No Holds (The Fighter Series Book 4)

by TC Matson

  I sit, wringing my hands in my lap when he pats my shoulder compelling me to rip my stare from the black painted pole in front of me and look up. “You’ll be fine. Just breathe through your nose and out your mouth. He’ll be entering from over here.” He points to our right.

  It seems like nodding is my only form of communication for the night.

  Relax. Calm down. This is what he does. Take a deep breath.

  The lights cut out and the masses of people around me roar to such an ear-splitting level it causes me to squint from the pain, my stomach to cramp and my heart to thunder.

  Blue strobe lights flicker across the excited crowd and the place lights up again, becoming alive with screams as the energy transforms from a thick tenseness to an elated excitement. Every hair on my body stands straight up. Music pours from the speakers and the rabble, yet again, changes the verve under the roof.

  Noticing there isn’t a soul who isn’t on their feet except me—his girlfriend—I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and stand on shaky legs. A light moves, illuminating the entrance and revealing Ryker’s platinum blond and vivid red streak. He’s bouncing, nodding his head with his arms out to the side as people reach out to him.

  As he passes, he doesn’t even look my way, keeping his view in front of him. I’m okay with it. I’m sure I look just as petrified as I fear and I don’t want him to see it. He has to stop before entering the ring and I watch as he strips from his shirt unveiling his mouth-watering body. A man in black with blue latex gloves pats him down from head to toe.

  I nudge Kyce and point, silently asking what’s going on.

  “Making sure there aren’t any cheats on him,” he yells and I’m barely able to make out what he’s saying.

  After showing his mouth guard, Ryker bounds up the stairs and circles the cage to his side of the octagon where Daniel and Flynn are just on the other side. He rocks his head back and forth, from shoulder to shoulder, stretching his neck out and swinging his arms. Rigid, crazed, and slightly possessed eyes flick to me, penetrating me. The right side of his mouth tips up in an imperious but satisfying smirk and he winks. But his attention on me vanishes into the darkness as the lights go out again.

  My heart is going to break through the walls of my chest. It’s rapid, hard, and I’m all but gulping for air.

  The next fighter enters the ring with the same threatening music, gets checked out and then darts in the ring in a flash, running past Ryker, glaring at him as if he’s his intended murder victim.

  They stand across from each other and the referee calls them to the middle. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but Ryker looks homicidal staring Lascher down, and even when they’re backed up to their spots, Ryker’s glare doesn’t stray from his opponent.

  “Fight!” the referee calls with a quick motion of his hand and the crowd shouts their excitement.

  Both men stalk toward the middle and tap gloves. That ends the friendliness. Lascher wastes no time and punches first, but Ryker leans back, moving away from it. Lascher kicks and Ryker slides away from it, but then he rushes forward and slams a few punches into Lascher’s face.

  Both men bounce back and forth, from leg to leg before Lascher advances and connects a few punches. Ryker ducks and blocks. A loud thud to Ryker’s thigh silences the arena for a brief second. I flinch, but he doesn’t.

  I can hear Daniel screaming things, but I can’t make out what. Kyce is sitting, but only by a prayer. His legs are bouncing at an incredible speed and he’s gripping his fist, pulling at his knuckles.

  When I look back up, Lascher has Ryker against the fence on the other side of the octagon. But then the crowd goes wild and Kyce jumps to his feet, pulling me along with him.

  The men are slugging it out, trading punches—lefts and rights—quick ones. Strong ones. Relentlessly.

  A loud horn blows and the fight stops.

  Kyce smiles at me. “He won that round.”

  How the hell do we know this? Ryker’s sitting on a stool with Daniel and Flynn in his face talking to him. Flynn holds an ice pack on his back as Daniel gives him water.

  But just as quickly as they sit, they’re back out standing and waiting. The ref yells the anticipated word and in a flash, Lascher leaps and begins unloading a bunch of punches into Ryker. Ryker stumbles backward into the fence, ducking and trying to block the unrelenting strikes. He dips right and then back left heaving a right punch up. Lascher falls to the mat and Ryker dives on top of him, slamming furious punches and raining forearms into Lasher’s face.

  Kyce leaps back to his feet and begins shouting. The crowd is at a deafening roar again as the ref shoves Ryker off. He leaps to his feet and sprints several steps away with his arms in the air, screaming a guttural roar. He bends, punching elation into the empty space in front of him and then straightens back up.

  He pins me with his eyes, stretching his arm out and pointing to me with a mouth-guard covered smile.

  I’m overwhelmed with such a mixture of emotions—exuberant, horrified, and proud—but conjure up the best prideful smile. This…this is what he enjoys? Intentionally beating the shit out of someone. It isn’t a life or death, fight to survive situation, but for sport—a very barbaric sport. And he does it for…fun?

  When the announcer declares the winner and raises Ryker’s arm high above, Kyce grabs my arm.

  “Come on,” he says lugging me behind him quickly.

  He drags me through the crowd, zig-zagging around people and down the hall back into Ryker’s room.

  He shoves the door open and I enter. “He’s still full of adrenaline, so he’s going to be loud and rambunctious.”

  I don’t reply, sitting where Ryker told me to sit prior to the fight.

  “You good?” he asks and I glance up to him.

  “Yeah,” I say quietly.

  I’m not okay. I’m revolted. I’m… “Not good.”

  Kyce swings back around to me with wide, bemused eyes. “He won. You should be ecstatic.”

  “I’m happy, but that…” I trail off shaking my head.

  “Was the first fight you’ve ever seen?”

  “One like that, yes,” I admit.

  I’ve seen fights before, the last one being in high school. It too was brutal as two girls fought the dickens out of each other over Craig Ellis, the star quarterback. Apparently, they both were his girlfriends and they didn’t like it. But they had a reason to fight, as stupid as is was.

  A sharp laugh slices through the air and then he sobers quickly, securing a genuine stare on me. “Martial arts have been his passion since I can remember. Once he got his first taste of it, there wasn’t any holding him back. He loves it. Breathes it. Bleeds it. Dreams of it. And is dedicated to it. He’s brilliant at finding a balance between this life and the one outside of it. But fighting reigns.”

  “It’s barbaric.”

  “It’s competition. It’s a sport. You know just as much as I do, the man in the ring doesn’t define the real Ryker.”

  “But that was excruciating to watch,” I admit feeling dumb that I’m not overly excited as I feel I should be.

  He smiles tenderly. “Only when you don’t know what you’re looking for. Soak in everything you can learn about it. Go to the gym and watch him more. Listen to him when he talks about it. Watch his older fights and you’ll see how much he’s grown.”

  I sigh and realize I’m shaking.

  “There are highs and lows to this fucked up roller coaster. You’ll thrive on his highs. If you love him, you have to find a method of accepting this is him. Don’t make him choose. It won’t be fair.”

  The door swings open, ending our conversation and the coaches enter first with a sweaty, grinning Ryker behind them. He bounces on his feet and shoves Kyce in the shoulder, both of them hollering their happiness. He rotates to me.

  I swallow my self-pity and give him the biggest, most sincere elated grin.

  “You!” He points.

  “You.” I giggle, standing up. �
�Just won!” I shriek with enthusiasm.

  He steps to me, putting his hands on my hips. He looks smug as hell. “Hope you didn’t lose too much betting on the other guy.”

  I puff a laugh and peer up to him. “Do you really think I would bet against you? You’re my man. I knew you had this.”

  Satisfaction erupts across his lips and he lifts me.

  “No! You’re nasty and sweaty!” I squeal with laughter.

  He kisses me hard and then drops me.

  His attention is back on Kyce and they have a funny brotherly boxing match, laughing and cutting up while Daniel and Flynn go over everything. I don’t think Ryker’s listening as they brag, boast, scold, and inflate his ego.

  I sit back down, tucking my hands under my legs, and take in the sight before me. They’re a huge family, bonded by determination, respect, and their love for the same sport.

  Chapter 21

  When Ryker said he was going to have his way with me, it was the most absolute promise ever. After grabbing something to eat, we came back to the hotel and the marathon romp started before we pushed through the hotel door. Matter of fact, it started in the elevator when his kisses were powerful and his hands roamed. There wasn’t any slowing him down and it ended up being extremely late when he finally let me sink into a deep sleep—depleted and sated.

  I wake up to his fingers feathering along my skin and turn my head slightly to greet him with a smile. “Good morning.”

  “I got you a coffee and a bagel from downstairs,” he says.

  I examine his half naked body. “You went like that?”

  He licks his lips. “No. I went naked. But I thought it would be pretty indecent of me to climb back in the bed with you naked so I threw on my shorts.” Sarcasm drips heavily in his tone.

  I playfully smack his chest and he rolls on top of me, shoving a knee between my legs. I grimace at the ache in my legs.

  He hums conceitedly. “Am I a reminder of last night in those sexy legs?”

  I frown, shaking my head. “No. After you went to sleep last night, I snuck out and went for a run through the city.”

  He laughs.

  I trace the outline of a purplish stained bruise on his cheek. “Are you not sore?”

  He tilts his head slightly. “Nah. Dull ache. Nothing out of the ordinary, and nothing I can’t handle.” He licks my neck, curving to the bottom of my chin. “I like knowing my girl worries.”

  Happiness glimmers in his eyes and it chokes my heart. I close my eyes, hiding the emotions. “I need you to do me a favor.”

  Long pregnant and silent seconds tick by forcing me to open my eyes. He’s leery, curiosity heavy in his eyes as he peers at me.

  “I need you to teach me. I want to learn—”

  “Sweetheart, you don’t need any teachings.” By his tone, he’s insinuating a very different subject.

  I smack the top of his shoulder. “No, you horn dog. I mean your fighting.”

  A mixture of understanding and bewilderment storms into his eyes.

  I continue. “I’m really happy you won, but I hated what I had to witness. Horrified, actually. I don’t want to feel that way about something you’re so passionate about, so I want you to teach me so I can understand it better. I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

  A powerful and intense adoration pours from his view and grips my heart. “You keep talking like that and I’m going to make you my wife.” His eyes flash wide like he just scared the hell out of himself, but he doesn’t move.

  My pulse disappears. “We’ve, um…” I stumble for words.

  “I didn’t say it’ll be tomorrow, Whit,” he says unconvincingly. He pushes up and off me. “We have to hurry up. The plane leaves soon.”

  The plane ride was more quiet than normal. Our conversation only consisted of short and unimportant things while the ones with his coaches and Kyce were full of interesting subjects—fighting of course.

  We landed an hour ago, threw our bags into the back seat of his truck, and took off for Jackson’s house. He’s held a tradition that whenever he wins, he celebrates it with Gracie. He says she’s his good-luck charm.

  “RyRy!” Gracie squeals, leaping out the front door and into his arms. “You won!”

  “Did you have any doubts?” He hugs her.

  She leans back, pushing off his shoulders, trusting his grip on her legs, and squeezes his cheeks. “He punched you one too many times. You slacked off really bad.”

  Ryker lets out a deep rumbling laugh and sets her down. “You should be my coach.”

  She smiles up to him just as Jackson appears at the door. “Congratulations on the win.”

  Ryker tips his chin. “I’ll bring her back in a few hours.”

  What do you think an eight-year-old and her uncle who just won an MMA fight would do for a celebration? Whatever it is. Whatever you just guessed…you’re completely wrong.

  After driving forty-five minutes, we pull into a go-kart race track.

  I’m officially being beaten by both of them who obviously have way more experience than I do. This isn’t their first time here or doing this. My first lap, I screamed like a scared chicken shit the whole way around while gripping my steering wheel so tightly, I think I lost circulation. By my second lap, I started feeling more courageous. My screech disappeared and I floated into the corners better. And now, on the third lap, I am on their tails listening to them banter back and forth.

  They repeatedly steal quick glances between each other and yell random things over the loud purr of the engines. I catch up and bump into him. He twists in his seat looking behind him and sticks his tongue out at me before yelling something about crazy women drivers. Gracie takes advantage of his distraction and slams her hot pink car into his black and orange one. It sends him into the railing, ricocheting back off it and I zip past him just in time for the checkered flag.

  Second place for my first time behind the wheel of a go-kart isn’t so bad.

  Gracie squeaks her excitement, bouncing in her seat as she pulls into the lane to park. I’m right behind her. She unbuckles and jumps out of the car, twisting her hips and flailing her arms on the sidewalk, doing her little victory dance.

  She high-fives me. “Team work. Girls against boys. We win!”

  I giggle watching Ryker approach, feigning anger. “You two cheated.”

  “What’s wrong? Don’t like getting beaten by two girls?” I quip.

  “Yeah,” Gracie adds crossing her arms still triumphant.

  He squints and lets the smile finally burst through. “Next time, you two won’t stand a chance.”

  Gracie giggles and skips out in front of us. Her long hair is pulled into a ponytail, swaying from side to side. Ryker’s watching her and it swells my chest. There’s no denying how much he cares for her. And it only deepens the affectionate side of him he continues to surprise me with.

  Chapter 22

  I said something the other morning and it not only surprised the fuck out of me, it shook me down to my soul. The “M” word has never come from my mouth. Ever. I’ve never tasted it, yet now it’s up front, terrorizing my thoughts and it’s all I want to savor. I played it off and told her I wouldn’t run off and marry her tomorrow, but that was a bold-faced lie. I would. And that fucking scares the motherfucking piss out of me.

  Although I know there’s something deeper than attraction, more intense than love between her and me, for her to have this much control over me is paralyzing.

  She’s been at the gym every afternoon since coming home from my fight with Lascher. Something about the fight fucked up her thoughts. Kyce told me she struggled with the whole thing and she was inches away from having a meltdown after the fight and before I got back into the room.

  It crushed me to know she had that much fear and she held it away from me.

  Instead of running, she’s on the mat or in the ring with me while I give her something different daily. Basic training stuff to more methodical techniques I know she’l
l never use, but I’m including them so she’ll understand better. She asks questions, listens, and watches, following my directions.

  I’ll give it to her—she’s trying her damnedest and it’s the fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. When she concentrates deeply, crinkles form across her forehead, strengthening between her eyebrows. She runs her tongue along the corner of her lip and it’s distracting as fuck, making it hard to focus on the task at hand.

  I have found out I love pushing her and pissing her off. Her face gets twisted with anger and her fists become more wiry. She’s a fireball with no rhyme or reason to her executions but I know if it comes down to a dire situation and I’m not there, she’ll be able to handle herself.

  Today, she called and said she wasn’t coming to the gym but is coming to my house. I’m assuming she’s sore. Last night, I wrestled around with her, not because I gave a damn about teaching her a fucking thing, but because to have her sweaty body against me was a fucking turn on.

  I pull open the door and my dick itches to feel her. She’s still in her work clothes, professional and sexy wearing a black and white silky blouse that will be on the floor soon, crimson red jeans that will also be on the floor soon, and black heels that will be hooked around my waist. She can leave them on.

  She holds up a brown paper bag with a wry twist to her sultry lips. “Jay sends his regards.”

  I laugh tugging her to me. “Have you told him I’m taken?”

  She scrunches her nose. “I don’t want to break his heart.”

  I claim her lips, plunging my tongue into her mouth. She squeezes my biceps and fire begins to burn in my blood. She’s panting when I release her mouth.

  “You gonna stand there and drool over me or would you like to come in?” I jest. “You could drool while I make you come.”

  She slaps my chest walking past me. “You’re—”

  “Fucking sexy as hell. I know. You don’t have to tell me,” I interrupt her with smug humor.