by Izzy Sweet
“Seriously?” Casey asks from inside the hug.
He’s squirming around but I’m not letting either of them go just yet.
“Shut up, it was a dark time for me,” I say with a self-depreciating laugh.
“He said he was going to ruin you,” Bree says with a sniffle.
“Not like I haven’t already done that myself,” I say. “Look… I looked into you and your family the moment you disappeared. I know who your dad is. He could try to ruin me, but I doubt it would work. I’m kinda rich, kinda good looking, and a sports celebrity.”
“What?” Bree asks, pulling back to look at me.
“The world loves a good comeback story. Your dad would have fucked up royally if he tried to really fuck with me,” I say confidently.
He would have too. I don’t like shit getting out about how much money I have, but I’m not poor. Not by any means. I’ve made a shit ton of money fighting and investing, and money means I could write my own narrative.
He would have looked bad as fuck trying to smear the guy trying to piece his life back together. All I would have to do is call a sports broadcasting channel and offer them my story. They love putting together little documentaries about sports stars.
Fuck, I even know the music I would put to some of my scenes. Normally, I would never agree to be in one of those damn things, but if I was forced by Bree’s father…
Fucker wouldn’t know what hit him.
But she couldn’t possibly know any of this, could she? I mean, she’s even admitted to me that she’s never really watched the sport. She doesn’t even know about her own stepbrother’s fame. She’d never even heard of me before she came to the gym that one day.
Fuck, I can see why she thought she had to do something to protect us. Fucking bastard of a father was using her ignorance to his benefit, trying and almost successfully scaring her into whatever Machiavellian schemes he has.
“Let’s fucking go!” Chase yells as he slams open the door to the dressing room.
Seeing Bree crying in my arms, he stops dead in his tracks.
“What the fuck?” he asks before stomping over to us.
“Give me a minute,” I say with a frown. “We’re trying to work some shit out.”
“I gave you a minute. They’re getting ready to start your entrance without you,” he growls at me. “Bree, why are you here? I mean, what happened?”
All at once everyone but me starts to talk. Then Dale sweeps into the room and starts screaming at us all.
The bastard even starts snarling at Bree’s tears.
Fuck.
“Stop!” I bellow to everyone.
When silence finally falls, I say, “I have a fight, we’ll talk this shit out when it’s over.”
Pulling Bree close, I kiss her as hard as I can, trying to push every single gut-wrenching emotion I have inside me into her.
I love this damn woman, and I’ll never let her leave me again.
Her lips open to mine, and just like me she puts all the words she has for me in the kiss. It’s scorching and searching, loving and binding.
She’s not leaving again, I can feel it.
An arm starts to yank me away from the kiss and I hear Dale yelling at me to keep it in my pants.
Fucker.
Shaking my head, I nod at him then look to Bree. “I’ll be back.”
The pounding rhythm of my intro music starts as soon as I walk out of the curtained entrance. The hard beats of I Prevail’s song “Bow Down” hit me straight in the chest.
Good fucking choice in music.
Whoever picked that song for me has it right because Jamey Silva is going to be bowing down to my ass.
Jogging quicker than Dale and the group following me, I get to the ring fast enough to see Jamey dancing around like some asshole. When Jamey finally gets a glimpse of me, he’s not even phased, he just laughs at me and heads over to his corner of the ring.
Fucker doesn’t think he has a thing to worry about. I’m going to enjoy wiping that fucking smirk off his face.
The ref outside of the ring starts checking my gloves over one last time and gives me a quick run through of the rules.
Dale pants a little when he finally catches up and pulls me to the side of the ring. “What the fuck? Couldn’t wait for us all?”
“Nope,” I say with a shrug. “I’m ready for this shit to start.”
Motioning to the ring, Dale says, “Well, get the fuck in there.”
Walking into the ring, I feel the mat beneath my feet, and it brings back memories of all the fights I’ve been through. At first, it’s comforting to feel like I’m back home, but then it quickly becomes terrifying.
I look down at the mat and remember not so long ago I laid there with my shoulder in shambles. I can also see Tommy lying there on the mat, knocked out from the cheap shot he got from Jamey.
Each memory has my stomach churning with bile.
What the fuck am I getting myself into?
With all the shouting and yelling coming from all the people in the arena, it feels like I’m going deaf. Like I’m slowly drowning in noise and fear.
My fucking lungs are struggling to get a full breath of air.
“Emmett!” I hear a voice shouting at me, but I can’t really figure out from where.
Hands grab my shoulder and all of a sudden I’m facing the referee for the fight, Jim Anders. “You okay?”
Nodding my head slowly has me feeling as if I’m suddenly back in my house, drunk and barely able to focus on what’s in front of me.
Looking deep into my eyes, I can tell Jim’s about the call the fight right here. He’s about to wave his hands at the judges and say I can’t competently compete in the match.
Fuck.
The last words I ever heard Tommy say to me ring through my head and I never even got to talk to him after he left that message.
I’ll be there soon, brother.
Not soon enough. He’s gone and I won’t get to see him again for a very long time, if ever.
“Emmett, I gotta hear you say something, buddy. You okay? Can you fight?” Jim Anders asks me.
I’ll be there soon, brother.
He’s gone, he can’t come back. There’s no coming back from where he is.
“Fuck!” Anders whispers harshly and turns away from me.
He’s about to walk over to the gate of the cage to end the match.
Shit. Fuck!
I gotta fucking do something.
“Jim!” I shout at him. “Come back here!”
Shaking my head, trying to get rid of the haziness that wants to swallow my brain, I give him a thumbs up.
“What the fuck, Emmett? You drugged?” he asks with worry in his eyes.
Jim could lose his job and get in real trouble if he let me fight while he thought I was under the influence.
“No man, sorry. My heads is just… I’m good, I swear,” I say to him, and try to get back into the frame of mind I had before I stepped on the mat.
“If I think I need to, I’ll stop this fight,” he snaps at me before walking over to check on Jamey like none of this just happened.
I need my head in the game, but I can’t seem to focus on anything. Words and scenes flood across my mind. And for the life of me I can’t keep track of what I really am anymore. Am I going to be the man I want to be? Or should I slink back into my self-imposed exile?
Going through the motions, I walk to center of the cage and just stand here as Jim gives us a quick rundown of the fight. When he’s done, I move back to my corner. I didn’t even bother raising my gloves to touch with Jamey.
What’s the point? I can’t remember, all I can think about is these last six months.
Standing in the center of the cage, Jim makes a motion, asking me if I’m ready.
Am I?
Nodding my head, I raise my arm only high enough to acknowledge that I’m ready.
Then I hear Jim shout, “Let’s do this. Fight!”
&nb
sp; Advancing forward, I raise my hands up in a guard position and try to make myself feel the old routine of fighting.
Routine, fuck, that’s a joke.
There is no routine to a fight. You go in and hope to kill your opponent because he sure as fuck wants to do the same to you. It’s good to have a plan of attack, but the moment the bell rings, shit gets real and you have to make adjustments on the fly.
Fighting is anything but routine.
Jamey gives me my space, slowly circling the ring with me in the middle. He’s hesitant because this isn’t my normal. I used to come out with guns blazing, but I just don’t know what to do right now.
I feel off-kilter, like the fucking mat is swaying beneath my feet.
Jamey darts in and his fists fly quickly at my face, a one-two combo meant to get at least one of the hits to connect. The right misses, but the damn left rocks my head back, and I feel it.
I feel the fucking pain of someone hitting me.
I feel the pain of all the loss I’ve been dealing with.
Darting back and away from him, I give my head a good shake. Slowly the world starts to sharpen with crystal clarity. It’s like the hood has finally been yanked off my head and I can breathe again.
Taking a deep, soul-burning breath, I look at Jamey and grin at him with a smile that fills my whole fucking face.
Starting to close the distance between us, he says loudly over the crowd noise, “What the fuck are you smiling at, pussy?”
Laughing, I motion for his ass to come get some. “Thanks, man. I needed that.”
That stops him for a moment. Stupid fuck has no clue what he woke up inside me.
“Well, you’re about to get a lot more of it,” he says and sprints the remaining distance to me, trying to do a flying knee to my face.
Stepping to the side, I push his body past me and grin. “My turn.”
Squaring up against him, I fake a punch with my left before I snap my right hand at the side of his jaw.
It hits, not hard, but it’s enough to snap his head to the side and force him to retreat.
Marching forward, I keep my hands up, snapping out a kick to his thigh. The kick lands and I catch just the smallest wince from him.
Good, I hope that fucking hurts, because it sure hurt my foot.
Fucking fuck, he’s got thick ass leg muscles. I forgot that.
He sweeps into my midsection and I feel his shoulder as he tries to take me down. He wants this on the ground and I sure as fuck am in no way ready to do that. I might be fighting with crystal clarity, but I need to tenderize this fucker before I go to the ground.
Stepping wide with my legs, I let him push my ass up against the cage, then I clench up with him as he tries to get leverage to toss my ass onto the floor.
Unfortunately, that’s all we do for the next three minutes. We trade maybe ten punches each while he keeps going for a takedown.
He wants to get this shit on the ground, where he can work on my shoulder.
Finally, at the one-minute-left mark, I get a big knee to his face as he tries once again to take me down.
Rushing in, I try to capitalize on the stunned expression on his face, but I don’t get to his falling body quick enough to take advantage of him.
If was in better condition, I probably would have been able to get in some really heavy blows to his face. But despite all the working out I’ve done, I’m still not as fast as I could be.
Settling for getting top mount on his body, I sit down on his bucking hips and slam my fist down into his face as hard as I can. Hammerfist after hammerfist slams down on his arms, preventing me from doing too much damage.
But the times I do manage to connect slowly fuel that burning in my gut to hurt him.
When the bell sounds signaling the end of the first round, I slowly get up off his bitch ass and turn my back, walking away like he isn’t even a concern.
I hear some muttering from Jamey about me being a pussy as he heads to his corner, but whatever. The first round is over, and I’ve already proved he isn’t going to steam roll over my ass.
Didn’t prove much besides that, but baby steps, I guess.
I sit down on the little chair Dale slides behind my legs.
He checks my face and eyes for a moment before muttering, “You gonna play pussyfoot out there or you gonna do something?”
“Well—” I start to say, and he snaps.
“That was a fucking rhetorical question, you jackass. Get the fuck out there and score some fucking points. If this dumpster fire of a beginning goes to the fucking judges, you’re going to lose,” he snarls out at me.
“Right,” I say.
He’s got a fucking point, if I don’t do some fighting, this shit is going to drag on until the final bell and then it goes to the score cards. No one wants a match to ever go to the judges, it’s too easy for them to say the other guy’s the winner.
Dale gives my face a rough slap. “Wake the fuck up!”
Did he just hit me?
“Did you just hit me?” I growl out at him.
“No, I slapped you like a bitch. Now get out there and prove me wrong!” he screams in my face.
Standing up to get out of my way, he snatches up the stool out from under me. “You got a lot of people saying you ain’t got the heart to win anymore.”
Watching him march away from me has me seething fucking mad. That motherfucker called me a bitch.
Fuck that shit.
I’m not going to dig my own grave out there in the ring, I’m going to be the fucking avenging angel.
I’m going to kill someone.
The referee steps into the middle of the ring and looks at Jamey and me. “You ready?”
Nodding my head, I smile a little smile for Jamey.
I’m going to hurt this motherfucker.
“Let’s get to it!” Jim yells and motions for us to start.
Time to shine.
My feet carry me across the ring faster than I thought possible as I go in for a flying knee. I miss Jamey’s face, but my knee hits his shoulder.
Spinning him sideways gives me time to snap a kick to his ribs, and the kick sends him scurrying back and away from me.
Jamey’s face may look set and pissed, but the look in his eyes says that my attack freaked him the fuck out. He wasn’t ready for me to use one of his signature moves against him—the flying knee. That’s what knocked me down the last time we fought; it also gave him the chance to fuck my shoulder up.
Grinning at him again, I stalk over to him. He’s got his elbow a little closer to his ribcage, as if he’s protecting it. He probably doesn’t know I’ve noticed, but I have.
I’m gonna use that.
Moving in, I swing for his face fully knowing he’ll block it, but he can’t block the knee I drive right into the side of him. It isn’t hard enough to break him, but this fight is going to be about picking his ass apart.
Every time he gives me a piece to chew on, I’m going to make him regret it.
We end up in a clench up against the cage walls when I’m able to throw an elbow to his eyebrow that instantly splits the skin.
I can tell it dazes him too because his eyes go a little hazy.
Pulling back and away from him to give myself enough room, I start throwing punches as hard as I can. Each one connects with either his arms, the side of his head, or his face.
I’m doing damage to him now.
Doing damage is my specialty, that’s another reason they called me the Angel. I used to fight with perfection. I was precise and efficient, and I would pick apart my opponent before they ever knew what happened.
It could also be because I’m kinda hot too.
My loss to Jamey was entirely my fault. I got sloppy, I grew a big head, and I got lazy. He took advantage of all my errors and made me pay dearly for taking the fight with him as a layup.
I took my fights as a joke toward the end. Not anymore. I know my ass still has a gut, and my abs need a lot of
work.
My stomach definitely lets me know that its not ready for all the abuse its going to take when he gets in a solid foot to my side.
I hunch over and Jamey comes in charging for a knockout punch. Guarding my stomach with one arm, I’m able to get a hand up in time to deflect the blow and stop him from hitting my temple.
The instant flash of red though tells me he’s cut me over the eyebrow.
“Fucker,” I grunt as I push up against him to buy myself some time.
He keeps trying to slam an elbow up against the cut to make it bleed more. It’s dirty but not exactly illegal. He wants to blind me with enough blood that there’s either a stoppage or I can’t see exactly what he’s doing.
Pushing my shoulder into his, I wrap my arms up around his chest as I try to heave him up enough to knee him in the ribs.
Each time I get him right where I want him though, he squirms or drops a heavy elbow to my face.
“Fuck!” I shout out my frustration and then do the last thing either of us are expecting.
Sliding my arms down around his waist, I lift him up into the air.
Grunting mentally to myself, what goes up, must come down, I slam Jamey down to the mat on his back.
And all the air gets knocked out of him as I land right on top of his stomach.
“Gonna make you my bitch now!” I snarl at him as I sit up fully and start slamming my fists over and over into his face.
Jamey’s trying to guard himself, but my arms are like fucking engine pistons. Each blow I rain down is connecting somewhere, his head, his chin, or his temples.
His face quickly becomes a bloody mess as I bust his lip and nose up.
I can tell it’s over before the referee even gets between us. Jamey’s eyes rolled back with the last punch, and fuck it, I’m not willing to kill the fucker as much as I would love to.
“Fuck!” I scream as I climb off him.
The ref didn’t even have time to pull me off. Fuck no. I’m pissed as hell that I screwed up all my damn revenge.
This fucker’s out.
“Goddammit!” I scream as I stomp over to my part of the cage and aim a massive doorbuster kick at the chain-link walls.
