by L. G. Kelso
Right now, Max had major rage brain. He didn't even interact with the crowd after the initial arm raise. It didn't matter; they cheered anyway.
Will swaggered in as if he owned the place. He riled up the crowd, his pseudo-smile making women get extra loud.
Gross.
Max and Will next to each other made my stomach drop. Will had packed on some of the weight he cut, more so than Max, and stood a few inches taller. The ref called the start. Max usually let his opponent make the first move, but this time, he rushed Will. He landed the first hit, a hard cross to Will's jaw, but Will forced him back, so Max's back grazed the cage. Will cut off his movements, and rushed him against the metal. Max swung like he saw red, his technique off and wild. Will went for a clinch, trying to get his arms tight around Max's neck. He got it, yanked Max's head forward, and started kneeing.
Max kicked at Will's shins, and got an uppercut to his jaw, enabling him to get out of the clinch. Will kept him against the cage as he threw punches. Each impact from Will making my stomach turn. Max tried to get his arms hooked around Will, but the movement wasn't smooth. It was angry, made too soon and not thought through.
Crap.
They went down and struggled. Both took hits. Will mounted Max, and started elbowing him in the face. Max's blood flew off Will's elbows, splattering across the mat.
It was five minutes of hell. I wasn't sure that I could stomach another four rounds of it.
Round one ended. It definitely went to Will.
Max came to the corner, blood pouring down his face. He squirted water in his mouth as Jeff tried to get the bleeding stopped and I iced and rubbed down his face.
"Max," I said, pleading. "You know Will's weaknesses. He's a beast on the ground, but his striking technique is weak."
When round two started, the bleeding had mostly stopped.
Max threw a jab and cross. Will missed with a hook but landed an uppercut. Max dictated the movement, pushing Will where he wanted. Slight relief passed through me, until Will went for another takedown. Max should have seen it coming, but he wasn't thinking. I could see it in his eyes. Hazy, angry. Unfocused.
Will took mount position again and landed more elbows on Max before Max blocked. The cut started bleeding again, and another laceration split open on his forehead, gushing blood. Max's blood ran down Will's arms after he connected, and blood seeped onto the mat from Max's face. Max's skin flailed with impact as his head hit the mat. Will kept pounding, and I was going to puke.
Max wasn't moving like he should have been, like he normally did.
Finally, Max tried to land some hits, but Will made it hard.
The horn blared. Round two ended. No doubt to Will again.
Blood streaked Max's face. Jeff tried to get it to stop, but it was no use. Blood matted the sides of his hair, and ran into his eyes.
"If he wins the next round, you'll only be able to beat him if you score a knock-out," Jeff said.
Max nodded. We cleaned off his face, and the bruising made my stomach lurch. I iced and rubbed, trying to get the swelling that had already started down. Red covered the bruises again in seconds.
"Outsmart him," I said. "He's not intelligent. He fights only with his attributes, not his head. Take his attributes out, and you'll have him. What's your plan?"
He looked at me, eyes blank.
"Your plan, Max?"
"It...it was to keep him up."
"We need a new plan. Take him down. He knows you want him up," I said. "And don't let him get the Bennet choke."
"Will will pound him," Shane said.
"He won't expect me to take him down," Max said. Finally, a hint of normalcy. "And he sucks on his back. He's too active with guard, and his balance isn't right. His legs move too much. I just can't let him get mount."
Round three started.
Max made the first hit. Will wobbled, but stayed up. He threw a Thai kick that connected with Max's head. Blood flew off his face from the impact, splattering on and through the cage, drops landing on my shirt. Max faltered, wavered. I thought he was going down. I could almost see the stars with him. He caught himself, stayed up, but he was blinking like crazy and his steps were off. The concussion was apparent.
My heart hurt. The pit of worry in my gut turned to a physical ache and fear in my chest. Acidic bile coated the back of my throat and the room turned queasy.
Will tried another kick, but Max grabbed his leg, kicked Will's other foot out from under him, and threw Will—face-first—onto the ground. Max jumped on him, got him down, and fired off punches. Blood and sweat poured over his eyes, and I knew he was going mostly off feel as he went for an arm-bar.
The horn blared.
Round three ended, but I didn't know who won. It could have gone to Will for the initial hits and damage, but it should have gone to Max for the takedown and for landing more strikes.
Max's gaze was fuzzy again, and not just with rage. Great. Rage brain and concussion brain. I wanted to hug him, but I restrained myself. I cleaned his face again, and the bleeding slowed. Jeff talked about Will being slow to bring his back hand back, and how the surprise of being taken down had slowed Will's reaction. Max's eyes danced as we talked to him, his pupils large enough that they blurred into the surrounding darkness of his irises.
Max started to say something, but it didn't make sense.
"We need to stop the fight," I said. "If he gets hit again…he's already…"
"No," Max spit out, along with a bit of blood, thanks to a busted lip.
Round four started.
If they had given the last round to Will, Max would have to get a knockout or submission to win the fight.
And even that was the least of my concerns. Max's brain swelling took priority. One more hard hit could knock him out, or worse.
Will came at Max full-force, but he was met with a punch when Max tricked him by throwing a superman, followed by a spinning backhand. Will went for a takedown, but Max stayed up, eating a jab to the face.
Max's cuts opened again. Will avoided getting shoved against the cage, but then Will got Max pinned against it in another takedown attempt. Max stayed up, hitting and kicking Will as he held on in the clinch.
The refs broke them up after a while with neither of them going anywhere. Max started moving faster, lighter on his toes. Although Max looked bad, and his eyes darted around more than they should, he was thinking, even with the concussion fog. Max shot off fast punches intermixed with power punches. Some connected. Will hit back and Max ate a few of them. However, I could see it was intentional, part of the setup. Max took two jabs to his face and one to his ribs, but then he was in Will's bubble as he rolled under a hook. A combination of power and force exploded out of Max. Four out of six punches made impact, including a final uppercut that made Will stumble.
Round four ended. Definitely to Max.
Just as Max turned to come to the corner, I heard Will mutter, "Hitting Tori was a lot more fun than hitting you."
Max's anger flared again. His hands fisted in the MMA gloves, and red burned under the sweat on his skin.
I did the only thing I could think of. It wasn't helpful in any kind of cornerman, MMA way, but I did it anyway. I leaned down and kissed Max.
He had his mouthguard in, so it wasn't really a kiss, but my lips were against his, and I saw his eyes focus.
"Ignore him," I said. "I'm right here and I'm fine."
Round five started.
Immediately, Max took control of the tempo, though Will was obviously pissed. He threw everything he could, and landed a hard hit on the side of Max's head. I cringed, closed my eyes, and asked Shane if he was still standing. When he answered yes, I opened them again. Both were hitting, but Max's moves were strategic instead of wild. Relief eased the ache in my chest. Max was up to something.
Max threw a jab, and moved in. Will blocked. Max fired off a cross that grazed Will's block, still moving in. Instead of his hand coming back to guard his face, he wrapped i
t around Will's neck and yanked him forward, kneeing him in the ribs. He took a small step back, and then rushed Will, put his foot on Will's quad, and slammed his other knee into Will's face. He landed back in position; Will fought to regain his balance as blood gushed from his nose. Will's footwork was off; he crossed his legs. I watched Max notice.
It was a perfect kick moment to possibly get a KO, but Max didn't kick.
He kept his left leg out, a little too out for normal fighting stance. I stared, confused; he had it. He could have gotten a knockout. Why was he waiting?
Then I saw the plan as Will took the opportunity to go for that leg. Will made for a shoot, but as he wrapped his arm around Max's leg, Max sprawled, taking Will to the ground, his chest against Will's back. Keeping his weight down and his arms hooked at Will's neck and armpit, he moved across Will's back.
Will tried to fight, but Max was prepared. He had his holds tight, all his weight down and moved quickly. Will attempted to escape, but Max threw an elbow into his face.
Shane wooted next to me.
Once Max had circled Will's back, his legs shot out as he drove Will's body forward, arm around Will's neck. Clasping his hands together, he squeezed his arm and pushed his rib cage over Will's head. Will's face hit the mat as Max practically did what had been dubbed the Bennet Choke.
I cringed and touched my throat.
Will had to be hurting. I waited. Will's struggling became less and less, while Max's hold stayed strong. Are you going to tap out, Will?
Will struggled, tried to donkey kick. He tried to get his legs straight, but Max put more pressure on his back. Eventually, Will's head lolled and his arms fell to his side. I met Max's eyes through the cage. The anger was still there, dark hatred as he kept the hold on Will, but his eyes focused on me. I touched my arm, in the same spot he had his tattoo, and some of the tension eased out of his face.
Let go, Max.
Max looked down and released the hold. Will slumped forward. The EMT rushed into the cage.
I wanted to go hug Max, to feel his heart beating beneath my palm, but I had to wait.
Will woke up a few seconds later. He climbed to his feet, and at first, his confusion appeared to out-weigh his anger. The ref took each of their hands.
"The winner of tonight's fight is...the new middleweight champion, Max 'The Lobo' Estrada."
The ref raised Max's hand and the crowd cheered.
For the first time in years, I didn't give a shit about Will's reaction. We got to go into the ring, and Max threw his arms around me. "Sorry, but you're going to get bloody," he said.
"Occupational hazard." I shrugged.
He laughed, popped his mouthguard out, and kissed me.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Max's biceps stayed flexed under my palms. My hands tightened against them as my back pressed against the wall.
We had made it to the backroom to grab our things.
About ten minutes ago.
We had yet to make it back out of the room to the fighter meet and greet. Max had gotten stitched up and refused to go the hospital even though they were worried about his head.
I was worried, too, but his tongue seemed to be working pretty damn good.
One of his hands curled around my lower back, slipping underneath my lose T-shirt. The other touched my neck, his fingers wrapped in my hair, which had managed to come out of my French braid. Heat prickled the skin along my lower back as his palm pressed against me tighter, all of the nerves in my back tingling as though his touch was everywhere.
I grabbed his neck and pulled him closer. As his kiss deepened, my hands moved to his shoulder blades. He responded to every touch. Just the smallest movement of my fingers made him moan into my mouth. He pushed me tighter against the wall, his kiss turning urgent again. He kissed the same way he fought—controlled aggression waiting for the right moment to push harder, to turn the kiss from a slow, passionate, almost physically painful wait to a full-on, powerful flurry of need.
"Oh, come on. I would say get a room, but you apparently already found one." Shane's voice came from somewhere.
Max didn't seem to care.
"Dude and other dude, you are needed at the meet and greet. Oh, gross. You've got blood on your cheek now, Tori. You two are disgusting."
Max held the kiss for another second, his teeth catching my lip gently once he pulled away.
"Fine," he said, resting his forehead against mine. "I missed you. I thought I'd never get to kiss you again."
"If you two do this shit during training, I'm going to have a lot of ass kicking to do," Shane grumbled.
"All right." Max sighed but smiled. "Let's go meet some people."
He moved away from me and slung both of our gym bags over his shoulder before taking my hand. We followed Shane to the lobby where spectators got to meet some of the fighters.
Applause broke out when Max entered. A projector screen hung on one wall, a cord running from it to a laptop at a desk where Jon sat. Fight footage played.
"Here he is, the new middleweight champion, Max Estrada," Jon announced.
Max smiled as his cheeks turned red.
"You're so cute when you blush," I whispered at his side and waited for the blushing to increase. The red hue spread to his neck.
I laughed, he glared, and I laughed some more.
"Tori," Shane said from behind me. "I sent the emails. Just FYI."
"To the journalists and bloggers that were on the sign-in?"
"Yes, ma'am. As planned, all their info was there. What do you want to do with the other?"
"I don't know yet."
I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with the video of Will from the backroom. I mainly just wanted the extra insurance he would stay out of my gym.
I saw his face from across the room. He looked as beat up as Max, although it didn't look like he had needed any stitches. He glared before turning to some guy trying to take a picture with him.
I felt another set of eyes on me. I turned to the side and caught the journalist from weigh-ins watching me, his phone in his hand.
"Miss Rhoads," he said, as he moved closer. "Do you know why I just got an anonymous email that has a police report about you and Bennet in it?"
"No idea." I smiled. Max squeezed my hand; I tried to reel the smile back a bit. It definitely felt a little psycho status.
The other journalists, or whatever they were, caught on and soon, a third of the room looked completely lost and borderline cracked-out with their new leaked info.
One of those people turned to Will, and a few seconds later, Will stormed my way. "What did you do?" he snarled.
"Nothing."
"You went into that gym with me. You pushed it too far. You should have tapped or left the cage." He spun around to the group of people who had gathered. "This is what I'm talking about. Fighting with women isn't safe for men. We're the assholes because either we won and got tough, or we lose because we go easy, and then get a mouthful about going too easy. But if you don't go easy and you work with a cocky chic, you get slammed with slander. She knew what was happening. She walked into it openly. She could have tapped or walked out or pulled herself back. I gave her as much as she gave me."
"Shane," I said. He had moved closer to my side when Will had marched over. "Email it to me."
He nodded and pulled out his phone. I walked past Will and went to the table.
"I need your computer, Jon. It'll just be a minute. Come on, please? I gave you a hell of a story for tonight."
"Yeah, and you also blew some of it. Half my meet and greet passes were for women wanting to get lucky with the new champ."
"If they even try to get lucky with the new champ, they will get a one-on-one session with me."
"Fine." He angled the computer toward me.
I pulled up my email and let the fight footage continue until I downloaded the video. Any guilt over what I was about to do disappeared when I looked at Max's face, and when I thought about how many mo
re people, specifically girls, would someday meet Will. The idea that he may train with another female made pressing the play button all too easy.
I didn't listen. I focused on memories from my fight as the room turned silent and Will's threats filled the room from the projector screen.
Max moved to my side and put his arm around my shoulder. His muscles tensed against my back.
"You got to beat him up already," I whispered at his side.
Slowly, people moved away from Will. He watched the screen, his face turning dark red and his eyes glassy and cold.
Two men slunk behind us and leaned down to Jon. Jon brushed them off, but the man pressed on and Jon's face dropped.
I stopped the clip after it showed Will leaving.
Jon stood. "Bennet, I need you to come with me."
Will whirled on Jon. "Because of that video? It was…out of context."
"As much as I would love to talk about that video right now and you threatening people, not to mention the fact that you agree Ms. Rhoads did tap while you were working with her, we have a different matter we need to discuss."
"I'm not going anywhere," Will snapped.
Jon took a step back. Up until tonight, I wouldn't have blamed him. However, somewhere in that ring with Tiffs I had found my old self, and Will didn't scare me like he had before.
"Then you'll be escorted out."
"I didn't do anything," he snarled. His hands clenched into fists as he threw them around.
"So you didn't attempt to pay off a judge to make it so Ms. Rhoads would lose the fight if it went to decision? Security, get him out please."
The two men who had spoken to Jon earlier stepped around us and moved toward Will. They each took one of Will's arms and turned him toward the exit.
The room practically fell into chaos as Will cursed while the two men led him toward the door.
My stomach knotted. Will was going too easily.
Max pulled me into a hug. A second later, I was compressed between him and Shane. Resting my chin on Max's shoulder, I closed my eyes.
