by Mandi Beck
Snatching up his phone, he heads out of the room to presumably call Carter.
“Now that that’s all worked out, let’s figure out what Reggie has planned so that we can eat and get some rest. You’re in the gym at six tomorrow morning,” Sonny says with a little more glee in his voice than I like.
We turn our attention to Reggie, switching gears to focus in on the business he needs us for.
“Well, since we’re going out of the country for the Dair fight, I think that if the Princess stays back, that I should hire on one more guy to go with you guys. I trust Bo and Trent, but I think we need another body.” Smoothing a hand over his stubby Mr. T-style mohawk, he looks at me and Sonny, waiting us out.
I don’t care if no one goes with me as long as the Princess is covered. Opening my mouth to tell him that very thing, Sonny answers for me.
“Do whatever you need to do to make sure you can stay here with Frankie and not worry about what the hell is going on in Brazil. Hell, hire two more guys so that you have a replacement if you need it,” he says, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.
We all trust the man with our lives, Frankie’s included.
I watch him for a second and try to figure out if there was anything to his comment earlier or if he really was just talking about all the hype over the fight. I’m not sure I believe that; I think there’s something going on and that they are keeping me out of the loop because they need me concentrating on Dair and not on something that we pay Reggie to handle. They have to know though that there is no way in hell that I’m going let them handle keeping the Princess safe while I sit by with my dick in my hand waiting for instructions. Not finding what I’m looking for—the man has a poker face that would make any hustler proud—I look over at Sonny.
“Is that it then? There’s nothing else we have to go over?” I question, turning toward Reggie. “You don’t have any concerns that I need to know about? Because you know if there is something going on that you aren’t telling me and I find out, or something fucking happens to Frankie, that shit is gonna get ugly as fuck, right?”
Reggie shoots eyes over at Sonny, quickly bringing them back to me.
“Everything is fine, Deacon. I will not let anything happen to her, and I swear to you that if I run into a problem that I can’t handle, I’ll come to you. I got her, bro.” Nodding solemnly, he doesn’t break eye contact with me.
The conversation ends when Mav calls from the kitchen to come and eat before there’s nothing left.
“Stop dancing around him, Jamie! Get your fucking guard up and be ready. If you’re afraid of him, then get the fuck out of there,” Sonny screams from outside the cage at the second sparring partner of the day. Watching him put his guard up and come toward me hesitantly, I just laugh to myself. This fucking guy. Dipping to the right, I get him with an uppercut in his ribs that folds him over on himself, allowing me to get him with a left right under the chin, and its lights out for Jamie. I start toward Mav and Sonny as they send the medic in to tend to Jamie’s weak ass.
“Get me some fucking guys that can take a hit, Mav. These fuckers are a joke.” I take a swig from the water bottle that Sonny hands me.
“Deacon, it’s not easy finding these guys, let alone better ones. Nobody is volunteering to be knocked the fuck out, asshole. You have everyone talking about how crazy you’ve been lately. Maybe if you toned that shit down some, you could make my job a little bit easier.”
The three of us turn when we hear the door slam closed. She has me more out of breath than any of the guys I’ve sparred with today just by standing there against the door. Being on the ground floor has really worked well. I haven’t seen Frankie since we started training down here, which is both good and bad. I need to see her, but I can’t take seeing that fucker with her and that seems to be the norm lately. As she makes her way to the cage, I can see that she’s nervous, apprehensive.
“Hey, Loves.” Smiling hesitantly, she stops just inside the door of the cage. Mav and Sonny wave their hellos, still agitated with me and a little wary over her impromptu visit.
She fidgets, tucking her long, blond hair behind her ears. She looks at my brothers, and then her blues finally settle on me, though they don’t quite meet my gaze before darting away.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you guys…this will only take a second.” She’s talking to Sonny and all I can do is take her in.
Letting my eyes travel down her jean-clad legs to her gray, suede, calf-high boots and back up over the swell of her ass, and further to the cream-colored, fuzzy sweater that is completely backless except for the gold chain at the very top that hangs in between her shoulder blades. Jesus fuck. She’s so beautiful it hurts. My gaze lands on her profile. I watch her lips move and remember what they felt like on my skin, wrapped around my cock, moving against my neck as she begged me for more, deeper, harder, moaning my name. I’m brought out of my dirty thoughts when she turns her attention to me and my now rock hard dick pressed painfully against my cup.
“I don’t want to bother you, but I tried to give Reggie the night off and he said that you were the only one that he was taking days off from. Can you just let him know that it’s okay, please?” Staring somewhere in the area of my chin, tugging on her bottom lip, she waits for my answer.
I glance at Mav, my eyes narrowed. He just shrugs, though he and Sonny both look as apprehensive as the Princess did just a few moments ago.
“Why would I give him the night off, Frankie?” I ask in a bored tone when I’m anything but.
“We were invited to a ballroom dance competition as judges. It’s not exactly somewhere you take bodyguards, and even if it were, I can’t get a ticket for Reggie this late.” Still not making eye contact with me, she alternates between chewing on the inside of her lip to plucking at it. It’s driving me insane.
“We? Who’s we?” Squinting I wait for her answer, praying that it’s not who I think it is.
She sighs, sounding defeated.
“Cristiano and I.” I can barely hear her she says it so quietly.
Muscle pulsating in my jaw, I purse my lips in thought, trying not to lose my shit. The pain that those three words cause, unbearable.
“So have him wait outside. There’s no way that Flashdance can keep you safe if something happens,” I bite out snidely.
Shifting from foot to foot, she peers at Sonny over her shoulder. I can see that he subtly shakes his head no. She turns back to me bringing her eyes to mine. For the first time since she’s been down here, our gazes lock and hold. She takes in a deep breath.
“We’re going to St. Louis. Overnight. The hotel is fully booked because of the competition, so I can’t get Reggie a room. I tried.”
I stare at her, blinking slowly. I let what she just said wash over me and sink in. My girl. My girl is going away with Rico fucking Suave and is standing in front of me telling me about it so that I can call off her security detail. So, what? They can fuck in private? Fists clenched at my sides, I grind my teeth, that ticking muscle in my jaw morphing into a painful pulsating bulge. I’m not sure which emotion to dial into first: the anguish that is ripping through me or the rage about to boil over. Dropping my head, I stare at the mat under my bare feet for a second, trying to reel it all in, not paying any attention to Mav when he says my name in warning.
Slowly raising my eyes to hers, I say in a pleading voice, “Please tell me, Princess, that you are not down here asking me to pull Reggie so that you can go on some romantic fucking getaway with your little boyfriend.” Rubbing my chest in the spot where my heart used to fucking be, I beg her with my eyes as well as my words. Right here, this moment, I feel more out of control than I ever have. The riotous feelings are a living thing inside my body and I want to bleed them out of me. I want them gone. All of them. The love, the hurt, the anger. I just want to be numb. It’s a total mindfuck, making me feel reckless out of pure desperation.
Eyes searching her face, I find my hands balling into fists again as I
stare at her, willing her to tell me that it’s not true.
“Frankie? Tell me that isn’t what’s going on right now.” My voice is thick with the pain her visit has brought.
Sonny steps in between us, and putting a hand to my chest, he pushes me back a step and I let him. I let him because I’m in a daze since she still hasn’t said anything. He knows that I would never hurt her. I would die first. But he also understands what this has done to me, to my temper. I know that he’s just trying to diffuse a bad situation before it gets worse. Reaching around my brother, I snatch her arm gently and draw her closer, a little too quickly, in my need for her to answer, making her stumble into Sonny. It forces her to brace herself with a steadying hand against his back. She looks at me, tears in her eyes. Pain and regret reflected in their beautiful depths.
“Princess?” Heart racing wildly, I search her face, landing on her blues, imploring with everything in me. I just need one word. Just two letters. Finally she puts a stop to the panic that is about to set in and consume me.
“No,” shaking her head vehemently. “No, Deac. I would never—it’s not—he’s not—No,” she says clearly, resolutely, so that there is no way that I can misunderstand.
Releasing her arm, I nod once in acceptance, relief.
“He goes. Mav can call Carter and he can figure out a place for him to stay. Your boy’s ability to dance does nothing for my faith in him to keep you safe. You’re mine to protect, like it or not, so deal with it. Reggie goes.” Turning my back on all of them, I stride to the other corner, slipping my gloves back onto my shaky hands, effectively shutting them out and letting them know I’m done with this whole goddamn scene. Thank fuck Mav had these guys sign waivers—their day is about to go to shit.
Pulling up at the EWF offices downtown, I park the Rover in the underground garage and take the elevator up to the top floor. They are doing the final interview for the piece that will run the weekend of the fight. They have already had cameras at the gym recording my training and brief interviews that they have been airing all week.
On my way up, I shoot off a quick text to Frankie, I can’t stop myself. I hate how we left things the other day and I hate even more that she went away with him. I had a game plan that I had to stick to but she needed to know that I was fighting for her. Always fighting for her.
Me: Two more fights to go. I hope you’re ready for the make up sex. I’m going to fuck you like I hate you so I can show you that I love you.
Quickly pushing send I realize that I probably should’ve gone with something romantic or some shit but I’m still pissed and still me. To soften the text a bit I send another.
Me: You Got What I Need
The doors open, depositing me into the plush lobby. I walk to the reception desk where there’s a beautiful, mocha-skinned woman I’ve never seen before operating the phones. She must be new or a temp because her dress is baring more cleavage than most bikinis and that’s not how Derek Elliott runs his federation. She smiles hungrily, thoroughly eye fucking the shit out of me. Biting the tip of her pen, she purrs, “Well, hello, you must be Mr. Love. I’ve been expecting you.” Leaning forward, she rests her tits on her forearms, pushing them up and causing a nip slip that I know she’s aware of.
It does nothing for me. Not even a twitch of my cock. Before Frankie, I would have had this chick bent over the desk, balls already slapping against her ass. I smile coldly, maintaining eye contact.
“You can put those things away, sweetheart. I’m Mr. Love, but I’m not your guy.”
She looks up at me from under her lashes, licking her bottom lip.
“A little birdy told me that you’re too much for one woman to handle. I can call a friend who would be more than willing to help me out. We can be very,” she pauses for effect, “helpful, Mr. Love.”
What was with all of these chicks offering threesomes lately to try to sway me? Did girls really talk about this shit with each other? I keep my tone firm and even, my face impassive.
“Obviously you have your information wrong. I’m handled just fine by one woman. You’re not her. Now, can you let them know that I’m here for my interview?” Not waiting for her to answer, I turn to the sitting area, take a seat, and wait.
Finally sitting down with the interviewer, I’m relieved to see that it’s Brendan, a standup guy who I know won’t try to dig and will keep the questions about the fight and not what is happening in my personal life. I shake hands with him, settling back in my seat. He gets the cameraman positioned where he wants him and gets my mic on and tested.
After all of the usual questions about my strengths and weaknesses, what I believe my opponents’ strengths and weaknesses are, training methods, things I’m doing differently and the like, I think we’re finished. Then he goes in a direction that I wasn’t prepared for.
“People are talking, Deacon.”
I bark out a short amused laugh. “Oh really?” Quirking my eyebrow, I wait for him to explain that cryptic comment.
“They are. They are saying that you’re angry, that you aren’t yourself, and that it will most likely affect your fighting. Is any of that true?” All of a sudden, Brendan is a dick and I’m not as relieved to see him as I had been.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a fighter, we get angry. If people are talking, that means they’re scared. If they’re casting doubts about my capability to fight at the best of my ability, then they must be praying that it’s true. Am I angry?” Shrugging, I say in a detached tone, “I guess we’ll see once I get into the cage in Brazil. You say angry, but I say hungry. There is a lot on the line, and if starting rumors makes people feel more confident in the outcome of this fight, then so be it.” I rap my knuckles against the table top. “I’m here for one thing and one thing only, and it for damn sure isn’t to make nice. I’m here for the strap.”
It’s a lie—I am angry. I would never admit that though, because I know, and clearly so does Brendan, that an angry fighter makes for a sloppy fighter. That’s something that I have to work on, and fast. Because there is no way I’m losing this fucking fight. I’m not sacrificing this time to get my girl back just to lose. That is in no way part of the plan. Stick and move. Stick and motherfucking move.
Never breaking eye contact, I take the mic off my shirt as I stand, tossing it on the table in between us before turning and walking out. His interview is over.
Late as hell, I come out of my room carrying my bag. In search of my ringing cell phone, I jog down the steps. I’m able to find it and swipe my thumb over Carter’s name before it stops ringing.
“What’s up, my man?” I ask as I reach for my wallet and keys, checking to make sure that the back door is locked.
“Ummm, hey. You okay?” he asks tentatively.
“What the fuck kind of question is that, Carter?” I stop what I’m doing and wait for him to explain.
“Well, it’s just that…well, there’s a picture in the paper.” Pausing, he takes a deep breath.
Why the fuck is he being so dramatic?
“Yeah, and? You know I don’t get the paper, dude. Just tell me what the fuck you’re trying to say. The car is going to be here.”
Looking at my watch I curse. “Fuck, it should be here and I’m trying to get shit together still, so can we do this later, bro?” Stalking to the front of the house, I key in the gate code and am about to turn off the music when he says, “There’s a…ummm, a picture and an article in the Trib. It’s of Frankie and Cristiano from when they judged that competition in St. Louis,” he says in a rush.
My hand hovering over the off switch on the radio, I stop and listen to the song plays, telling me to say something and I feel like putting my fist right through the speaker.
“Send it to me,” I tell him gruffly.
“Deacon, I don’t think—”
“Yeah, well, you should’ve thought about that shit before you called to drop this on me minutes before I’m set to leave for the fucking airport for one of t
he most important fights of my life, but you didn’t. Send. The. Fucking. Article,” I thunder.
When I hear a horn blasting from the drive, I stab at the end button while slapping my hand over the power switch on the stereo. I grab my bag, locking everything up. I’m proud of myself for my even breathing and for not breaking anything until I hear the ding of an incoming message and look down to see my girl and Flashdance all dressed up, sitting with his arm draped behind her chair and her smiling at him with a caption that reads:
“Have local dancer and her ex-partner and longtime lover reunited? By the looks of things I would say it is a definite possibility. The two seemed comfortable with one another when they sat on a panel as guest judges and were even seen canoodling at a night club later that evening. Is romance in the air for these two again? We sure hope so.”
I grip my phone so tightly I’m sure it’s going to crack. I’m pulled from my thoughts when Mav opens the door to the SUV he hired to drive us to the airport.
“Yo, fuckerface! You coming?” He laughs thinking his shit is funny.
He quiets abruptly when he sees my face.
“You saw it? Sonofabitch motherfucker,” he spews.
“Were you gonna tell me?” I ask, deathly calm.
“Deacon, bro. We are days away from a fight. An important fucking fight. We were going to wait until after you beat Dair to tell you.” He looks at me apologetically, begging me to understand.
I get it, and I’m not mad at them for not telling me. I wish I hadn’t fucking seen it at all. Whatever. I have no time to think about this now. Seems like I’m having to remind myself of this much more often lately, but shit needs to be done in order. Stick and move, stick and motherfucking move. I have to remember that, or I’ll kill someone.
FIGHT NIGHT:
DEACON “THE HITMAN” LOVE
VS.
BILLY “THE KID” DAIR
We’ve been in Brasilia, Brazil for five days preparing for tonight. The weigh-in last night didn’t exactly go as planned. “The Kid” and I had some words and almost came to blows. I’m sure I’ll be hit with yet another fine. This shit with Frankie is costing me a fortune. My pop and Guy are both here too, so I have four of them pissed off, giving me hell, and ripping me a new asshole. At least the sparring partners here in Brazil are a little more of a challenge, though it hasn’t stopped me from putting a hurting on all of them, frustrating the hell out of Mav and making him work even harder to find me more.