by Meghan March
“Girl, you look . . . insane. Good God.”
I’ve long since forgotten about what I’m wearing and have to glance down at the dress to remember. “Oh, yeah. Thank you.”
Harlow catches on first. “Shit, you look like you’re going to puke.”
I inhale a slow, calming breath and release it. “I’m really glad you’re next to me, because I’m gonna need to hold your hand. I swear I’ll try not to break it.”
“You got it, girl. Whatever you need.”
I give a wide smile to the entire audience as I scan it before turning to sit down. One face almost makes it falter.
See. You. Next. Tuesday. Herself. Lucy Byers. She’s at the end of the row, near the door to the cage.
I turn and drop into my seat before my smile turns into a jealous-for-no-reason glare. “What is she doing here?” I whisper to Harlow through clenched teeth.
“Who?”
“Lucy.”
Harlow turns to look before I can tell her not to. “That fucking bitch. I didn’t see her earlier. You want me to have security tell her to get the fuck out of here?”
I shake my head. “No. Because then she’ll cause a scene and I’ll have to kill her, and I don’t want to be stuck with only seeing Gabriel naked during conjugal visits for the rest of my life.”
“Wait, are you getting married?” Harlow asks loudly enough for Monroe’s head to turn on a swivel.
“Whoa. What did I miss? Did you get a ring?” she asks, reaching for my hand.
“No. No, I was just saying—”
“Lucy Byers is here,” Harlow says, explaining to Monroe before squeezing my hand. “If she bothers you, I’ll handle her. Okay?”
“Me too.” Monroe lifts her chin. “I hate that bitch.”
“Everything good?” Kelsey asks from the row behind us.
“We’re perfect,” Harlow replies with another squeeze.
The lights dim in the club, and everyone goes quiet before the music starts playing.
I don’t recognize the song, but then Jon Pak says from behind us, “Whoa. ‘Sweet Revenge’ by Motorhead. That’s one hell of a message.”
Those nerves I felt earlier? They’re rising strong as Bodhi walks out down the aisle toward the cage, looking like a giant in all black.
Jesus Christ. I forgot how big he is. Gabriel’s not small, but Bodhi is massive.
“They’d never be able to fight if it wasn’t catchweight,” Jon Pak says.
Part of me wants to turn around and tell him to shut the hell up before I freak out . . . and the fight hasn’t even started.
Bodhi strips down to his shorts and waits while a man smears what appears to be Vaseline on his face. A second man, a ref, steps up and checks his nails and mouthpiece, then makes Bodhi tap his cup. When they’re finished with the ritual, he climbs the short set of stairs leading into the cage. It’s the shape of an octagon, with eight black-coated chain-link sides and padded rails at the top.
My former self-defense instructor jogs around the center before the music goes silent for a beat, then changes to a Tom Petty song that I’ve heard many times before. But it’s never given me chills like it does tonight.
The entire club is on its feet as the lyrics of “Won’t Back Down” blare through the speakers, and we all wait for Gabriel to make his entrance.
As soon as I catch sight of movement in the aisle, my heart skips a beat. I squeeze Harlow’s hand tightly.
“Here he comes!” She squeals, bouncing beside me. “Gah. This is happening!”
Fifty
Legend
I waited until the last minute to decide on my walk-out song, but I think “Won’t Back Down” sends exactly the right message as I jog down the aisle, slapping the hands of people in the crowd.
This may not be the biggest fight in the biggest venue, but it feels that fucking way to me because I’ve never had more on the line. My coaches are behind me, and my confidence is at an all-time high.
Bodhi has come for his revenge, but he won’t be finding it here tonight. Not a fucking chance.
Everyone is on their feet, and the energy inside this club, the club that I built, is electric. I feed off it, letting it flow through my body as I approach the cage. I stop in front of the ref to strip off my shirt, kick off my shoes and socks, and peel my pants off. The cheers grow louder, and the crowd starts to chant.
“Legend. Legend. Legend.”
I may be an underdog in the odds, but clearly I’m the favorite with the people in this club tonight, and that works for me.
There’s more pomp and showmanship tonight than for any of the fights I’ve been in before, but it feels right. I’m here, in front of the city I’ve adopted as my home, to win.
After the cutman greases me up and the ref checks me out, I head into the cage and send up a prayer.
Don’t let me forget who I am and what I came here for.
I jog a lap around the inside of the cage, my gaze trained on Bodhi. He’s just as big, if not bigger, than he was before. Fighting at catchweight puts me at a disadvantage, another reason for the odds, but he doesn’t intimidate me in the least. Not ever before and certainly not tonight, in my house.
He may be bigger, but I’ve got knockout power too, and I’m younger, faster, and smarter. That’s all going to play in my favor.
As the announcer tells the crowd what they’re in for, I find Scarlett in the front row. Her face is pale, and I know this isn’t easy for her. I’ve never had a woman I gave a damn about, or who gave a damn about me, watch me fight before. That’s new and different, and I have a feeling she’s going to feel every punch the same way I do.
But she’s strong. Stronger than even she knows. I shoot her a wink to help put some color on her cheeks.
Just once, ladybug. Just hang with me through this once, and I promise you don’t ever have to see it happen again.
I toyed with the idea of continuing to fight after tonight, but I don’t need to. I’ve got nothing to prove after this. I’ll put Bodhi down, collect my fat stack of cash, and call it good.
The ref steps into the middle of the cage, and Bodhi and I approach from either side. He gives us the final instructions and tells us we can touch gloves.
We don’t.
He backs off, and the bell rings.
It’s time.
We both come in hard and fast, both wanting to make the first move and draw first blood. Bodhi throws a right jab, but telegraphs it like crazy. I swing with a hook, catching him on the chin. Spit flies from his mouth as I sneer at him.
That’s right, old man. This dog’s learned new tricks.
Fifty-One
Scarlett
I don’t watch through my fingers, but I might have broken a few of Harlow’s in the first round.
Five minutes has never seemed so long in my life. Gabriel and Bodhi go at each other, punch for punch. People behind me scream and yell things like, “Stand and bang, boys!” and “Hit him!”
I’ve never felt this kind of raw energy before. The crowd wants blood, and by the time they retreat to their corners, both men have it on their faces.
Gabriel has a cut on his cheekbone that his team goes to work on right away, pressing something against it.
“Oh God. He’s hurt,” I say to Harlow. “I don’t like this.”
Behind me, Jon Pak squeezes my shoulders. “He’s fine. It’s nothing. Barely bleeding. Black looks way worse with that gash over his eye. The blood will impair his vision, and he won’t be able to see as well in the second round.”
I turn around to look at him. “Really?”
Jon nods, and Kelsey smiles at me.
“He knows what he’s talking about. He’s seen your man fight before. MMA is pretty much his most favorite thing ever.” She turns to her brother. “Do you think Legend won that round?”
Jon’s gaze cuts from Kelsey to me. I’m not sure I want him to respond to the question, but I tell myself I need to know anyway.
I nod
at Jon, giving him the go-ahead to answer.
Choosing his words carefully, he starts slowly. “It was close. Legend definitely needs to make some decisive moves in the next round if he wants to win it and keep the judges’ scorecards even, if not in his favor.”
I swallow the lump that’s been growing in my throat ever since Gabriel gave me a wink from inside that cage. “Okay. Well, close is better than losing. And hopefully he’ll make some good moves in the second round.”
The words sound foreign coming out of my mouth, and I feel like the total novice I am at this.
Why didn’t I watch more fights? Learn the lingo? Know what to expect? Clearly, I wasn’t thinking right.
Oh yeah, because I was running a business and worrying about the cyber stalker who has been trolling me, and Moses coming to get us, all while falling head over heels in love with an incredible man who I want not to get punched in the face anymore, although that last part is a long shot.
Only two more rounds to go. I can do this. I take a deep breath and release it as the men surrounding both Bodhi and Gabe pack up their buckets and walk out.
The ref moves back to the middle of the cage when Bodhi and Gabriel are on their feet again. The bell sounds, and Bodhi charges. He flat-out runs at Gabriel across the cage, grabs him around the waist, and throws him to the canvas.
“Oh my God!” Monroe screeches from a few seats down, but I stay silent.
Oh God. No. No. No.
They grapple on the canvas, each man fighting for position with fists and elbows flying. Somehow, Gabe wraps him up in a hold and stops the blows Bodhi is raining down on his face.
Oh God, Gabe. Come on, stud. You can do this.
They roll around, shifting positions over and over, and Jon keeps a running commentary behind me.
“Good, Legend. Keep him in your guard. You got this.”
A few moments later, Bodhi breaks free and scrambles to a standing position. Gabe bounces up to his feet before Bodhi can come back at him on the canvas.
“All right, all right. Let’s see who’s got the better technical skills here,” Jon says, but I don’t really know what that means.
They start to box like Gabriel did with the pads. Each moves quickly, darting in and out. Bodhi lands a hard shot and Gabriel stumbles back a few steps, shaking his head.
“Fuck, he hurt him,” Jon whispers just loudly enough for me to hear.
Part of me wants to tell him to keep that kind of comment to himself, but the other part of me needs to know what’s going on through an expert’s eyes.
“Come on, Legend!” Harlow screams from beside me. “Hit him!”
Gabriel moves forward, ducking under one of Bodhi’s flying hands that looks like it would feel like getting hit with an anvil if it connected. When Bodhi’s jaw is exposed, Gabriel’s fist flashes out with lightning speed, and Bodhi’s head snaps back.
“Fuck yeah! That’s a fight!” someone in the crowd screams from behind me.
The roar of the crowd grows as the men trade punches and the clock ticks down. A wooden clapping sound echoes in the club.
“Ten seconds!”
Bodhi charges forward, his elbow slicing through the air. Gabriel loses his balance and lands on his ass, and more than anything, I want to scream, “No!” But I’m too terrified that I’ll distract him. Bodhi pounces, landing on him and going after his face with those bricks he calls hands.
“Five seconds!” someone yells as Gabriel covers up and kicks out a leg, catching Bodhi in the thigh.
“You can make it, man!” Jon yells.
Finally, the bell dings and the ref jumps in between the men, pulling Bodhi away from Gabriel. As Gabriel rises, blood drips down his face from a cut above his eyebrow and his nose.
I want to murder Bodhi Black. I can’t help it. No one makes my man bleed without consequences.
My bloodthirstiness doesn’t surprise me. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for Gabriel, and seeing him hurt is enough to fuel me to do things I’ve never considered before.
“Fuck. That didn’t look good,” Harlow whispers, whipping around to look at Kelsey and Jon. “Am I right? It’s bad to end the round on the bottom getting beat up, isn’t it?”
I turn just in time to catch Jon’s grim expression. He thinks Gabriel’s losing this fight.
Instead of fear wrapping around me like vines, determination fills my veins. I find my faith.
“It doesn’t matter. He’s going to win. He’s going to end this fight just like he did the last time he fought Bodhi. Don’t you dare count him out,” I say, leaving absolutely no room for argument.
Kelsey’s lips curve into a smile. “I believe you, babe. He can do it.” She elbows Jon. “Right?”
Jon shrugs and nods. “Yeah. I mean, anything can happen in the cage. But he’s down at least one round, maybe two. He’s gotta end him in this round or . . .”
He doesn’t need to finish his sentence for all of us to know exactly what’s on the line. Gabe has to either get Bodhi in a submission hold or knock him out before the next bell rings in order to win this fight.
Come on, stud. You’ve got this. Five more minutes to make it count.
Fifty-Two
Legend
“Slow and steady. That’s right. Breathe,” Jeb says as he shoves a bag of ice behind my back.
I anchor my elbows on my knees as they work on my face, trying to stop the bleeding.
Bodhi is strong as fuck, and his hands feel like they’ve been dipped in cement.
I knew his power coming into this. I expected it. It’s just been a long fucking time since I’ve been hit that hard.
He caught me. There’s no fucking doubt about it. That right cross rocked me and put me right on my ass.
“Everyone’s got a plan until they get punched in the mouth.” Mike Tyson’s quote has never been truer than it is right now.
“There’s a good fucking chance you’re down two rounds, Gabe. This is it. You gotta finish him before the bell.”
“I know. I know.” I say the words between long, slow breaths, pausing as Jeb squirts water in my mouth.
“He’s not gassing out like I thought. He must’ve known you were going to try to tire him out, so he got his cardio up. That’s not like him, but it means we gotta readjust. You got plenty of gas in the tank. You take him down and you submit him.”
Jeb has never steered me wrong before, and I can’t blame him for misjudging Bodhi’s cardio. The man looks too big to be able to sustain a fast pace for all three rounds, or at least he always has been. But Bodhi’s clearly got a fuck of a lot on the line here tonight too, or he’s fueled with the power of hate.
I can’t let that stop me. Whatever he has on the line, I have more. My whole fucking life. Everything I’ve ever wanted. And I have five minutes to go out there and fucking claim it.
“I won’t fuck this up. I’m ending it. The ref is gonna stop the fight when he’s either knocked out or tapping out.”
Jeb slaps my shoulder. “That’s right. Go in there and get to fucking work. You’ve got the skills. You’ve got the drive. You deserve this. Take what’s yours. Get out there and show me that you fucking want this!”
I slap my hands on my thighs and rise to my feet, letting the ice fall to the cage floor. “This is my house. My fight. My win. And I’m gonna fucking take it.”
Jeb slaps both my shoulders. “That’s fucking right. Now, go get this win!”
The ref signals to us that it’s time, and Jeb and the guys load up the bucket and leave me to get to work.
My house. My fight. My win.
Across the cage, Bodhi smiles at me with his bloody mouthpiece.
You think you’ve got this in the bag, Black? You don’t fucking know me at all. Underestimate me. I dare you.
The ref lets us loose and backs out of the center. I stride forward, ready to knock this motherfucker out.
But as Black reaches me, his fists fly. Clearly, he has the same plan.
Hi
s glove wings at my jaw where he clipped me at the end of the second round, but I move my head fast enough that it doesn’t catch me again.
“I’m not making this fucking easy for you,” I grunt at him, and he glares.
“I’m gonna take your fucking head off.” As soon as he bites out the last word, he telegraphs a jab, and I bob and strike with an uppercut.
Bodhi’s head snaps back. I charge forward, following it up with a jab and an elbow.
He recovers, throwing a kick to my thigh. Fuck, that stings.
My hands move without thought, throwing a combination that pummels his body.
He flinches, and I know he fucking felt that.
I glance up to check the time, and Bodhi surges forward, totally catching me off guard. I have one thought as I hit the floor of the cage.
Fuck.
Fifty-Three
Scarlett
Oh God. Oh God. No.
Bodhi took Gabriel down with the force of a freight train, and now Gabriel’s on his back again.
“Shit!” Jon yells. “Come on, Legend! You can turn this around!”
Gabriel moves his hips, and my jaw drops as he uses what appears to be pure magic to flip their positions.
“Go, baby, go!” I scream as Gabriel rolls on top of Bodhi’s head. His limbs move so fast, I can barely tell what’s happening.
“Legend’s got a body triangle. Not sure he can submit him with that. Maybe he’ll go for the arm bar,” Jon says, leaning forward so I can hear him over the wild cheering surrounding us.
“Come on, Legend!” Harlow screams, and I jump to my feet with the rest of the crowd.
The cheers of “Legend, Legend, Legend” echo through the club, nearly deafening me.
But Gabriel loses the advantage, and they roll across the floor so fast, I can barely keep track of who is in the better position.
Then they change position again, and Gabriel bounds to his feet.
