by Mandi Beck
We both sigh in satisfaction, making her giggle. “Laughing after I’ve just fucked you senseless is not cute, Princess,” I groan, pretending to be hurt. Pressing into her one more time, I groan again, this time because I don’t want to leave the wet heat of her pussy. I would like to just stay like this forever, but I have to get her in a more comfortable position. “Let me get you all cleaned up, baby.” Once I slide out from beneath her, she rolls to her side, a content smile on her pretty lips. I can feel her eyes on my ass as I make my way to the bathroom. “Keep that up and you’re gonna get fucked . . . again,” I toss over my shoulder at her, whistling all the way.
All cleaned up and tucked into bed next to my girl, I pull her tight against my chest, my arm draped over her hip, tracing letters and words on her skin, across her belly. “Thank you,” I say softly, pressing a kiss to the back of her head.
“Thank you? For what?” Frankie asks me drowsily.
“For that. I needed that. Needed you. Always will.”
“Then you’ll always have me,” she whispers, bringing my hand to her mouth and kissing my wrist.
“Yes, I will,” is my answer, along with a kiss mimicking hers to my spot on her wrist.
The press conference yesterday took its toll on me, but having the chance to be with Frankie after so long was exactly what I needed. That connection. Her. To make me feel alive. If even for that little while in her arms, nothing and no one but us and those kicking ass babies. Shaking my head and smiling, I bring my focus back to the here and now.
Today is the weigh-in and tomorrow the fight. The. Fight. The biggest one of my career. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ll defend the title from here on out once I win it. This first bout to take the strap and the title that goes along with it is the most important. In the two weeks that I’ve been here training, I’ve gotten myself in a better place. I’m focused, dedicated, and though I’m missing Sonny, feeling his absence deeply, I can hear him. When I’m training, I can envision him standing there with his arms crossed shouting orders at me. My mind instantly picks up on things that Leo says that I’ve heard Sonny say to me a million times. Before all of this, I never realized just how much alike Leo and my brother were.
I see the two of them off to the side discussing strategy and I feel Sonny’s presence. I was afraid to leave the gym in Chicago because it felt like I was leaving Sonny behind. Like those walls held all of the things he’s ever taught me, and as long as I was there, so was he. It was me grasping at straws, I see that now, but I still find myself searching for signs of him in everything I do. I’ll never let the memory of my brother go. I’ll take him with me always. I’m just slowly learning to live again and I have Frankie to thank for so much of that.
“Where you at, bro? You look like you’re a million miles away,” Mav says, slapping me on the shoulder, sitting down next to me.
“Nowhere. Just thinking about Sonny,” I admit.
He looks away, lost in his own thoughts. “He was so damn proud of you, Deac. He rode your ass hard because he knew.” Mav puffs out a little laugh. “I think you were about seven, in the gym just messing around with Pop, when he first realized. We were standing there waiting on Pop to finish with you, and Sonny said to me, ‘I betcha ten bucks Deacon goes pro. He’s way better than you and me. I’ll be his trainer. You can be the towel boy, Maverick, because you hit like a pussy.’” We both laugh at that. “He was eleven and already bossy as hell.” My brother shakes his head, the sad smile on his face mirroring my own. “He never gave up on you. You were always the one angriest about mom leaving. I think you invented trouble to get into just so you didn’t have to be so mad at her. And every time you got yourself in a scrum outside of the Cage, Sonny would tell Pop, ‘Go easy on him; he’ll learn to control it, Pop—we’ll teach him.’” Mav looks over at me, “And they did.”
My eyes a little watery with the onslaught of emotions, I look up at him with a cocked brow.
“Well . . . kinda,” he teases to lighten the mood. “Now let’s go weigh your ass in so that we can eat. I’m fucking starving.”
“Between you and the Princess, I’ll be lucky to make weight. You must be having sympathy cravings or whatever the fuck they’re called,” I joke as we walk over to where Pop, Guy, and Leo are talking.
My dad looks up as we join their circle and grins, “You boys ready?”
“Yeah, Pop, we’re ready,” I answer.
“Are we stopping at the hotel so that you can change first?”
“Nope. Why?”
“That’s what you’re wearing?” He flicks his hand at me.
“Sure am, Pop. Why change now?” I say as I run a hand down my “God wears a manbun” shirt.
“I hope you have children as ornery as you are, son.” Pop walks away chuckling, like the mere idea thrills the shit out of him, which makes my brother and I smile at each other. My dad hasn’t had a whole fucking lot to smile about.
“That’s just mean, Pop. I’m telling Frankie you put that evil on her,” I call after his still-laughing ass.
The amount of people in the room where the weigh-in is being held is staggering. I’m not sure how many people, just that there are a fuck-ton. Derek doing the best he can to accommodate Frankie, whom he has a soft spot for . . . not that I blame him, makes my life a lot easier. Under normal circumstances, I like to have her in my sights. Now with her being pregnant and with my emotions all over the fucking place, I need her around more than ever. As long as I can put eyes on her, I’m good.
Standing at the side of the stage with Mav, I watch as Saul makes his way out to a cheering crowd. He has a massive number of followers here today. No surprise since he’s had an incredible run, especially lately. He has taken down every opponent he’s come up against in the last year. I smile to myself when I think about how I’m gonna end that streak.
“Dude’s cocky, but he has a right to be, Deac. He’s a shit talker too, but it’s good for publicity, so let him do it. Just makes it that much sweeter when you beat his ass in the Cage,” Mav tells me.
I nod in agreement, scanning the crowd for Frankie. She’s sitting, hands rubbing her belly, listening to something her dad is saying. They call my name and she turns her attention to the stage and then to the stairs when she doesn’t see me. Smiling, she blows me a kiss and gives me two thumbs up. Her smile could light up a fucking room. It wrecks me and puts me back together every damn time. I throw her the sign language symbol for “I love you,” just like yesterday, as I make my way to the scale, and watch that smile brighten even further. My girl’s a sucker for sweet shit like that—I’ll have to put that one in the “get you laid” column.
“Stop making googly eyes at Frankie and give me your damn clothes, lover boy,” Mav tells me, holding his hand out.
Reaching over my shoulder, I yank my shirt off and toss it to him, followed swiftly by the rest of my clothes. The cheers in the room drown out everything else as I step onto the scale. They quiet when they announce my weight of two hundred and forty-two pounds, exactly where Rude Awakening weighed in. Mav meets me at the scale and starts handing me articles of clothing to put on as I amble over for my photo op.
Derek shakes my hand and then places an arm in between Saul and I as we faceoff. All is fine, his shit talk not fazing me in the least. I let him work himself up into a frenzy and smile for the cameras, pissing him off even more. This just might be my favorite part of all this. Well, except for getting that win.
Stick and move. Stick and motherfucking move.
TITLE FIGHT:
DEACON “THE HITMAN” LOVE
VS.
SAUL “RUDE AWAKENING” ARES
The mood in the locker room before the fight is somber. Everyone feels the loss of Sonny, more now than ever. It’s in the little things, like Leo doing my prefight rubdown, talking me through some of the things that we’ve been working on over the last couple weeks. All things that Sonny would be handling. Leo knows I’m with him, paying attention, bu
t also that I’m missing my brother. He’s not expecting me to answer, he just keeps rubbing and reminding. Not allowing me to get inside my head too much. That’s where shit gets murky.
There’s a light knock on the door and Frankie walks in, a tentative smile on her face. Without a word, I hop down, putting a halt to Leo’s ministrations and pick her up. Carefully I set her on the table and climb up to sit next to her, placing her hand on my thigh after laying a kiss to her wrist. Not missing a beat, Leo goes right back to what he was doing and saying. We’re all perfectly content to let him.
The closer it gets to fight time, the more at ease I become. The tension slowly letting my insides go. I glance up when I feel eyes on me. Pop gives me a small smile and nods. Almost as if he feels it too.
“I’m ready,” I say to the room as a whole.
Mav comes over and helps Frankie down, handing her the tape.
“Thank you, Mav,” she says as she steps in between my legs to start wrapping my hands. Tucking her phone in her pocket, her ear buds are firmly in place. Apparently she has to find her zone as well.
“Finally ran out of that pink shit, huh?” Maverick asks, amused from the corner of the room he retreated to.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll get him some more,” Frankie teases.
With the hand she’s not wrapping, I tuck the hair falling into her eyes behind her ear. “You special order that shit or what, Princess?” I ask, plucking the bud from her ear to place in my own.
“Nope, I have a supplier,” she tells me, winking.
As I get the headphone nestled into my ear, I hear the chords of the song she’s listening to. Eyebrows raised, I grin at her bent head, waiting for her to look up. When she does, she asks, “What?”
“Fight of my life and you’re listening to some chick with pink hair? This is the pink-haired chick, right?” I ask in mock indignation.
“Yup, sure is. And she broke your favorite ginger’s heart. Her hairs not pink anymore though and this song reminds me of you, so shut up and stop ruining it. Would you rather I start praying in Italian?” She slaps my thigh in reprimand.
“Nope, I’m good.” I do as I’m told and shut up, letting her repetitive movements work their magic on me, a smile on my face. The next song begins and I bark out a laugh startling her. “You are so fucking random, Princess. Does this one remind you of me too?” I ask, nudging her with my knee, singing along to “Thriftshop.” “You’re not allowed to be in charge of the prefight music anymore.”
“Speaking of fight music, are they all set up for the live performance out there?” Mav questions. I’m not sure how he did it, but he got Imagine Dragons to perform “Radioactive” live as I walk out.
“Yeah, it’s insane out there right now. Amazing,” Frankie says reverently, her hands stilling. “You did good, baby. Be proud. I am.” She gives my wrapped hand a squeeze. “How does that feel?”
“Perfect.” Frankie nods her head and then starts in on the next hand. This time I sit quietly until she’s finished and listen to her odd playlist, chuckling quietly to myself as “Beast” queues up.
“Okay, Deac. You good?” she asks expectantly.
I flip them over, flexing my fingers and making a fist. “Yep. Good.” Frankie steps aside and lets the Federation come over and inspect her work, signing off on the white tape.
“May I?” she asks one of them, indicating for the sharpie. He passes it over and she moves back in between my knees, head bent over my hands, writing on first one and then the other. Placing a kiss on each when she’s finished, she hands him his marker back and turns to me.
“You never fought for Sonny; you always fought with him. Today will be no different because he’s with you here,” she says softly placing a hand over my heart. “And he’s here.” Frankie taps a finger lightly to my temple. “This is your dream, your fight. You fight for you, with him.” I glance down at my taped hands and see that she wrote “Sonny” on the right, “Love” on the left, her lipstick staining each in a perfect imprint of her lips. “Go out there and show him how bad Love hurts, Deac.” Her hands cradling my face, she brushes her thumbs over my bottom lip. “This is your fight.” Frankie replaces her thumbs with her mouth. A press of her lips to mine that carries as much meaning as her words do.
I’m unable to speak past the lump in my throat or the fire in my heart. This woman lights my ass up. She’s my motherfucking everything. And this is why.
Showtime.
I stand at the mouth of the tunnel, my hood pulled over my head, Frankie’s hand tucked in mine, Pop, Mav, and Leo at my back. Rocking from left foot to right and back again. The energy in the arena is palpable, I can feel it pulling at me, calling me down that path to the Cage. It’s electric, a force that I let wash over me. I look down at Frankie, and she smiles up at me and nods, gazes locked, mouthing my mantra along with me. “That’s my Cage. I’m a warrior. I dominate because this is who I am. I will win. There is no other option. I am a warrior.” I didn’t even know that she knew it. Never realized I said it out loud. If I had time, I might be embarrassed.
Head lowered, eyes squeezed shut, my head bobs in time with the music. Letting it settle over my bones, I concentrate on loosening every one of my taut muscles. The moment I hear the live drums of “Radioactive,” it’s like someone breathes air into me, power, fight. I begin moving forward toward the darkened arena, the lights flaring to life as the music hits a crescendo. It’s like a motherfucking rock concert. We’re flanked on both sides by Reggie, Trent, and Bo as well as MGM’s security detail. I warned them we would be walking slowly because of the Princess. There was no way I was entering the arena without her by my side. Never again.
The cutman greets us as we reach the Cage. I slip out of my hoodie, handing it to Leo as Mav hands me some water and my mouth guard. Before slipping it in, I lean down and kiss Frankie. “I love you, Princess,” I say against her lips so that she can feel it, since there’s no way she’s going to hear it in here. She pulls away, smiles, and flashes me “I love you” in sign language just like I did to her. Winking, I work my guard in and face my pop who pulls me in for a hug. Tightening his arms around me, he thumps me on the back and kisses my shoulder. It’s an emotional fucking moment. He releases me, his eyes shining with pride. Next, I’m grabbed up by Leo and my brother and then handed over to the cutman. I close my eyes as he applies the Vaseline to my face, the adrenaline singing through me, building at being forced to stand still. Finished with my face, he slaps my leg and moves aside for the doctor who gestures to my mouth for me to show him my mouth guard and then knocks on my cup. Once cleared, he waves me into the Octagon.
Bouncing on my toes, I surge forward and bound up the two stairs. Stopping just inside the Cage, I lower my head and let my thoughts go to Sonny and what he would be telling me right now. My heart thudding in my ears, I kiss my fist and raise it into the air, saluting my brother because Frankie was right—I’m doing this for me, with him. That’s the only moment I can give to him though because Sonny doesn’t belong in the Octagon with me. Inside the Cage, everything and everyone else disappears.
Off to the side, I block out the crowd as Saul enters the arena. Standing with my back to Leo and Mav, I focus on what Leo is saying to me as I bounce and rock, shaking out my limbs. “You keep off the ground. Rude Awakening is a grappler first. Hit him hard and fast; he won’t be able to take the heat behind your punches,” Leo yells over the crowd. I nod my head letting him know I hear him. “You have more power than he does, use it. Take your knees to him. He won’t see them coming. He gets you on your back, stand the fuck up. Stand the fuck up and put him against the Cage,” he insists. I turn to face them both as Rude Awakening dances around the Octagon.
“Don’t let him wreck that pretty face of yours,” Mav says smiling. I give him a thumbs up and turn back to the center, concentrating on the feel of the canvas under my feet.
After what seems like forever, we’re introduced by the announcer with much fanfare, and mo
ments later, the referee points at us both and claps indicating it’s go time. Not paying attention to anything Saul is spewing, I look right through him and wait to see what he’s going to come at me with. If he wants to wrestle, I’ll wrestle his ass. My wrestling guru took me to school. I’m ready to go all five rounds with him if I need to. I smirk at him when he starts talking shit, telling me that I’m fucked if he gets me on the ground. I motion for him to fucking bring it. I’ll let him take us in one more circle, and then I’m taking him to task.
Halfway through a turn around the Cage, he charges me, going for my waist. I let him get his arms around me, but hold steady when he tries to bring me down. He tightens around me, trying to cut off my airflow, so I stun him by dropping elbows on his back one after another until he’s forced to release me. The second he’s upright, he catches me with a jab to the face, which lands solid and splits my cheek. The blood warm as it trickles down my face. It feels fan-fucking-tastic. It’s been too long. The surge of adrenaline it gives me makes me soar, makes me feel invincible, when it should do just the opposite. I beckon him closer and let him throw two more punches before I get him with a spinning back kick that staggers him enough for me to move in and get him with an uppercut just as the bell rings ending round one.
Leo is already vaulting over the top of the Cage, the cutman waiting for me to sit so that he can check my face. Assuring him that I’m fine, I listen to Leo, the excitement in his voice contagious. “You liked that shit, Hitman? You crazy fuck. I saw that smile. That’s it now. No more. You take his ass, motherfucker. Don’t you let him land one more fucking punch, you hear me?” he demands. “This is your show!” Nodding my head enthusiastically, I push the cutman off me and get to my feet, waiting for the next round.