by L. G. Kelso
"And if you lose?" Will's jaw ticked, and he bent his head to the side. He looked down, and I met his gaze.
"I keep our secrets."
His charming facade fell, his eyes flashed, and I could see the calculating going on. "Am I supposed to bow down right now, then, and take this wager? You can talk; it doesn't mean anyone will listen." His voice had dropped as he moved toward me. I doubted the cameraman could hear that last part.
"What else do you want?"
"If you lose, you never fight again. You'll be done." He bent down, his lip grazing my ear. A wet ball of condensation, formed from heat and Will's breath, trickled down the outer cartilage. "You'll never get me to talk. Don't waste your time."
For a moment, panic tightened my throat. Did he know my plan?
Shane came to my side. "If you guys do this, it's going to get a ton of attention. Maybe we should wager for Will's fight too, but both fighters already have a vendetta and we all know who will win that anyway."
Stroke that ego. Yes. Shane was doing exactly what I needed him to do.
"Vendetta between Will and Max as well? Jeez, this gym is all drama. I love it. If we turn this fight personal, it's going to blow up even more," Jon said. He moved in more, forcing me to get even closer to Will.
"About a girl," Shane said.
"I don't have any vendetta about a girl," Will snapped.
"Well, Max does."
"That could bring some viewers who don't usually watch," Jon said. "Fighting for a girl. It could get those romantics. But it could also run off the hopeful singles who think they'll get lucky."
"Play that up however you want," I told Jon. "All right, Will. I accept your terms. You accept mine?"
If he agreed, his terms would be worth it. As long as I won. Then, I'd have a whole different thing to deal with: the truth.
"I accept," Will said. He stuck his hand out, and we shook. I repressed the shiver as the smile spread across his face.
"Now," he said, turning to the camera, "why don't we do an interview about my reactions to this wager? You can get an inside scoop with Will 'The Killer' Bennet."
Will put his arm around Jon, and the two of them, followed by the cameraman, walked away.
The narcissist had just dug his own grave.
Unless I had dug mine.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The next two weeks were a blur.
They consisted of sleep, eat, workout, eat, workout, eat, nap, workout, eat, sleep, and all over again. Boxing, kickboxing, grappling, conditioning. Circuit after circuit. Five hundred knees into the teardrop bag with ankle weights, medicine ball, bag, pushups, Thai kicks, squats, body bag, sprawls, more squats, and so on. Repeatedly. Luckily, how much I had missed all of this outweighed the monotony of it all.
Jeff really meant what he said about upping the training. I only had to cut five more pounds, and I started the week before the fight. I would weigh in tomorrow, and I had no doubt I'd make the cut.
I had an hour break before more training. I sat at the front desk and pulled up the internet. As usual, it went to an MMA website as the homepage.
I frowned. I could make Will's profile out on the stilled, blurred video. Against my better judgment, I pressed play.
"Everyone wants to know what the secret is, and, well, since I love all of my fans, I figured I would tell," Will said to the interviewer.
My mouth went dry. Will had done three interviews before this one, but he hadn't talked about the "secret" at all in the others.
"I used to train with Tori Rhoads. A lot. We grew up together in the gym. One night, she got hurt while we were sparring. She feels that she was somehow mistreated or assaulted."
"Assault? Aren't you two in the same gym now?"
Will smiled that charming, son-of-a-bitch grin that got him what he wanted. "Exactly. Obviously, whatever she thinks happened isn't the case. Otherwise, I doubt she would want to be near me. And I really do feel bad about it. It was just an accident. She was overeager and cocky and didn't tap. It ruined out friendship and that devastates me."
I was going to break the computer.
Hell, I was going to break his face next time I saw it.
"It's why I don't train with women anymore. It's a tough sport. Anyone who does it will get hurt, and I hate that men could get blamed for assaulting a female partner when it's just the territory."
Why wouldn't he shut up?
The interviewer commented. "How does one consider assault in a gym? Can that even happen?"
Will shrugged. "She was there. She stepped into the ring with me fully aware of what was going on. She should have tapped. That's all. And the injury wasn't serious. Obviously, because she fought…what, a week later?"
I groaned and hit my head on the desk.
Shane had moved behind me at some point, and his weight shifted uneasily. "Don't let it get to you, Tor."
"He's already ruining my name. How can it not get to me? This is what I was afraid of before. This will all just hurt female fighters more."
"We need him to mess up," Shane said. "That's going to be the only way now that he's opened his mouth. It has to come from him."
"I know."
"You need to piss him off." Shane's hands rubbed my shoulders as I cursed into the desk.
"I have to win. That's the only thing that's going to tick him off enough."
#
As much as I hated the funny, too-serious, and bitchy faces fighters made during weigh-ins, I had always played the game. When I started fighting, I couldn't afford not to come across that way. Working with mostly men from a young age had taught me that I needed to portray toughness.
Yet, today, as I stepped off the scale and went to face Megan "The Titan" Tiffs, I couldn't get a glare out. I flexed, made the position required for the prefight photo, and hoped I didn't look asleep.
Even though I had watched her fights and seen photos, I still cataloged what I could here—how she moved, if her feet were heavy, how she looked, how she walked. She had her brown, coarse hair braided tightly against her scalp. She glared, I ignored it, and the camera flashed. Thank God.
A journalist shot me a dirty look as I got off the podium. No one had tried to interview me, but Will had another two after the one where he discussed our "secret."
As I walked by the journalist, I heard him say, "It's a shame she tried to take Bennet down when he was obviously doing her a favor by working with her. It's just not possible to treat women equal in this sport. You do, and look what happens."
"If I were at her gym, I sure as hell wouldn't ever want to work with her. I would be too scared she'd claim assault if I didn't roll over for her," the man next to him replied.
I needed to stuff my face and drink a river before I turned homicidal.
I didn’t want to hear this back then, and I sure didn't want to hear it now. I was already damaging female fighters, and I hadn't even been back in the ring yet.
Jeff and I stopped and grabbed food on our way to the gym. We didn't talk, and I appreciated that. He had heard the interviews and the comments. He offered to drop me off at home, if I wanted some quiet time, but I declined. He had planned on taking some of the group up to the mountains, in the Sandias, to get in a run and a little bit of mitt work. Since today wasn't the day I needed to exert myself, it would still be a light workout. And the views were amazing.
I agreed to go, and then Nick piped up that he and Will wanted to go as well. Jeff agreed, albeit grudgingly, but made them drive separate. In some ways, I understood the old saying about keeping your enemies close. At least with Will around I knew he wasn't running his mouth to anyone else.
We started the run. Will lead, followed by Shane, myself, Mick and Miguel. The early summer sun warmed my sun even before I started moving. As we ran farther up the mountainside, the elevation change was tangible.
Loose rocks rumbled beneath our feet. Coordination and paying attention were key up here. I slipped, but steadied myself before smacking
into the ground. Shane hit a particularly loose spot, and shards of rock fell against my toes.
Will glanced over his shoulder once, and I almost stopped. But whatever I thought I saw in his eyes must have been my imagination, because we all made it up without a problem.
We reached the crest of the Sandia Mountains and the old ranger post. I did my usual walk along the edge, taking in the view, and tried to ignore the fact that Will had just infringed on my territory. I used this spot to totally escape him and every other worry, and yet, here the ass was.
Jeff called me for mitt work first. I climbed up the rocks and tightened my gloves.
"Don't think about him," Jeff said.
I almost agreed, but stopped. Instead, I said, "No, I need to. He's here. Ignoring him never made him go away."
So, I did. I worked, and sometimes I thought about how Will stalked somewhere below, probably staring and snarling. But it didn't matter. Not up here.
I went to my spot after we finished, while the others worked. The what-ifs started. What if I failed tomorrow? Above all else, would I be able to get my act together again? Would I deserve to come to this spot again?
The scent of pine, summer heat, and leather merged around me. In some ways, it reminded me of Max.
It also reminded me of what I could lose.
I could still train. That wasn't part of the wager. Shane had told me that if I lost, I should screw the wager. I could, I supposed, but, Will's fan base—the very thing that could potentially help me out—could also force me out of fighting if I attempted to negate his terms. He had the contacts that could make it difficult for me to land a fight.
Besides, he was already doing a fantastic job at smearing my credibility. For a moment, I pictured pushing him off the top of the old ranger post.
The image brightened my day a bit.
Would I still be able to be a part of that world if I froze again? I really wasn't so sure.
There was also the fact that I could end up with another injury. A likely possibility if I froze again. I could never fight again, and it may not even be my choice.
Guilt already invaded my life when I thought about others who may have gotten in the way of Will's rage. If I couldn't get him to mess up, how else would I be able to warn others? If I froze again, or even just lost, he would keep his cool and the truth would never be exposed.
I forced the thoughts out, and focused on the edges of the jagged rock that cradled my arms and my back, and the thin, warm air I breathed. I dozed off, and woke up to Shane shaking my shoulder. Shane took off in front of me, and I didn't realize where Will was until I heard him breathe behind me. I about ate shit just by looking over my shoulder. He smiled.
That assface.
But I wasn't going to let him get to me. Not here, not now. Not with my fight tomorrow.
Halfway there.
Will's breathing hinted that he was doing fine with the run. Figures.
"You ready for your fight?" he asked.
"Absolutely."
The ground trembled, pieces of rock clanked together, and then the rushing and sliding of earth filled my ears. Shards of rock pelted the back of my leg as Will's foot hit my heel. I went down. My skin burned as the outside of my leg grazed the jagged edge of a rock. I continued to slide with the avalanche of earth. I reached out to grab the rock to my side as I slid past it, but my hand slipped in blood.
Great.
My butt hit the ground and I tumbled another few feet. Rocks and branches nicked my skin. I shoved my heels into the dirt and came to a sharp stop. Shane started his way back up, and Jeff let out a slew of curse words.
"Sorry, I slipped," Will said behind me.
I should have thrown him over the edge of the damn mountain. My leg burned, and blood ran down it from two or three cuts. Too much red dirt clumped on my leg to actually tell how bad it was. I dumped my remaining water over it, wiping at my skin with my hand. Two. There were only two cuts, but one looked like it could use stitches. Shane reached me, yanked his shirt off, and pressed it against my leg.
Jeff screamed at Will to keep moving, probably so he wouldn't be tempted to push him off the mountain too, as I applied pressure.
"I don't understand why you didn't let me kick him out right away," he snapped.
"Because that would have been too easy on him." I stretched my leg and winced. "Damn."
I tied the shirt around my leg and pulled myself up. The day before the fight, and I already would have to call in a favor to one of my medic friends.
What had I done? Maybe kicking him out as Jeff had wanted would have been too easy on him, but it was looking more like I had dug my own grave instead of his.
Chapter Thirty
Jeff wrapped my hands. My left was already done, and my fingers drummed along the base of my chair as he wrapped the right.
Ten minutes.
I had already warmed up, and would just need the officials to initial my wraps.
In under ten minutes, I would make the walk to the octagon.
I used to take naps before. The stress used to make it easy to shut it all out. I'd quiet my brain, visualize how I wanted the fight to go, and snooze for a few, but not today. I couldn't get my brain to shut off.
Jeff finished my right hand. He patted my cheek. "All right. You've got this, kiddo."
"Hell yeah, she's going to kick some ass," Shane said.
I think he had said something to that affect about a million times within the last hour, but it did nothing to ease the storm in my head and the pit in my stomach. It did nothing to ease the anxiety clenching my lungs, making taking a deep breath difficult.
"Did you get the info on the journalists?" I asked Shane.
He nodded.
"And you got my email?"
"Yes. I've already got it set up as a document. Anonymous of course."
The only good thing about the anxiety was that it made me less able to fret over Max. In all honesty, all I could think about was what would happen. If I froze. Would I have to be taken out on a stretcher or still be standing at the end?
And if I would be able to get what I needed out of Will.
Five minutes.
We secured my gloves. I got up. The official checked my hands, initialed, and we moved to the hallway to wait to enter the octagon.
My opponent had already walked in to some pop music song that blared through the walls.
"You're up," the man at the door said.
I nodded, and continued to bounce in place as he opened the door. My music came on—a hip-hop song—and I shrugged even more into my hood. It kept me focused during the walk, kept my attention from the crowd. I had never done well in the limelight.
I walked out, feeling my two team members at my back, and made my way through the parted crowed. I tried to ignore them, and kept my eyes on Megan "The Titan" Tiffs.
"Have fun in there," a voice came from my side. I looked and wished I hadn't. Will winked. "I'll throw you a goodbye party."
Shane shouldered between him and me, and edged me forward.
I stopped at the marshal. She did the obligatory pat down, and rubbed the Vaseline on my face.
The space around me changed. I turned my head, and Max held out my mouthguard. "Max," I said, taking the guard from him. "You came."
"Of course. I wouldn't leave my partner hanging during a fight."
"We will talk," I said. "Once this is over. I'll explain."
"The stories are making it out that I am in some way fighting this fight for you. Do you know anything about that?" His eyebrow quirked.
"Ignore it."
"All right."
"Have you heard anything else?" I asked.
"That you'll never fight again if you lose? Yeah, I heard that."
"And?" I took my mouthguard.
"And nothing. You won't lose. Now get in there." He squeezed my shoulder. Jeff patted the other one and Shane waited for a fist bump. I obliged.
I popped in my mouthpiece and walke
d into the ring, feeling naked at first since I had dropped my sweatshirt. Some of the crowd cheered, and a lot of it booed.
I ran over my plan. Keep it up. Throw strikes. Get her to throw a cross, since she was sloppy at it and I could get close. Round two, try for the same. Round three, takedown, preferably if she made a mistake, which was likely if I got her to kick. And finish it whenever I could.
Megan strutted around her side of the ring, raising her hands and getting more noise.
The ref called us in. He spoke, but I didn't listen. Megan stared at me, and I stared back. The bell dinged. We touched gloves and fell back a few paces.
I brought my arms up. My left hand stayed slightly forward of the other.
Megan came at me, swinging. Jab, cross, jab, cross. Light jab, heavy cross but bad pivot.
I blocked.
I tightened my arms and brought my fists against my face as she struck, blocking. Her rhythm of jab, cross, jab, cross changed. I noted the movement in her shoulder. She sent a hook out. My arm went to the side of my head. I blocked. She kept coming, and my feet became heavy. Don't freeze. Don't freeze. More hits came. I missed a block, and her hook hit me in the side of the head.
Move, Tori, move. I was going to fail if I didn't move. Her cross hit me in the face. My adrenaline covered the pain, but I knew I'd have a black eye.
My arms were taking most of the impact, but that would only work for so long.
I wasn't moving enough.
Then I realized I was thinking about freezing and failing, and not that her punches made me forget where I was.
I could work with that.
And I was getting tired of taking hits.
Her hands were low.
I barreled forward, throwing a jab jab cross. All three made contact. I sent a Thai kick to her quad. The laceration on my leg burned a little. Her weight wasn't centered right. I did a quick range check and sent a push-kick into her solar plexus with my foot. It took her more off balance, but she parried my foot and came back with a low Thai of her own that hit me on the inside of my calf, making my muscle seize.
