by TC Matson
“No, sir. I’m an MMA fighter,” Ryker tells him and I want to grab the phone and hang up on the conversation. Ryker has no idea how cold my dad can be but he’s about to get the full wrath.
Dad clears his throat. “Whitney failed to mention that. You own a gym too?”
Ryker nods.
“You own a gym and you’re a fighter? Sounds like a busy schedule. How exactly does Whitney fit into your fancy picture?”
“I’ve managed to balance everything. We work out together, spend our down time together, and she comes with me to my events.”
Dad’s silver eyebrows furrow. “You take my daughter to your fights?”
“I have.”
“And she has to watch you get hurt and all the violence unfold in front of her? It’s a bit selfish of you to make her do that, don’t you think?”
“Dad. He—”
“I don’t force her to do anything, sir,” Ryker interrupts with resent. “She’s not coerced in any way. She supports me in the sport I’m passionate about.”
“What happens if she’s put in a compromising situation?”
“I’m there to handle it.”
“And if you’re not?”
“She’s never left alone. My brother stays by her side when I’m not. She’s in good hands.”
Dad’s disparaging glare causes me to swallow hard. “Whitney’s a good girl. Always has been. And I know when she cares for someone, she puts them first, which is why I’m sure we don’t hear from her often. She’s been busy keeping up with your schedule and forgetting her roots. I’m going to level with you, Ryker. I’m not too keen about my daughter dating a man like you. She’s softhearted and caring. She has a heart like her mother’s, compassionate and empathetic. You obviously don’t know my daughter the way you should. Having her watch you? You’ve apparently not gotten too badly hurt if she’s still beside you. One spit of blood and you’ll have her in tears.”
“Si—”
“I wasn’t done,” Dad scolds and heat rises to my cheeks. “She might be tolerant, but she has strength. That she gets from me. I’m positive you have a strict schedule with all types of sorts. I’d hate to know my daughter is missing out on things because she has to adhere to your lifestyle. She might tolerate your selfishness, but I don’t. I don’t want my daughter hurt, mentally or physically.”
Ryker digs his fingers into his knee, his expression resting with a sheen icy-cold stare. He takes a shaky breath. “You have nothing to worry about. I don’t get in the way of the things she enjoys.”
“Do you sleep around on her?”
“Dad!” I lash out. “This conversation has gone on long enough. It’s over. I love you and mom. I’ll call you later.”
I end the call. Half of me wants to cry from embarrassment. The other half is shaking with anger. “I am so, so sorry.”
“You didn’t tell them? Are you ashamed I’m a fighter?” His tone is sharp.
“No. I’m not ashamed. I just wasn’t ready for my dad’s reaction.”
“How well do you adhere to your parents’ standards?” There’s a glimmer of concern in his tone. “Daddy’s little girl? He despises me.”
I titter. “It’s the initial shock, that’s all. He’ll warm up to you. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
He studies me for a moment. “You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, right?”
“I know I’m safe with you.”
He tugs me onto his lap and kisses me so softly. Then he pulls back meeting my eyes. “I can’t promise you how my fights are going to be. They’re unpredictable in every aspect and there’s always a chance things can go wrong. Things can get bloody. I can get pretty banged up. Are you going to run away from me again?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He grunts closing his eyes. “I hate how much control you have over me. Your feelings are my feelings. You’re entirely paralyzing.”
I kiss his chin. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
When his eyes open, they’re swirling with emotion. “You have too much of me, but I keep wanting to give you more. I’m not perfect by no means, but I want to be your perfect.”
He wraps my neck and pulls me to his mouth. His tongue sweeps against mine, and he groans, pulling me down into his erection.
Internally, I know he struggles with balancing sensitivity and possessiveness. Too much sentimental emotions turn him into an aggressive virile madman while too much commanding aggression knocks him down a notch or two. It’s a constant battle.
He’s turbulent, stuck in a purgatory of heart and emotions, good and bad, fighting to remain arrogant and stoic.
Chapter 25
The week has been blurry, obscured by long strenuous days of training and time lacked with my girl because of it. Thankfully, she’s supportive and understands this fight is important.
Semi-finals.
I’m determined. Aiming to win. Intent to mark my spot in the sport because I’m fucking climbing, refusing to fall again. Not this time.
Whit had a corporate breakfast meeting event to do before we could jump on the plane. I wasn’t leaving her behind, so we flew into Atlanta at four in the afternoon. Which had us rushing to get situated.
At the weigh-ins last night, I said nothing. I kept my cool even when shithead Murphy told me Levi sent his regards. It caused my jaw to tick, fueled my hatred, but I only offered a conceited smirk. The stare down was hostile. I felt the urge to pummel the son of a bitch right there on stage, but Whitney’s strength prevailed. That’s right. My girl forces me to want to do better.
It’s a fuckity situation.
Kyce finishes the last turn of fabric around my wrists and grabs the hand pads to warm me up. I’ve got an hour before I go out and it’s not hurrying to get here. Whitney sits in the corner, fiddling between her phone and hands, occasionally flicking her worried eyes up at me. She’s fiercely trying to keep her worries hidden from me, but I know every fleck, every strand of colored portion of her eyes. Therefore, I know anxiety is gnawing its way from the depth of her stomach.
And as much as I want to comfort her, I can’t. Not right now. I can’t lose my focus.
Abruptly, the door slams open, causing a loud thud to echo through the room, and we all swing around, fully ready to engage in war.
“Where’s little dick?” I hear his voice before I see his grinning face.
Matt strides in like he owns the place—shoulders back, wanna-be chest poked out. It’s been a year since I’ve seen him and he hasn’t changed a bit.
“Pecker-fucking-neck.” I drop my hands to my side.
He gives me a one-armed hug, clapping my hand. “Dude, you’ve gotten swole since I’ve seen you last.”
“And you’ve missed the gym for months,” I chuckle. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Surprise.” He throws his arms out to the side. “You think I’d miss your semi-finals?”
“When did you get into town?”
“Early as shit this morning,” he replies.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were coming? We could’ve met up.”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t get up until late. Working twelve hours, flying for two, and fucking for three wears a body out.”
I laugh.
“Kyce!” he bro-hugs him. “Damn, it feels good to be back in the graces of the Hayes clan.”
“Where’s Holly?”
He throws his thumb over his shoulder. “With the other guy. Said she’s not allowed to like you. Girl code and shit.”
“As long as your douchebag ass hasn’t been swayed,” I say.
“The Hayes blood runs deep without running in my veins at all.”
I crook my finger, motioning for Whitney, and introduce the two.
Matt’s green eyes light up too far for my liking. “It’s nice to finally meet the girl who’s wrangled the shithead.”
Whitney smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
He rakes his view the length of her body. “I heard you were really pretty, but damn.”
“Matt,” I warn.
He slaps my chest. “Still the same ol’ Ryker. I’m just saying your girl was the talk of the apartment for a few days after your scuffle at the charity event.”
“Are you here just to piss me off?” I ask feeling irritation beginning to boil in my blood.
“Damn right I am. I want you to kick Nick’s face off his cocky ass shoulders. He and Levi are too much alike.”
“You’re the one hanging with them,” Kyce says.
Matt curls his top lip. “Not a fat fucking chance. The only time I’m around him is when Holly has something with Paige. They’re still leery of me. I don’t mind it. Can’t stand the bastards.” He tips his head to Kyce. “Care if I grab the pads and warm you up?”
“You’re not going to the other side with information, are you?” Kyce asks dead fucking serious.
It strikes a nerve with Matt and he tenses. “Are you fucking kidding me? I love my girl, but you’re my brothers first, except before sex. I’m not a spy, dude. Don’t make me regret coming in here.”
“You’ve been gone awhile. Just being cautious,” Kyce says handing over the gloves.
Although we all get along, Matt’s my boy. Has been for years. Kyce always tried to find his footing inside my circle of friends, but being the annoying little brother, he always got shoved out. I know he feels threatened right now.
Matt’s been in my corner since we were kids and knows the ropes, knows my moves, and knows when warming me up, I need a bit of a challenge back. He throws weak overhands and short jabs as I duck and weave, meeting the pads with my knuckles.
“You caused quite a scene a few weeks back,” Matt says quietly. “You even had Paige and Levi fighting.”
I flick my gaze to him. “Must’ve been in the air.”
“I’m serious, man. I don’t like Nick. He’s a shady character. He came to NC a few times to visit with Levi. He’s got a block on his shoulder and Levi’s pumping him up.”
“Never known Levi to join forces with another fighter. What’s the angle?” I hit the pads again.
“All I know is Nick replaced Katie after Levi quit her.”
Brian’s told me Cory, Levi’s manager, has him training to rake in more publicity, which equals more money for the both of them. Cory’s shady as shit with skeletons dangling in his closet, ones most of us know about. He’s money hungry as fuck and will go to any lengths to get what he’s hungry for.
“Your girl is—”
I smack him upside the head, cutting the end of that off. “Keep your dick in your pants.”
He chuckles. “Can I sing the pussy-whipped song yet? You seem to be deep in that shit.”
Nothing else is said and we continue to work each other. Back and forth, we trade our punches, moving quickly to get away from the strikes thrown, and before too long, he’s gassed out.
Kyce shoves his shoulder. “Need me to show you how a real man does it?” He takes the pads from him and I laugh.
“How long are you here?”
“Tomorrow. I’ve got to work Monday.”
“Still pedaling that shit job? My offer still stands,” I tell him.
Years ago, I offered for him to work at RingSide and when I had fights for him to come and be my equipment boy. I’d pay him much more than he makes at his seven-to-seven job, but he won’t take it.
“Just as serious as you are with your girl, I am with mine. I’m not leaving her. Long distance doesn’t sound appealing. How are you doing it?”
I tighten my lips. “I’ve kept it all at the gym.”
There’s a knock on the door—two distinctive knocks announcing I better be where I need to be because I’m up next.
Matt slaps my shoulder. “I’ll be rooting for you loud and very clear, regardless of who I’m standing beside. Don’t go soft on him. I want blood. And his head across the ring.”
I nod and he exits the room.
I make my way to Whitney, ready to deploy my plan. She’s stands and offers a weak but strong smile.
“How much are you wagering on the other guy?” I say low keeping our conversation to us.
She grins. “My life savings.”
I arch my brow. “You’re going to rely on me to pay your bills?”
She rolls her eyes. “Not happening.”
“I have a wager for you.” My heart thunders in my ears.
She rocks back on her heel all sassy. “And that is?”
“I win, you say yes.”
Her eyes bug out and her mouth parts. “Wh-what are you asking?”
I smirk leaving the options open. “Read as far into it as you want. Do we have a deal?”
She blinks but nothing’s coming out.
I kiss her lips. “Is it an ante you’re willing to wager?”
She etches the tattoos on my chest before finally answering me. “Yes.”
I crush into her lips, kissing her hard and when I pull back, she’s breathy.
“Stay with Kyce,” I gruff, shrugging into my shirt.
She leaves on Kyce’s arm with swollen red lips.
I inhale a deep breath. When you know it’s right…you fucking know it’s right.
Adrenaline bursts through my limbs as the crowd screams for me when I step through the entrance and into the arena. Lights, music, fans—it’s an instant hype-the-fuck up. The energy zips over my skins, slamming into my muscles. I’m pulsing with anticipation, throbbing with eagerness.
I shadow box, bouncing on the balls of my feet. Fans stretch with their hands out, begging for just a tap from me. I hold my hands out to grant them their little fucking fantasy.
Making my way to the ref, I tug my shirt over my head. With my arms to my side, I close my eyes and allow the music to flow while he pats me down.
Nick Murphy’s face is front and center in my vision. He stands between me and the championship fight. And now, I added more fuel to my fire, by placing him between Whitney and me. She has no idea what she said yes to but knowing she did gives me added desire to destroy this little punk.
I step into the octagon and circle it to my side where Daniel and Flynn wait on the outside. My sights land on Whitney and I wink before pulling my attention back at the task at hand—annihilate Murphy. I’m locked and loaded ready to end his journey.
I am his fucking nightmare.
The lights kick off, everything fades to black. Orange strobes begin to scatter across the crowd. I ignore his entrance, keeping myself in the zone. One slip, one small trip up is nothing I’m willing to risk.
He comes up the stairs and bends to say a prayer—one I know he’ll need—and jumps straight up, pulling his knees into his chest, and sprints around the cage like he owns it. He’s dead wrong. I own this motherfucker.
The ref calls us to the center of the octagon to go over the rules. They never change. Always the same repetitive set. After, he tells us to tap gloves and back up.
We don’t.
My body is vibrating, ready for war, anticipation coiling my muscles as I wait for my favorite word…
“Fight!”
Everything in my peripheral is gone. The crowd disappears. There aren’t any judges. The darkness steals the sound. Blackness blankets it all, erasing everything except my intended target.
He circles me, sizing me up before he finally sends a kick to my thigh. I feint, moving out of its path as he returns a few weak-handed left jabs. I move from them too.
“He’s trying to let you wear yourself down. Don’t fucking let him!” Levi’s voice penetrates the shadows.
He’s right. I don’t need to waste all my energy breaking Murphy down when he’s doing it for me.
There’s a twitch in his hip, a flit of his eyes. I see the punch just before he fires it and step off to the left, preventing any impact. Shuffling in, I land a jab, followed by a right hook. He stumbles, giving me the perfect opportunity to pounce with furious
punches. He blocks with his hands, weaving back and forth, before scampering away to steady himself. It only takes a fraction of a second and he’s back, rushing into me, and tags me with a nasty right hook.
It stuns me. Rattles my fucking head.
Knowing I’m dazed, he advances, but I fire off solid punches, several making contact with his jaw, to keep him at a distance. When he backs up, it gives me the time I need to regain myself, and I launch an assault of precise jabs, overhands, and hooks. He panics, hurling sloppy ass punches, not landing any solid ones, until I’m met by a vicious right slam into my face.
Bright balls of light flicker. The distinctive sound of my skin splitting echoes within the walls of my skull, but I don’t have much time to think because he wraps me up, rushing me against the fence. Hot blood drips from my face, splattering drops onto his back. He’s bent, shoulder at my waist with my arms within his hold. I yank, trying to release my arms, but he’s relentlessly hanging on, and in one fucked up position.
I pull and he pushes trying to keep my arms at my side and unable to be used. Using his momentum, I pull and just as expected, he pushes downward, but instead of nothing, he’s met by my knee slamming into his chest and ribs. Just as I hear the breath exit him, I slip my hand free from the entanglement of arms. He twists, trying to keep a good angle, but I see the opening I need.
Levi must’ve spotted it too because he shouts out the warning, “Watch his right!”
It’s too late. With fire raging from deep within my soul, I step in and slam a savage uppercut into Murphy. He limps out and then stumbles backward, dazed as fuck. I don’t hold back. I don’t allow for him to regain his footing. Instead, I unload a barrage of strikes—jabs, crosses, hooks—and when he drops to the mat, I’m right the fuck on top of him, driving unmerciful and vicious combinations into his face.
His eyes roll.
His arms lax.
And the ref shoves me off of him.
A guttural roar of elation and victory storms from my throat as I raise my hands above my head.
Quickly, I drop my view to where he’s at. Levi’s eyes are murderous and zeroed in on me. His jaw muscles protrude as he stands there with his fists on the mat.
