Undisputed
Copyright © 2016 Aimee Nicole Walker and Nicholas Bella
[email protected]
nicholasbella.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to the actual person, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover photograph © Wander Aguiar – www.wanderaguiar.com
Cover art and interior images Jay Aheer of Simply Defined Art - www.jayscoversbydesign.com
Editing provided by Heidi Ryan of Amour the Line Editing www.facebook.com/amourthelineediting
Interior Design and Formatting provided by Stacey Blake of Champagne Formats – www.champagneformats.com
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original publisher only.
This book contains sexually explicit material and is only intended for adult readers.
Copyright and Trademark acknowledgments
The authors acknowledge the copyrights and trademarked status and trademark owners of the following trademarks and copyrights mentioned in this work of fiction.
Copyrights and Trademarks:
Gatorade
Justin Bieber
Batman and Superman – DC Comics
LAX – Los Angeles International Airport
Queen
Led Zeppelin
Korn
Nike
Facebook
Facebook Messenger
Manolo Blahniks
Skype
Mercedes
Ralph Lauren
Barbie and Ken – Mattel Inc.
Los Angeles Lakers
Mack trucks
New York Knicks
Google
Cinderella – Walt Disney
Twitter
Instagram
NFL
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Other Books by Aimee Nicole Walker
Other Books by Nicholas Bella
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About Aimee Nicole Walker
About Nicholas Bella
Other Books by Aimee Nicole Walker
Only You
The Fated Hearts Series
Curl Up and Dye Mysteries
Buy on Amazon
Other Books by Nicholas Bella
Cobra: The Gay Vigilante Series
The New Haven Series
Demon Gate Series
Buy on Amazon
To Carly Stuurman,
For believing in us!
We danced around the octagon shaped arena, circling each other like two wild animals. My eyes remained locked with his as I sized him up. He was a decent enough rival, even getting in a few blows, but I was more than prepared for this fight. Quite frankly, I felt certain he was outmatched. We inched closer and closer, and the roar of the enthusiastic crowd hit a new peak that was almost deafening. You could practically taste the energy the audience was giving off; I, for damn sure, could feel it pulsating though my body, charging me up for this bout.
The mat was already stained with the blood of the fighters who had taken to the ring before us, and both my opponent and I added a few more drops to it. My nose was bleeding, but not broken. His was broken and the cut over his eye was going to need at least several stitches. Both of our fists were up as we kept our legs ready for action. The referee moved around us but stayed out of harm’s way, which was wise on his part. My opponent’s punches lacked the precision I strived for. One more reason why he wasn’t ready to take me on.
I smirked as the bead of sweat dripped down his temple. He knew he was in over his head. Right about now, I bet Rocco was regretting stepping in the ring with me. If he didn’t already, I was going to make sure he regretted it by the end of the match. There was no way in hell I was about to give up my championship belt, especially since I’d just won the damn thing. He came at me, lunging with a sloppy punch, but I dodged it and put some more space between us. He was getting tired and would be making more mistakes like that one. My chest heaved with anticipation as I looked at Rocco, who was panting from exhaustion.
He charged me, which was exactly what I wanted him to do. My defensive and offensive game was tight and I knew how to capitalize on the slipups of my opponents. I used his momentum, locking him in a hold, then flipped him over until I was on top. He held up his arms, blocking his face from my blows, but I wasn’t letting up. I hit his side, and when he went to protect his flank, I gave him a right hook to his temple, then followed that up with a body blow to his ribs.
“Arg!” he grunted as one of his ribs broke from the impact of my fist striking its target.
Again, I aimed for his sore ribs, hitting them with another blow. He lowered his guard on his face in order to protect his ribs and that was when I switched it up, giving a short jab to his nose. He grabbed my left arm, twisting it in an attempt to put me in a hold and gain the advantage, but I turned in the same direction, keeping my place on top of him. I raised up, kneeing him in his injured ribs twice, really giving them a bruising.
He was weakening, tired and sore from the blows I had dealt out like candy on Halloween. I had plenty to share with Rocco and, by the pained look in his eyes, I knew he wasn’t about to last much longer. I used my free hand to jab at his ribs again and when he left himself open to protect them, I gave him another sharp jab to his face and that blow knocked him the hell out. I followed it up with two more blows before the referee pulled me off his ass.
I stood up, growling like a beast in my adrenaline-fueled state. I was so hyped! The referee checked my opponent over, then declared him KO’d. I raised my hands in victory as I jumped around the ring, soaking in the praises from a well-entertained crowd. Everyone loved a winner and I loved winning. I spit out my mouthpiece so I could roar to the crowd as I continued to thrust my arms in the air victoriously. Championship defended by sheer badassness. Mission accomplished.
My head coach entered the arena along with my sparring team, and they rushed me, wrapping their arms around me as I continued to celebrate. I hugged them as we cheered and gave my coach a kiss on his temple, because lord knew he was part of the reason why I was standing there victorious. The other part was my sheer will to want to be on top. The flashing lights of the cameras were almost blinding, but I knew better how not to focus on the lights, only the crowd as they stood up in their seats, cheering and applauding. Of course, there were some assholes booing, too. Dumb fucks shouldn’t have betted against me.
I made sure to absorb all the praise like a sponge before I finally took my ass to the locker room where some of the other guys shook my hand and gave me forced congratulations. Every last one of them in my division wanted to be where I was… o
n top with the belt around my waist. Fucking shark tank full of opportunistic jocks.
“Congrats, man, great fucking match,” Tony Maddock said as he patted me on my back.
“Thanks, man,” I replied with a smirk. Tony lost his chance to get the belt from then Champion, Richie “The Bulldog” Swartz, three months ago. No doubt, his eyes were still focused on obtaining the gold, so his praise was bullshit in my eyes. He probably watched it thinking he could take me the entire time. The sport of Mixed Martial Arts was a dog-eat-dog competition and everyone was fighting for the bone.
“Man, that shit was awesome! You annihilated his ass,” Colt Danners said, slapping me on the back.
“I did, didn’t I?” I smiled as I thought about the blow I had landed that knocked my opponent out. It was extra sweet because Rocco talked a lot of shit in the weeks leading up to our match, saying I was too young and inexperienced to take him on. Well, that motherfucker ain’t got shit to say now.
I took off my gloves and shorts, locking them up with my belt, then made my way into the showers. The water felt so good on my skin, washing away all the sweat and blood from my body, making me feel refreshed. I finished bathing and walked out with a towel around my waist. I knew the press was waiting like a pack of carnivorous dogs to talk to me. I fucking hated the press, damn vultures. I slipped on a pair of black jeans, my boots, and my white v-neck t-shirt.
No sooner had I laced up my boots when the dressing room doors opened and my head coach and manager, Barry Vincennes, walked over, slapping me on the back. “Damn good match, Macio.”
I smiled. “Thanks.” I hugged him again and saw my publicist walking into the room.
“Are you ready for the post-fight conference?” Rupert asked me.
I really hated those fucking things, but it was part of my job, so I nodded. “Yeah, let’s get this shit over with.”
“Good. Remember, if you feel yourself getting agitated, just give shorter answers. Be honest, that’s the best you can do,” Rupert said, giving me pointers.
“Sure,” I said.
We walked to the area where the conference was being held. As soon as I walked into the room, cameras flashed their lights, causing me to blink a little as the photogs captured their images of me looking sexy and grand with my championship belt tossed over my shoulder. I sat down and removed my belt, placing it on the table beside me. I rested my hands on the table, lacing my fingers together. The pose I gave meant I was ready for their insipid questions.
“Macio, how does it feel to win tonight’s match?” one of the reporters asked.
A stupid fucking question. How do you think I feel, dumbass? That was what I wanted to say. However, my publicist, Rupert, would have had a fucking fit. He’d been trying to clean up my image a bit so I could get more endorsements. So, I went the diplomatic route… well, as diplomatic as I could be.
“It feels great,” I replied, keeping my answers short and sweet, since I was already agitated. I’d rather be heading back to my hotel right then instead of sitting there fulfilling this obligation.
“Mr. De Niro, was there any point in your match tonight where you thought you might not win?” another asked.
I snorted. “No.”
I’d been told that my short answers infuriated the media, but I could care less. Fuck them. Of course, Rupert cringed whenever someone shoved a microphone in my face because he never knew what I was going to say at the spur of the moment. I once told a reporter who’d had the nerve to ask about my sex life to go fuck herself. Rupert and Barry both told me that was unwise. I hated having to watch what I said, but business was business.
“Mr. De Niro, what do you say to people who think you’re too young to hold the title?” one of them asked.
I smirked. “Remind me again, who’s the champion?” I shot back. To that remark, there were some chuckles and murmuring. People, especially the other fighters, tended to give me shit because I was twenty-four and cocky. As far as I was concerned, I’d earned the right to be.
“Mr. De Niro, is there anyone in the circuit you think can be your equal?” came another silly ass question from a reporter with a nose too big for his face.
“No,” I said, without needing to think about it. Some might say I was a smug son of a bitch and I needed to be brought down a peg or two, but I say, fuck them. I worked my ass off to get where I was and I’d already beat my way through the competition. So, no, I had no equal. I knew it, and all the fighters in the dressing room knew it, too.
“Mr. De Niro, will you attempt to lower your weight so you can compete in a lower class?”
I shook my head. “I hate cutting weight. Where I am now is where I want to be. I don’t have any intentions of seeking a championship belt in a lower weight class. That’s a stupid fucking question.”
“Okay, what about a higher class? Super heavyweight?” was the second part to his question.
I shrugged one shoulder. “Like I said, right now, I’m happy where I’m at.” I wasn’t opposed to competing in the heavyweight division, but right now, I was content.
“Are you going to celebrate your victory with anyone special?” A female reporter asked.
I rolled my eyes. “It won’t be you,” I snapped. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rupert giving me the cut-off signal in his attempt to put out a fire I just started, because my last comment got the room buzzing, so I nodded. “No more questions, please. I’m tired and just want to relax.”
I hated doing interviews, no matter the venue. Of course, it came with the job, so I dealt with it. I picked up my belt and made my way out of the room even as the vultures continued squawking for more answers to their bullshit, stupid-ass questions. Of course, there were more vultures outside, but I walked past them as I made my way to the waiting limousine.
“Fucking hate reporters,” I grumbled as I settled into the comfortable leather seat.
“Yeah, I know you do, but you handled yourself well… for the most part,” Rupert said with a chuckle.
“Why can’t they ever ask intelligent questions? It’s all about looking for shit they can make a scandal out of,” I complained, rolling my eyes.
“Well, saying you don’t have any competition in the circuit sure gave them what they were looking for,” Barry stated.
I scoffed. “It’s the truth.”
“Still, bring it down a notch, buddy,” Barry said. “Hubris has been the downfall of many who thought they stood above it.”
I tossed him a look and he gave me that stern stare I still got from my father when he was disappointed in me. It meant Barry was serious and not just giving me advice I could give or take. He wanted me to take this advice.
“Fine, Barry… I’ll try to be more humble. I see feelings need to be spared and all,” I shot back.
“Smart ass.” Barry shook his head. “Don’t party too hard tonight, buddy. You’ve got early training tomorrow. 6 a.m., I mean it.”
I nodded. I was used to early training days, even when I partied hard the night before. I could always make it and kick ass. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.”
“Speaking of reporters and interviews, you have one tomorrow afternoon,” Rupert added.
I frowned. “With who?”
“Ringside Magazine. They want to do an editorial on the man who’s the youngest MMA champion in Extreme Titan Combat history.”
“Ugh, I don’t want to do any in-depth interviews. I don’t like how they always want to pry,” I fussed.
“You’ve been putting this off long enough, Macio. Now, I’ve managed to filter through the many requests we’ve received to one that you would be prudent to accept,” Rupert said.
“Ringside Magazine is the number one media outlet in the world of sports. You get an editorial with them and you can see your fame skyrocket,” Barry said.
I looked out of the window at all the lights from the strip. Las Vegas was truly a city that never slept, but it came to life at night. Whores, drunkards, thieves
, gamblers, tourists, you name it… they were walking the streets. But that wasn’t what was on my mind. I loved being champion. I most certainly loved the money that came along with being not only one of the best fighters in the country, but also the champion. My endorsement game was on point and looking pretty as fuck.
Michaelson’s Sports were even talking about making a pair of gloves with my name on them. They wanted me on the design team and I’d be getting some of the profits too. When I heard that, I told Rupert to jump on the deal. Far be it from me to turn down good money. So yeah, I liked the big bucks and the adoration of the crowd. What I didn’t like was the fame. The extra scrutiny and bitch ass paparazzi hanging out in trees, behind garbage cans and bushes, trying to get snapshots of me. That, I could live without.
“I’m not looking to be more famous, Rupert,” I said.
“If you want more endorsements, you need to put yourself out there, Champ. You’re bad shit in the arena, we all know that, but one day you’re going to need to retire and you don’t want to be broke when that day comes,” Rupert stated. “I mean, have you seen what happens to many MMA fighters? Injuries alone could put you out of work, then what? Capitalize while you can.”
I turned back to him and huffed. “Fine. What time is this fucking interview and who’s the interviewer?”
“Two in the afternoon, and the interviewer is Aiden James,” Rupert replied.
“Time is good. It’ll be after my training.”
“During, buddy. I’m going to work the shit out of you tomorrow,” Barry said.
I groaned. “Really, Barry? I’m starting at six in the morning.”
“And you’ll be ending when I say so. You want to keep that belt around your waist? Well, you need to stay on top of your game,” Barry said.
I laughed and nodded. I loved the training, hated the weight-watching. Sometimes you just wanted that fucking juicy-ass triple cheese burger with the applewood-smoked bacon. God, I wanted that burger so bad, but Barry had me on a heartless strict diet and regiment. I was going to be sore as fuck by tomorrow night, for sure.
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