a plan.”
Brian draws his eyebrows close together. “You two? You two despise each other.”
I grin triumphantly. “Precisely. They’ll be just as surprised.”
A long-haired, blonde receptionist smiles, flashing her pearly whites, and steps out of the dark-colored door. “Gentleman. They’re ready for you. Follow me.”
The hallways are littered with more pictures, magazine covers, and celebrities smiling for the camera. Levi and I follow behind Brian when the receptionist pushes open two double doors and steps to the side. She smiles and nods before retreating.
Four men…four executives—two in their late twenties, maybe early thirties and two definitely in their forties—sit in their fancy fucking suits, side by side on the opposite side of the long conference table. They smell of wealth and look the part.
As Levi and I step in, all eyebrows raise and three out of the four men smirk as if seeing us together just got their fucking dicks hard.
Brian takes a seat, but I refuse to as does Levi. Standing powers my intimidation.
Mr. Walker, the youngest looking, opens a folder and thumbs through it. “Mr. Garner…” he looks up, not to Brian, but to me, “states you have made your decision.”
I tighten my lips. “Not without my argument first,” I say. “You’ve spoken with my manager and coaches, but you haven’t spoken with me.”
“Or anyone else who was involved,” Levi adds, sounding calm.
They eye us and then Mr. Walker, the one I’m deeming as the speaker, waves his hand to the chairs before us. “Please sit.”
I shake my head. “I’ll stand.”
Levi nods at me—my cue to pull the pictures. The ones I haven’t been able to bring myself to look at.
“We just got back from Nick Murphy’s fight when my wife needed to use the restroom. His locker room was full of reporters, cutmen, and other officials, so I followed her down to the restroom at the end of the hall,” Levi says.
“Why would you follow her to the restroom?” Gray-hair at the end asks.
Levi smirks cocky as hell. “Apparently, you haven’t spent any time in those halls. Fighters. Rivals. We’re all hyped up, all ready to seek out the weakness to cluster fuck our opponents’ winning advantage. We smell insecurities and we sink our teeth in. No fucking way in hell I’d let my wife travel the halls alone.”
Mr. Walker looks like a dick. “You don’t have the respect?”
Levi’s jaw tenses. “It’s not about respect. It’s about winning. We’re bred to seek and destroy. Paid to pummel opponents to pay your paychecks. We’re your puppets trying to get to the next level. Some of the fighters will stoop to some pretty low measures. Yes, I have the respect, as does Ryker. That’s why people resort to do dire acts.”
Mr. Walker’s emotionless gaze shifts to me. “All due respect, Mr. Hayes, we’ve all been updated on the incidents of the night.”
I want to knock this fucker’s head off his shoulders. The muscles in my arms begin to feel the sting of angry adrenaline.
“The moment my wife opened the bathroom door, she witnessed a man my size punching Whi-Miss Young in the face,” Levi rights himself. “She was already on the floor. Already knocked out, but he continued his assault. I removed him from her and the room and sent someone for Ryker.”
Mr. Walker exhales in frustration, tapping his finger on the folder. “Your statement was in the report.”
I snap. The devil’s flame roaring its wrath into my gaze.
Slapping Whitney’s pictures on the table before them, I fan them out for all to see. All up close. Blood. Bruises. Stitches. Swollen. Fucking sickening.
“Look at them,” I snarl, jamming my finger on the pictures. “Fucking look at what that motherfucker did to her.”
Red flickers the corner of my vision. My heart is in my temples. Images of knocking each of these bastards out flash before my eyes.
“I knew and understood the consequences of my decision,” I hiss. “I’d do it the fuck again. You tell me what choice you would’ve made? Look at them!” I roar and this time they all do. “What would you have done? I don’t regret it, not one fucking bit. But I sure as hell wouldn’t have thought you bastards were heartless. I’ve given you eight years, seven of them undefeated, paycheck after paycheck rolling in to pay for your fancy lifestyle. And the night of my second chance that I’m grateful you granted me, my fiancée is attacked. What the fuck would you have wanted me to do? Fight while I knew she was dangling by a thread? Not a fucking chance.”
They observe her pictures. My blood courses through my veins with so much force and adrenaline I’m vibrating.
Mr. Walker’s cold, jaded eyes latch on to mine. He laces his fingers together on top the table. “What exactly do you want, Mr. Hayes? You signed a—”
“I know what I signed, but this was out of my power. This…” I tap the pictures, “was inexorable.”
He glances to the men and then back to me. “We’ll discuss this and get in touch with you in the next few days.”
“No,” Levi snaps. “We didn’t come out here to be sent back home without answers. Today.”
Mr. Walker’s eyebrow raises an irritated notch. “Awful demanding, the two of you. Especially to the men who control your future with the MMAT and the MMAP.”
Levi chuckles, low and throaty.
I step forward, placing my knuckles on the table, leveling my eyes to them. “Awful desolate to the only two fighters who have ever gone over five years undefeated. Who have given you whatever bullshit you’ve proposed,” I counter.
“Not to mention remained silen
t on the scandalous shit running amok your precious little association,” Levi adds with a smug grin.
“You two are brave,” the gray-haired man speaks up.
“Brass balls, sir.” I nod in agreement.
“We could dismiss you both from the association,” Mr. Walker says.
I grin, narrowing my eyes, challenging him. “But you won’t.”
With a flick of his wrist, he says. “Go to the lobby. We’ll discuss this and will see you afterward.”
The moment the door to the lobby shuts behind me, Brian shoves my chest. “What the fuck are you doing, Ryker? Are you trying to get me fired?”
Levi laughs and sits.
I laugh but grab his wrist. “You’re the one who insisted you come. Don’t pin this on me. You know I’m fighting until the end.”
That shuts him up. He straightens his blazer while glaring at me and then sits in a chair across the room, away from Levi and me.
One hour later. One hour of tapping my knuckles on my knee, clenching my fists, and occasionally pacing the room. One hour of complete silence. The receptionist comes back and motions for us to follow her again.
They don’t stand for us. We don’t sit for them.
“What’s your angle on this, Mr. Stiles? Why are you here?” Mr. Walker asks.
“I think he’s the only one other than me who can own this weight class. He’s my only competition…for now. Until these younger guys cross the line.”
“You’re rivals,” he states emotionless.
“We’re competitors charging toward the same ending. We recognize we both have skills and I welcome that fucking challenge. I’m sure he’d agree. It’s a friendly competition.” Levi ends with a chuckle.
None of the men look amused. “Friendly? You’ve been at each other’s throats for years,” Mr. Walker states.
“Hostile competition, then,” Levi replies.
“How—”
Mr. Walker starts, but the old man at the end, interrupts. “One year, Mr. Hayes.” He hands me the pictures back. “You coach for one year and in that year, your fighter must win three bouts. He’s your gate keeper.”