The Savage Sinner

by Harlan, Christopher

  It’s almost eleven, and I’m parked outside until I see him.

  He gets there like clockwork—gym bag strapped around his chest and “BFA” hat on. He’s ride or die with his training camp.

  I jump out of my car and get his attention before he can get inside. “Hey. Johnny.”

  He turns to me and looks surprised. “Well, look who’s here. You’re the last person I expected to see. Where’s your boy?”

  “Not with me,” I tell him.

  “Oh?” he asks. “You finally come to your senses? Now, what makes you think I’m going to take you back after all of this?”

  Johnny really is a prick. I hate myself for ever seeing anything in him. “No, you dick, I’m not coming back to you. I want you to admit what you did.”

  “Admit what I did? What are you talking about?”

  I’m getting really angry. “Look, I know you were behind Damien’s assault—are you really that jealous and spiteful?”

  “Oh yeah,” he says smugly. “I heard about that. Damn shame. And he had that previous leg injury, too. That leg has to be pretty messed up by now. Heard he had to cancel his fight with Donald—instead, I’ll be defending my belt against him. Sucks how it all worked out—this is a crazy sport.”

  “You know, Johnny, I always knew you were cocky and vindictive, but I never thought you’d take it this far and actually break the law. And you let Jimmy take the fall for all of you—you disgust me.”

  “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if I did, I’d tell you that some people get what they deserve. This is the fight game, sweetie, we’re not playing tennis. We punch people in the face for a living, and that comes with a certain code. You talk shit, you take another man’s woman, you do anything like that, and something bad is liable to happen to you. Just the rules of the street. Your boy Damien knows that as well as I do.”

  Rules of the street? Is he kidding. “What street? You’re from a rich family. You’ve never had a street fight in your life, Johnny. Who are you kidding? This isn’t some blood for blood shit, you moron, you just didn’t like that he was fucking me better than you ever could with that little stump of a dick you have.”

  I raise my voice on the last part because I see some of his teammates walking in. It gets the effect I’m going for. The guys, some of who I know, laugh hysterically at Johnny as they walk past us into the gym. He turns red.

  “Hey—you shut the fuck up!”

  He takes a step towards me and I instinctually take a step back. He looks crazy. His ego is anemic—it bruises very easily. “What are you gonna do, Johnny, beat me unconscious like you did Damien?”

  He catches himself and takes a step back. He’s a coward, and the last thing he wants to do is catch a case over this. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Harper, but if this is all you came here for, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a title defense bout in a week and I have some serious training to do.”

  He walks away. I know he did this, and I’m not going to let him get away with it—I just don’t know what that means yet.

  I leave the gym and head over to Damien’s place. He needs me right now.

  32

  Damien

  One Week Later

  I should be fighting today.

  Instead, I’m sitting here, licking my wounds.

  I’m feeling better physically for the most part, but the sting of missing that title eliminator fight just won’t go away. I’m trying to have as good of an attitude as I can and to listen to everyone in my camp being positive—I’m young, I’ll get it back as soon as I heal up, this is just a temporary setback. I’ve heard all the inspirational words that I can take.

  I hear the knock on my door. It’s Harper.

  She’s been the person who’s made this whole thing bearable. She’s taken care of me like no woman ever has—and way more than she needs to. Not just my physical condition, but my mental one. She’s been supportive and loving—staying with me almost every day, making sure I don’t get into too dark of a head space.

  “Hey there.”

  “You can’t wear that dress around me. If I get a hard on looking at you, it might injure me even more, and that’s just embarrassing.”

  “Sorry. I’ll wear sweat shirts and baggy pants from now on—can’t have any erection injuries. How are you feeling?”

  “Okay. I’m taking the pain meds the doctor gave me. I’m trying to ween myself off though, but, every time I stop, my leg starts hurting.”

  “It’ll get better,” she says. “I know you’re sick of hearing that. I can’t imagine how much this sucks for you, I literally can’t. But whether you believe it or not, whether you’re sick of hearing it or not, you’ll be back, and better than ever.”

  Her words mean the world to me, even if I don’t totally believe them yet. But, deep down, I know that I’m just hurt, and that she’s right. “Thank you. You’re the best, you know that?”

  “Eh, I’m alright.”

  My phone rings and I know who it is before I pick it up. “Yo?” I say, waiting for Lucas’ voice on the other end of the line. “So? What round? Finish or decision? Alright. Thanks for the call man. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Who was that?” Harper asks.

  “Lucas. I asked him to give me a call after the fights.”

  “Right,” she says. “I wasn’t going to say anything. I mean, I know you know it’s fight night, but I didn’t want to bring it up and upset you.”

  “You’re sweet, but it’s okay. I needed to know who won my fight.”

  “And?”

  “And Johnny retained his title. Third round knockout. He’s still the welterweight champion. And now I have all the motivation that I need.”

  I was rooting for him, because he’s the only one who I need to fight. Now, it’s personal.

  I need to come back.

  I’m going to come back.

  I’m getting my title. I’m going to knock Johnny Altino out cold, and then I’m getting into the UFC.

  Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do.

  The Sinner will have his redemption.

  COMING SUMMER 2020

  “A SAVAGE REDEMPTION: A Series of Savage Gentleman book 3”

  The story of Damien “The Sinner” Reyes is far from over. Will he be able to come back from the brink of heartache and defeat and be the savage sinner? Stay turned to find out! For now, enjoy this sneak peak of the first two chapters.

  Damien

  Back to the grind.

  The grind in this case being the thing I love to do, but lately it’s come with more baggage than reward. What am I talking about?

  Let’s just say that it’s been a rough few weeks.

  I went from a scheduled number one contender fight to a hospital bed in no time at all—the victim of a viscous assault. I know who was responsible, but I can’t do anything about it.

  I’ve taken plenty as ass kickings in my life—strange as it might sound, the beating in the bathroom of a bar isn’t the worst part of that experience—the worst part is that it set my career back. I couldn’t fight, and the guy I was meant to fight went on to defend his title, and now I’m finishing letting my body heal while he gets closer and closer to the UFC contact that should be mine.

  So, like I said, it’s back to the grind, only today I’m not really doing much except visiting. New York Fight Club is more of a home to me than my actual home, and it’s always been that way since I first walked through the doors. It’s where I come when I’m up, when I’m down, and times like now, when I just need to be around something familiar.

  I see my best friend and fellow fighter, Lucas “The Ghost” Esparza hitting the heavy bag. He’s gotten so popular since his UFC debut that he’s starting to get fans coming to the gym just to gawk and watch him train.

  “Yo.”

  I interrupt his flow just as he’s throwing a roundhouse kick from hell that’s so loud it gets the whole gym’s
attention.

  “Hey, gimp, what’s up?”

  Lucas and I mess with each other like brothers. He started calling me ‘gimp’ just to make me laugh, but I know he feels bad that the whole thing with my attack went down at his fight.

  “Nothing much. Feeling less gimpy.”

  “You all cleared now? Can I get back to kicking you in the head and tapping out now?”

  “Doctor says I’m all good. And in your dreams, by the way. You won’t be hitting shit with a kick like that.”

  “Man, you’re nuts. Didn’t you hear that sound?”

  “Who do you think you’re talking to? One of those chicks over there who think you’re hot and hang around to get a shirtless selfie of you for Instagram? That kick was loud, sure. It was also slow and telegraphed. You try that on your next opponent he’ll catch the kick, take you down, and fuck you up.”

  “I’ve missed you the last few weeks, you know that.”

  We bro hug and I see one of his groupies take a picture with her phone. Matt must be thrilled with all these bottom feeders hanging around. “Not as much as I’ve missed you. You and this whole place. I miss the smell.”

  “See, that’s when you know you’ve been hit in the head one too many times in your life. The day I start missing the smell of a gym roll me off a cliff.”

  “Will do.”

  He laughs. “Shit, Damien, that was a figure of speech.”

  “I realize, but if you need me to be that guy who puts you out of your misery at some point, I’m here for you. That’s what friends are for.”

  “With friends like you. . .”

  “Who needs enemies?” Matt comes up from behind to finish Lucas’s sentence. “You look good, Sinner. How are you feeling?”

  “Like I was never beaten unconscious in a bathroom, if that’s what you mean. A few bruises, but I’m fine. Doctor cleared me yesterday, said I can get licensed now. When do we fight?”

  “Woah, easy there killer. You were in a hospital bed a few weeks ago.”

  “Yeah, Lucas, for observations. And they observed that I’m fucking Golden and let my ass go. So, like I said, when do we fight.”

  Lucas and Matt both smile. They can see the determination in my eyes.

  “Well,” Matt starts. “Before ‘we’ do anything, ‘we’ need a fucking cup of coffee. You guys down?”

  “Only if. . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m buying. I swear you two are like kids who’ve grown up but still expect your father to pay for everything. You’re a UFC fighter, Lucas, I think you can float a few cups of diner coffee.”

  “Wait, I think in that metaphorical world you slept with my mom.”

  “Actually,” Matt says with a grin. “In that metaphorical world—and maybe the real one—I slept with both of your moms. I guess that’s payment enough, right? I’m paying, meet me there in ten. And Lucas?”

  “Yeah, Master Splinter?”

  “Get those girls to sign up for lessons or get them the fuck out of my gym. I see one more selfie being taken and I’m going to lose my shit.”

  “Damn, you think it would be good for business, right?”

  ”Sure.” Matt says sarcastically. “Only if my primary customers were college freshman with too many posts on their Instagram pages. See you in ten. Handle the girls.”

  “You got it.”

  I stand there and smile. “You’ve got full out groupies, dude.”

  “Yeah,” he says, looking over at the girls lining the walls of the gym. “I’m not sure who’s more thrilled—Matt or Mila.”

  “I’d worry more about your fiancé than our trainer. He’ll get over it, and despite what his old-school ass says, it is good for the gym. He just doesn’t get social media.”

  “He’s old, what do you want?”

  “Meet you at the diner. Go handle the girls.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Damien

  “So when do we fight?” I love being annoying when it comes to Matt. He wears his emotions on his sleeve, and it’s always funny to mess with people like that.

  “Back to my father-child metaphorical world for a second.”

  “You mean the one where you banged my mom?”

  “Both of your moms, remember? And yes, that one.”

  “Sounds familiar.” I say sarcastically. “What about it?”

  “Right now you’re like the impatient little shit in the back of the mini van asking if we’re there yet, over and over.”

  “You know what I really sound like, Matt? I sound like a fighter who lost the opportunity of a lifetime and now wants to get back in the game and get what’s mine.”

  “Nothing’s yours, kid, you’ve got to earn it.”

  “I realized that, Matt, and don’t take this the wrong way but I need you to wear your manager hat, not your coaching hat right now. I just need a fight.” I don’t mean to sound like a dick right now, but I’m really not in the mood for a lecture.

  “Way ahead of you.” He tells me. “As always.”

  “See.” Lucas says, smiling. “That’s why you’re Master Splinter.”

  “We really need to stop talking in metaphors.” I joke. “We’ve gone from being Matt’s illegitimate kids to Ninja turtles in like ten minutes.”

  “I’m okay with both of those.” Lucas says.

  I flag the waitress down and order three cups of coffee. “So? What do you have for me? When do I get my shot?”

  “At Johnny?”

  “No, at Conor McGregor? Yes, Johnny.”

  “That’s off the table for right now.”

  Those are not the words that I want to hear right now. “What are you talking about? I was the number one contender.”

  “ ‘Was’ being the operant term in that sentence. See, that same night Johnny defended his title against that fighter who was supposed to be you, there was another welterweight fight between the number two and number three guys in the division. And since there was no timeframe for you coming back. . .”

  “The winner of that fight gets the next crack at Johnny.” Fuck. I hate the way this sport works sometimes. Rankings are stupid and they don’t tell you nearly enough about a fighter. Most guys pad their resumes with the easiest fights their managers can get them so they can enter competitions with ridiculous records like 15-0. But it’s not just rankings—it’s shit like this. If I was the number one guy and I got hurt, when I come back I should still be the number one guy, but I guess the promoters at New York Cage Fighting Championships feel differently.

  “It is what it is, man. You just need one more body on your record and that shot is yours.”

  Easy for you to say, Lucas. You’re already in the biggest promotion on earth. You have fucking groupies hanging out at our gym. The only thing you don’t have over me is Harper—I legit have the best girl in the universe, and I think she just texted me.

  “Yeah.” I tell Lucas, barely listening and struggling to get my vibrating phone out of my pocket. “I know. You’re right. It is what it is.”

  I unlock my phone and see a super short text from Harper. All it says is, “Cook me dinner tonight.”, to which I write back “You got it. Come at 8.”

  I look up from my phone and get my head back into the conversation that I basically forced. “So who do I have to put down to get my shot at the guy who assaulted me?”

  “You know, we don’t need to fuck around with rankings and cages and contracts to do that, my friend. We can just take the train to Brooklyn and handle this shit any day you want. Just say the word.”

  “Stop it.” Matt says. “Both of you. You know I have no love for that fucking gym, but I’m not letting you two knuckleheads throw your careers—and possibly your freedom—away just for a few satisfying minutes.”

  “Don’t sell them short, Matt. I’m sure it would last at least a round. They are good fighters over there, they’re just fucks on top of it.”

  “Even so, you’re not fighting for free. In fact, it’s not even free. It’ll cost you
most than it’s worth, so stop stirring the pot Lucas.”

  “Geez, I was just kidding.”

  “Still.” Matt says. “Jokes can turn serious. And you’re not going to like this part, but. . .”

  “I know, you can save it Matt. I know there’s no proof it was Johnny, but we all fucking know it was Johnny, so let’s not insult each other’s intelligence.”

  “Fine.” He concedes. “But I still don’t want you all going down there. Promise me, both of you.”

  “Promise.” Lucas says.

  “Yeah, I promise. Just revenge talk. This isn’t Kill Bill. Now tell me, who do I have to remove from consciousness to get a crack at Johnny?”

  We finish our coffee. Matt gives me the name of some guy I’ve never heard of, but who’s apparently a killer. Those are the most dangerous types of opponents, and the most dangerous types of fights. Guys who are under the radar and don’t have a lot of footage on them can be a wild card, and not underestimating them is half of the battle, won or lost long before you step into a cage across from them.

  I want to take another week before I really get into fight camp, which is fine considering Matt said the projected date for my fight is three months from now. Matt leaves to get back to the gym as Lucas and I stand outside and talk some more. I can tell he’s got something on his mind because he wears his thoughts on his face.

  “What’s up man?”

  “Why does something have to be up?”

  “Cause I know you. You look like you want to say something. So go ahead.”

  He hesitates, looking around uncomfortably before finally blurting out what I could tell he didn’t want to say. “Alright, I’ll level with you, man. I don’t care what Matt says, if you want me to head over to Brooklyn and handle that piece of shit just say the word.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder, which is hard considering he’s taller than me. “I appreciate the thought, Lucas, I really do, but Matt was right. The last thing either of us needs is to get arrested and fuck everything up we’ve ever worked for, especially for that scum. His day is coming, don’t worry, I just have to take care of one more tin can before they’ll lock me in a cage with Johnny. I’ve got this.”