Ryder (Player Card Series Book 3)

by Ellie Danes

  Reporters asked us some questions, and a slew of pictures were taken by various media groups. When it was all done, we bumped fists, and I moved off the stage. I was anxious to get home. Zoey would be there waiting. Tonight, I needed to try not to think about what the next day would bring. Having Zoey there would certainly help with that.

  * * * * *

  I had tried to mentally prepare myself for what I knew would be a whirlwind of media swarming and me trying to stay focused as I got dressed and ready to go. But nothing could have prepared me for the media circus that waited outside the arena.

  It was a relief to know Tristan would be there to help me navigate it all. Thankfully, he’d brought Peyton with him, and she handled fielding the reporters’ questions at a press conference for me so I could focus on what needed to be done.

  I spent the next two hours getting my head in the game.

  When it was time, my team walked down the corridor with me. But it was nothing like the day before at weigh-in. My blood was pumping so hard, I could hear it echoing through my skull.

  We made our way to the entrance of the arena and waited. I was ready when my name was called, and I moved forward bouncing to my song, “Sabotage,” as it played loudly. The crowd was electric, and it lit me up inside.

  I leaped into the ring and waited until Jackson was in. We stood face to face while the announcer said his spiel, each of us trying to begin the intimidation process before the first punch was thrown. We tapped fists and returned to our corners.

  Curtis was in my ear reminding me of the things I had to watch out for and a couple of Jackson’s favorite moves. I shook the nerves from my muscles and stood as the bell rang.

  My mind went silent. I dialed in on his breathing and watched as he danced around the ring. I wasn't going to expel all that energy, and you would think that a seasoned fighter wouldn't, either. He tried talking trash through his mouth guard, but I couldn't hear anything he said and didn't want to.

  I followed his movement around the ring as he continued to bounce from side to side, throwing punch after punch but never landing one. He came in close a couple of times and threw a few punches trying to bait me. I had watched enough tape to know he was trying to get me to react, but I wasn't going to. He was going to have to come at me.

  I knew the only way to get him was on his cross. The jab I would probably have to take, but I could act quicker if I was closer, and moving away wouldn't help me. I didn't want to take too many punches trying to take advantage of his weakness, though.

  When he came at me, I deflected everything he threw, and when he jabbed, I turned so he would hit my sternum. Then, when he pushed the other fist at me for the cross, I attacked.

  I launched myself at him, and I wrapped him up. It was going to be tough to keep him down because we were both fresh, but I was confident my stamina could win out. The guillotine was my ultimate objective, but I had to tire him out before I could pull that off.

  He slammed me against the floor, and I felt the air rush out of my lungs as I hit the mat — hard. I held tight as he tried to hit me in the head, but I kept the blows at bay.

  What Jackson likely didn't know was that being on the mat was my strength, and every time he raised his hands, I was moving into a better position. I pushed my heels into his thighs to gain a little more traction and just as I went to make my kill move, the fucking bell rang.

  I released him and shoved him away from me.

  “It's fine, stay focused,” Curtis encouraged me.

  “He knows where I'm going to take him down now,” I huffed.

  “Do you see him laboring over there? He can't match you, and he knows it. Watch for cheap shots,” Curtis instructed.

  The bell rang, and we were going at it again. He pulled me into a hug, trying to get me into position so he could get me down and try and pin me. He was notorious for breaking arms with the armbar, and I wasn't even thinking about going there. I cleared my mind, then kicked my left foot back, throwing him off balance and then switching places.

  Once again, I had him wrapped up. I pulled at him immediately, not giving him a chance to recover.

  I stretched and jerked him into a guillotine and then stretched harder. I pulled his head back and cut off his air. He continued to struggle, but I held tight. He thrashed side to side as his body fought for air and he tried to unseat me. There wasn't a chance in hell that I was letting go. I held tight for another minute until he went limp and the referee tapped my shoulder.

  I released him immediately and pushed at his body. He was breathing as I moved away from him, but the medical staff were checking us both out. They quickly dismissed me and got Jackson to his feet. The announcer stepped into the ring, and I made my way to my position next to him. Shortly after, Jackson was standing on the opposite side.

  That’s when I looked for her, and when my eyes met her beautiful green ones, I smiled and winked at her. The announcer went through his usual routine, then raised my arm with his and declared me the winner.

  Zoey smiled up at me and started to move toward the ring. I spoke briefly to the announcer, thanking everyone who had made it possible for me to be there, and then turned to walk away. Tristan and Peyton were standing with my father and Curtis, waiting for me to step down out of the ring. Zoey was making her way from behind them. I walked past them and grabbed her in a sweaty hug.

  “It's done, baby.” I kissed her and flashes lit up around us as I pulled her against me.

  “I’m so proud of you,” she said.

  “I couldn't have done it without you. Okay, maybe I could have, but I wouldn't ever want to. And I don’t ever want to without you again.”

  I turned and hugged my dad, and then Curtis. Tristan surprised me. I hadn’t taken him for the hugging type, but he wrapped me in one. I pulled Zoey with me as my team surrounded us and we tried to weave through the reporters without answering any questions. Those would come later, and Peyton would make sure that it was kept professional and not personal. They got us through the crowd and stayed at the entrance to the corridor, answering a few questions, keeping everyone at a distance, and giving me time to get to the locker room.

  I was on a super high and didn't want to come down. I wanted to share all of this with the crowd—I really wanted to shout as loud as I could, but I’d have to keep a certain façade for the fans. However, when I closed the door to the locker room behind me, that’s exactly what I did. I belted out the manliest yell I had in me. The joy I felt was more than a win; it was a chance to fight for a title. I would be fighting for a fucking title, and it would be on Pay-per-view. I was sure of it after this fight.

  Zoey laughed at my display, and I reached for her again. I murmured in her ear, “If I could lock that door to keep everyone out right now, I would rip these clothes off you and bury myself as deep as I could get.”

  She flushed and locked her thighs together.

  I reached behind her, cradling her head in my hand and tilted her head back, so she was looking up at me. “I'm lucky to have you in my corner. I love you, Zoey Marous.”

  Her eyes widened at my declaration. I’d been feeling it from the first night we met, and I’d been forcing myself not to say it too soon, waiting for the right time. And it felt like the right time. My dad always told me I’d “just know.” And I did.

  A smile crept over her lips as I leaned in to kiss her.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered between kisses.

  She pulled away as everyone started to pour into my room.

  The next few hours were insane. By midnight, I was exhausted. Peyton had filtered in a few reporters, and I answered several questions about my past and future. Every question that was asked about Zoey was avoided or vaguely answered. I could see she was a little uncomfortable with it all. She kept stepping further away and trying to disappear. I wasn't going to let that happen. She was on this ride with me, and I wanted her to stay there.

  “Mr. Rollins, who would you like to meet in your next
fight?” one reporter asked.

  “I want the Title,” I stated, staring into the camera.

  “So, you want to take on Santiago?” another reporter tried to clarify.

  “If that puts my name in for the title, then yes,” I answered and turned to smile at my father. He nodded his approval. Tristan was smiling back, too. But when my gaze fell on Zoey, she was wide-eyed. She looked away from me, lifted her phone, and started typing something into it. I fielded one more question as I watched her from the corner of my eye reading whatever was on the screen. When I saw her shake her head back and forth, I had to get to her.

  “I’m done for the night. Thanks for coming,” I said and then walked away. The reporters started yelling questions, but Peyton led us all out of the room and shut the door.

  “What?” I asked as I walked over to Zoey. “What was all that head shaking for?”

  “He will kill you!” she half-whispered, trying not to draw everyone’s attention. She looked up at me, and I could see the genuine fear in her eyes.

  “He won't. It’ll be fine.” I smiled, trying to make her feel a little better.

  “No! Have you not seen all the men he has seriously hurt? I don't want you to get hurt,” she said.

  “Baby, I'm gonna get hurt on occasion. It happens. It's why I train the way I do. I have to be quicker and more fit than everybody else. It keeps me safe. I will watch tons of tape over the next several months like I’ve for all my fights. This is me, babe. It's my job.” I pulled her phone from her hands and tucked it into my pocket. “I'll be fine, I promise.”

  “I just can't sit by and watch you get destroyed by someone who is out to hurt you. I know that most of these guys don't want to actually hurt you—they only want to win. I get that. I get that hurting you puts them on top, but I don't get someone out to hurt you on purpose. And it seems like this guy wants to hurt people.” She looked up at me with concern washing over her beautiful face.

  I had to try and make her understand that she was wrong. I wanted to, but with Santiago, she wasn't wrong, not really. I couldn't tell her that, though. I couldn't make her worry more, I had to train harder and longer to make sure that I would come out on top. That's all I could do. I may go in that ring and never walk out, but that was true at any time and any fight.

  “Anything could happen during any fight,” I said. “Please stop worrying about it.” I pulled her to me and kissed the top of her head.

  She relaxed against me. “I'll never stop worrying, you big lug. Now go talk to your agent. He keeps giving us the eye. Looks like he’s chomping at the bit to get his turn with you.”

  I nodded and headed over to speak with Tristan, who was already talking with Dad and Curtis. Peyton was probably still dealing with the media.

  Tristan slapped a hand to my shoulder and smiled. “You did it. How’s it feel to know you’re only two fights into your professional career and you’ll probably get a shot at a title?” he asked.

  “Damn good,” I replied. “I can’t even begin to tell you how good.”

  “Well, we’re proud of you, Ryder,” Dad said and pulled me into another hug. “We need to celebrate. And since you won all the money, drinks are on you,” he joked. “Go get a shower so we can get to the bar. I know you’ve had a long day. We won’t make a night of it.”

  “I’ll get a space secured for us at the VIP lounge bar, I’ll meet you all there in 20 minutes,” Tristan said and then disappeared.

  I gave my girl one more kiss and then I headed into the back of the locker room for a quick shower.

  * * * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, Zoey and I made our way through the casino, surprised that it was still packed.

  “We should play craps,” I said in her ear. Goose bumps spread over her neck, and I smiled.

  “We should not.” She kept walking.

  I laughed as she led me through the casino. I pulled her to a stop and looked down at her with a grin. “Hang on a sec.”

  I put twenty bucks into the nearest slot machine and hit the button. She stood beside me, looking over my shoulder into the crowd. I watched all five numbers line up and I shouted when I realized I’d hit the bonus. “YES!”

  Zoey jumped and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Sorry.” I laughed again as she held her hand to her chest, gasping for breath.

  “You scared me!” She turned to look at the machine and see what I was so excited about.

  “Pick one,” I said, pointing to the buttons on the screen.

  She pointed to the one on the left and I tapped it. The 10x icon flashed.

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  I pulled her into my lap and let the game run through its sequence. “It means we win ten times whatever each spin wins.”

  We watched as it finished the cycle time and again, only winning a few dollars by the time we had three spins left. On the next to last spin, it hit five sevens and the machine went nuts. We watched as the dollar amount went up and up. By the time it was done, we had won over a thousand dollars.

  I pressed the button two more times as Zoey wiggled in anticipation on my lap. By the time our last spin had finished, we’d won a total of eleven hundred fifty-three dollars and twenty cents. I hit the cash out button and we went to the counter and claimed our money. We headed to the room and I put the majority of the money in the safe before we made our way to the bar to meet everyone for a celebration drink.

  “You actually going to have a drink?” she asked as we bellied up to the bar. I wanted a few more minutes alone with Zoey before we joined Dad, Tristan, and the team in the VIP area.

  “Yes.” I nodded and waved the bartender over. “Jack and Coke, please. What do you want, Zoey?”

  “Same,” she smiled politely at the bartender, and he smiled back. For the first time in my life, I wanted to punch someone for a reason other than being in the ring. I could feel her watching me and tried my best not to let what I was thinking show on my face.

  She laughed. “Are you jealous?”

  “Well, he sure as hell didn't smile at me like that.” I looked down at her, pulled her closer to me, and placed a kiss on her forehead.

  “Maybe he doesn't like meatheads like I do. It's an acquired taste.” She giggled as she shifted up on her tiptoes and kissed me softly. I dropped my hand down her back and squeezed her ass.

  “Acquired taste, huh?” I huffed.

  “Yup. It isn't for everyone. I mean, being the submissive gets old from time to time. I like to be in charge on occasion,” she whispered as she squirmed against me. “Like that one time at the gym,” she reminded me with a mischievous smile.

  “Woman,” I groaned as every ounce of blood in my body travel down between my legs. “You do realize that you are always in control. Every single minute of every single day and the only time I get to be in charge is when my head is between your legs, right?” I watched with satisfaction as a hint of pink flushed across her chest and up her neck covering her cheeks.

  She shivered under my touch and I wanted nothing more than to bury myself deep inside her, but that was going to have to wait. The bartender returned with our drinks just as Tristan spotted me and waved us over to where everyone was waiting for us.

  Reluctantly, I led the way through the crowd toward them.

  For the next hour, we celebrated and toasted my success. Zoey and I flirted subtly, stealing glances at each other that made my blood run hot. When she backed up to me and rolled her hips against my groin, I knew that maybe she’d had one too many. I pulled her against me and smiled. It was time for us to leave.

  “Let’s tell everyone goodnight, pay the tab, and we can get out of here,” I whispered in her ear.

  She nodded. “That’s a fantastic idea.”

  I told Dad and Tristan how tired I was and that I really needed to get to bed . . . which I did. Only, my plans didn’t include sleeping.

  I offered to pay everyone’s tab, but Tristan insisted on letting the agency h
andle it. I thanked him, hugged Dad, and laced my arm over Zoey’s shoulders before leading her toward the elevators. She swayed to the soft elevator music as the elevator climbed the twenty floors to our room. She was very clearly a little over her limit for tipsy. When the elevator stopped on our floor, I picked her up and carried her down the hall. Tristan had made sure I was in a suite and had everything I needed to be comfortable.

  Zoey wrapped her arms around my neck and snuggled into me as I carried her.

  “I'm so proud of you,” she whispered, eliciting a smile from me.

  I pushed the door to the room open just as a soft snore escaped from her mouth, letting me know she was out for the count.

  There would be no extracurricular activities tonight. I placed her on the bed and removed her clothes so she’d sleep more comfortably. Once she was settled, I undressed and climbed in next to her, pulling her close.

  “I love you, Ryder,” she mumbled.

  “Love you more,” I whispered back. I kissed right below her ear and closed my eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Zoey

  It took a minute for me to realize where I was as I looked around the room through sleepy eyes. I sat up in the bed and called for Ryder. He didn't answer. I got up, went to the bathroom, grabbed some clothes, then walked out into the kitchen and looked for something to drink. I was thirsty and my head was pounding. I pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and drank the whole thing. Water itself wasn’t going to be enough. I needed something for my head.

  I located my purse and started pulling things out, becoming more and more frustrated when I couldn’t find what I was looking for. I finally dumped the whole thing out on the counter. I picked up the ibuprofen bottle, but it didn’t rattle. I was out of pills. Ugh.

  I walked over to the table and sat down, laying my head on my crossed arms. I heard the door click behind me.

  “Feeling it this morning, huh?” Ryder cooed.

  “I may have partaken a bit too much.” I laid my head back down on my arms.