The Savage Sinner

by Harlan, Christopher

  “No, I’m just being stubborn, I’m sorry. We’ll game plan. You’ve gotta understand, I’ve been on my own for a year now. I’m just used to making all of my own decisions.”

  “I get that,” Matt says. “I really do. But you’re back now, and it’s time to do things how we do them at New York Fight Club. You’re young, Damien, and you’re still relatively new to both the fight game and my gym, but we have a formula here, and Lucas is living proof that it works. I’m open to other viewpoints and opinions, but we’re not going to screw with a recipe we haven’t even tried out yet. You understand?”

  “I do. And who I am to question the great. . .”

  “Don’t say it!”

  “Fine. I won’t say it. I’ll just say that I’m merely a humble Ninja Turtle, and I’ll do my best to follow my sensei.”

  I get a smile out of him for that. Then, out of nowhere, I hear a frantic knock on the door of Matt’s office and turn around. It’s a kid who just started training with us. “What’s going on?” Matt asks.

  “Damien, there’s a guy up front to see you. It seems urgent.”

  I turn to Matt and we give each other a puzzled expression. Neither of us are expecting anyone, and Lucas is away. “What’s his name?” I ask.

  “No idea. But he looks pissed off and he looks like a fighter.”

  Those are the wrong combination of words, because, as soon as I hear them, my whole body tenses up and I jump out of my seat. Matt tries to stop me. “Damien, slow down. Let me go see who it is.”

  I let him go first, out of respect, but I follow right after. Once we’re in the main area of the gym, I look toward the front and that’s when I see the guy—he’s my size, with a shirt and jeans that are way too tight, and tattoos all over his arms. He looks like a dick.

  “Come on,” Matt says. “Let’s see what he wants.”

  “He who?” I ask, still walking. Each step takes us closer until I see who it is. I didn’t even realize at first, but now that I’m standing three feet away from him, I realize that I’m looking at the New York Cage Fighting Championships welterweight champion, Johnny Altino.

  “Johnny,” Matt says. “What are you doing here?” Matt reaches out his hand but Johnny leaves him hanging, like an asshole.

  “I’m here to see this guy.”

  When his finger points in my direction, I take it as an act of war. Maybe that sounds crazy to someone who doesn’t fight, but in my world, showing up to another man’s gym, disrespecting the head trainer, then pointing your finger is basically a way of saying you want to fight.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I pretend not to know him just because I know exactly who he is—Johnny was coming up the rankings when I first started here two years ago, and by the time I was boarding a plan to Thailand he was scheduled to fight for the local welterweight championship. I’ve been so caught up in my own life and fight career since getting back that I haven’t even thought of the rankings. But, now that he’s standing here, I realize that we might be meeting one day.

  That day might be today if he keeps this shit up.

  I like pretending not knowing who he is because I’ve heard that he has an ego the size of this building, and fighters that arrogant hate the idea of not being known. “You know who I am, motherfucker, and you and I have some talking to do.”

  “You sure you want to talk, bro, ‘cause the energy you’re bringing isn’t talking energy. I mean, we can get some Starbucks if you really want to shoot the shit, but, at the same time, if you want some of this smoke just say the word and it’s yours.”

  “Bitch, I don’t fight for free, and I sure as hell don’t fight unranked losers who haven’t had a fight in over a year. You think I’m gonna make you famous by fighting you at your gym while one of those other nobodies takes out their phone and puts the whole thing on YouTube. You must be stupider than you look.”

  I take a step forward, fully ready to have the title fight I’ve always dreamt of right here and now in full view of every body who happens to be walking past the gym on their lunch break. But, of course, Matt’s arm goes up to stop me from doing something impulsive and stupid.

  “Johnny, this isn’t the way to do things. If you’re not here to fight, and you’re not here to train, I’m afraid you have no business here.”

  He shifts his angry stare from me to Matt, and then he does the most insulting thing of all—more than his chest puffing or cursing—he laughs, mockingly. “Train? That’s hilarious, Matt, I’ll have to remember that one. I’m the reigning welterweight champion. You think I’d train at this dump? I train at a real facility.”

  “Wow,” I say, calming down just long enough to form a sentence that doesn’t involve me threatening his life.

  “Wow, what?” he says.

  “You’re an even bigger asshole than I’ve heard. We now have two UFC fighters under our banner—Lucas and Kane. You’re the welterweight champion of a local organization and you’re talking shit? As though Brooklyn Fighting Academy is some elite training center. You’re fucking delusional. You’d be lucky to have any of us whoop that ass in training.”

  “Outside, now, both of you!”

  Matt yells like he has some authority over Johnny, which he definitely doesn’t, but he knows how to turn on that scary coach voice when he needs to, and right now he needs to. Left to our own devices, me and Johnny are two dogs who’d settle whatever his issue is right here in front of everyone, but that probably isn’t the best look for us as fighters, or for Matt as a gym owner. We step outside out of pure respect, and once we’re out there Johnny starts puffing his chest out all over again.

  “This doesn’t involve you, Matt. Just leave me and Damien to talk.”

  “Talk?” he asks. “Damien’s right, Johnny. If you want to talk, you need to stop cursing and pointing your finger.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not my coach, thank God. And I’m not going to do anything, but only because I’m not jeopardizing my career by beating some scrub in front of his own gym. So don’t worry about my cursing and pointing—there’s not going to be a fight here today. Just give us some privacy.”

  Matt looks to me to gauge where I’m at. I nod, letting him know that it’s fine, and that I’m not going to do anything unless he makes a move on me. Matt grudgingly goes back inside, though I know he’s not letting us out of his sight. Once the door closes, I cross my arms and look at Johnny.

  “What the fuck? I don’t even know you, man. What are you doing, showing up here acting like this? What’s your problem?”

  “You, motherfucker. You’re my problem, and if you don’t back the fuck off, I’m going to be the solution.”

  What is this guy talking about? Back off? I met him five minutes ago. “Look, I understand that you’re threatened by me. I would be too—can’t fault you for that, but we can handle this like men in the ring. Just give me a few fights and I’ll be ready to take you on for that twelve pounds of gold. But this, coming to the gym and acting like a prick? That’s not going to work for me. You’re begging for an ass whooping right now.”

  “I’m not talking about me.”

  Now I’m really confused. “Alright.”

  “Harper,” he says. My stomach drops. “Stay away from my girl or I’m gonna fuck you up, even if it means losing my career. Understand that.”

  He turns and walks away before I can say anything back. His girl? What in the holy fuck is going on right now?

  My heart starts to beat faster than it should—a mix of anxiety and adrenaline that mostly feels like shit. Part of me wants to follow him down the street and beat the living shit out of him, but what I really need to do is find out what he’s talking about. Is it really possible she has a boyfriend, let alone one in the same profession I’m in, and didn’t tell me about it? I need to know, right now. I pull out my phone and text her that I need to see her asap.

  As I watch Johnny walk away, I only have one thought repeat over and over in my head—one day, motherfuck
er. One day. One day it’ll be just you and me—and it’ll be totally legal for me to put my hands on you.

  17

  Damien

  I asked Harper to meet me at the diner around the corner from New York Fight Club. My heart is still beating a mile a minute, and not in a good way. If not for Matt, something very bad would have happened just then. I’m glad that didn’t happen, but my body is still in fight mode.

  I take a deep breath as she texts that she’s in the parking lot. I don’t want to take my anger out on her, so I need to remember to keep my cool as much as possible.

  I see her walk in looking happy and all smiles. I can’t return that energy just yet, I need to know what the hell is going on.

  “Hey. What’s the matter?” she asks when I don’t return her smile.

  I guess I’m not hiding my emotions as well as I thought I might be. It’s hard to describe my face when I feel like this — it’s not really anger, or any other emotion. I have a certain look of intensity when I’m in fight mode. It doesn’t even have an emotion tied to it. It’s more like a state of being where I’m ready to fight to the death if need be, win or lose, like an animal in the wild. I’m not scared or hurt or angry, I’m just ready to go.

  “How do you know Johnny Altino?”

  I usually don’t like asking questions that I already know the answers to—that’s cop shit, and the last thing I’m trying to do is interrogate Harper, but I have no other way of bringing this up. I want to see how she reacts.

  “He’s my ex-boyfriend.”

  Wow. For some reason I expected her to avoid my question or give me some bullshit story, but she came right out with it.

  “Is there a reason you didn’t tell me that you dated the local champion in my weight class? After all the fight talk we’ve done—between my background, your brother, and even my trainer—you’d think that little piece of information might have made it into one of our conversations at least.”

  “Honestly, I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you. We broke up, plus I didn’t think you and I were on the level to be having conversations about our exes just yet. Why are you asking me about him? What’s going on?”

  She’s answering a question with a question, which is never a good thing, but, to be fair, I haven’t really given her any context here, whatsoever. “Johnny just showed up at my gym.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” She looks genuinely shocked.

  “Johnny-fucking-Altino just popped into New York Fight Club. In the course of maybe five minutes in the place, he caused a scene, insulted Matt, cursed me out, disrespected the quality of our club, and then threatened to hurt me if I didn’t stay away from you. And believe it or not, it’s that last part that I’d really like to talk about. The rest I can handle when and if I need to. So? Do you think it might be time for that ex conversation yet? I’ll tell you about mine, but I’m guessing they didn’t show up at your job and threaten to fight you in the street, so why don’t you go first.”

  I don’t mean to sound like a giant dickhead, but my blood is still boiling and I need some answers.

  “Damien, I’m so sorry. We broke up a long time ago. Like, a long, long time ago. I knew he was having trouble letting go, but this? I had no idea or I really would have given you a heads up.”

  A heads up. I don’t mean to be a typical guy right now, but the idea of her with Captain Douchebag is fucking with my head. “I need to ask two questions. You don’t need to answer either, but I think after everything that went down today you could give me the answers I need.”

  “Yeah, of course, anything. Ask away.”

  “First, who broke up with who?”

  “I broke up with him. I threw him out of my place and he didn’t take it well at all.” Just like I’m not taking it well thinking about you living with that dick.

  “Alright. And how long ago was ‘a long time ago.’?”

  “Almost a year. It was right after he won his title.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  She takes a deep breath. Pandora’s box is about to open up really wide, I can tell. “Look, I’d be lying if I said I feel weird getting into this with you right now, but since he came and did what he did, I feel guilty. I have a bad history of picking guys like Johnny. I liked him, but he was always a dick. I just found him really hot.” I literally cringe when she says that. I can hide the pain of a punch or kick or being really hurt when I’m fighting, but I can’t hide the disgust on my face when she says those words. “Sorry, but I don’t want to lie to you—you asked.”

  “You’re right, it’s fair game, I did ask. Go on.”

  “Like I was saying, he was always kind of a dick, but after he won that belt he got cockier and cockier, which I probably would have dealt with if he hadn’t been fucking every little MMA groupie who came along wanting to feel his. . . belt. He was a dog, and once I realized it it as too late, so I kicked him out. He was kind of obsessive, though. He kept calling and texting for a while. It’s been a few months, though, I had no idea it was still going on.”

  Great. Welterweight champion and state five stalker. Just my luck. “This is a strange fucking situation, Harper. It really is. Not only have we been on precisely one date—but your ex is a fighter in my division, who holds the title that I need to win to get into the UFC. On top of that, the fucker shows up at my gym basically wanting to throw down over you. I need a drink.”

  “I’m so sorry, Damien. You have to believe me, I had no idea whatsoever. I haven’t heard from him in a while so I thought he’d finally moved on. If I thought anything like this was going to happen, I would have told you.”

  I do believe her. I can tell that she feels really bad, and I didn’t come here to make her feel worse. I came to find out the truth, and she gave it to me without hesitation. This girl is really something special. On top of that, none of this is her fault—outside of choosing the wrong guy, but we’ve all made dumb mistakes in that area. I know I have.

  “Of course I believe you. And I’m sorry if I sounded mad at you. I’m not. I wish you’d have told me before though, so I could have been prepared for the shit he pulled today. But this is all on him. I’m just not sure how to play this.”

  She reaches across the table and takes my hand. I look into her eyes and I can tell that she’s about to say something heavy. She takes another deep breath, looks up, then looks back at me. “Look, I can’t believe that I’m about to say this, but, if you want to stop—like, call this thing off between us, whatever it is or might be, I understand. There will be no hard feelings. Even if you want to stop the interviews and cancel the story, I understand. I’m not trying to stress you out or cause you any problems. That’s the last thing that I want.”

  She’s sweet to give me an out, but an out is the last thing in the world that I need. I like her, a lot, and I’m more attracted to her than I’ve ever been to a woman before. There’s no way I’m turning away from her now because of some dickhead whose ass I’m going to kick one day. I put my hand over hers and look her square in the eye.

  “Listen to me, that’s not why I came here. So, if it’s all the same to you, I have to say no fucking way to that offer. I like you, like a lot, and I want to keep seeing you. I’m also enjoying the interviews, even though I didn’t think that I would. And I want to keep doing both, no matter what ex assholes come out of the woodwork.”

  She smiles for the first time since I asked her about her douchebag ex. I’m not even close to a smile just yet, but my mind and body are starting to come down from the heightened state they were in for the last hour.

  “I’m happy to hear you say that. Now it’s time that I ask you a question?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Have you eaten yet? I’m starving. You want to split some waffles or something?”

  I love this girl. I really do.

  18

  Damien

  Lucas is back, and I invited him over my place to hang out. Today we have the morning off
from training, which is a necessary thing once and a while. Normally I wouldn’t take a morning off this close to a fight, but I don’t want to get burned out. It’s hard when all you do is train and think about going to war with another man—after a while, all that pent-up energy, without a release, can be toxic, so on days off we like to hang out, play some video games, and just chill.

  We’ll do all that, but first we’re going to have some coffee. I honestly drink way too much of the stuff, but without it I’d be a total zombie. He knocks and I let him in. “It smells amazing in here.”

  “Thanks. Help yourself to a cup—or three.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  We each grab our mugs and prep our coffee just the way we like it. He hits the half and half pretty hard and fills his cup with enough sugar to kill an elephant. Me—I just take it straight. He gives me that judgmental stare. “I don’t know how you drink it like that.”

  I love when he sets me up to quote one of my favorite movies. “I take it black—like my men.”

  We both laugh hysterically at my Airplane reference, and then we get to talking. “So, Matt tells me I missed some grade A drama at the gym. Wanna tell me about it?”

  “He didn’t?”

  “He gave me very Matt-like broad strokes, but he said that you could fill in the juicier details. So, spill the tea. What did I miss?”

  “Oh, Jesus,” I say. “A lot, man. You missed a lot. Where do I even begin?”

  “Start at the start. That makes the most sense, right?”

  I tell him the story as best I can—about Johnny showing up out of nowhere, acting like a supreme dick, threatening me outside, and then my conversation with Harper about the whole thing. His eyes get wider at each major point in the story.

  “Fuck. I’m glad I wasn’t there.”

  “How come?”

  “I would have smacked that kid. Johnny isn’t shit. Talks a good game, and he’s a tough kid, don’t get me wrong, but I’d smack the shit out of him if I had to. I’m surprised you didn’t, with your temper.”