No Hesitations (The Fighter Series Book 5)

by TC Matson

  I shake my head and point to Carter. I hate interviews. “This victory is his. Ask him.”

  “I can’t believe it. Phinney was tough, the toughest I’ve experienced so far,” Carter gushes.

  The reporter laughs. “You’re a rookie and on a three-streak win. How’s that feel and what’s the secret?”

  “It feels incredible.” Carter nods his head to me. “I’ve got the best fighter coaching me. The secret’s out.”

  “Speaking of,” the reporter grabs my arm, moving me beside him as Mr. Walker walks up. The bald reporter hands him the microphone.

  Mr. Walker is in my territory regardless if he owns this shit or not. I battle here and it takes all I have not to knock the heartless fuckhead out.

  He congratulates Carter, shaking his hand and then turns to me. “Great job, Ryker.”

  What? No formalities?

  “On behalf of the MMAT & MMAP, a deal is a deal. Therefore, I’m happy to announce your comeback fight with Malicious Malone, two weeks from tonight in Salt Lake City.”

  I want to knock the smug right out of his grin.

  Grinning devilishly, I rip the microphone from his hands and level my glower. “Your try at intimidation flatters me. You’re worried. You should be. I hope to see you there.” I shove the microphone into his chest with a bit more thrust than I should, but fuck it. It’s better than the alternative of leaving him spread out on the mat.

  But then I wouldn’t get to enjoy the look of vexation on his face right now.

  I smirk and turn my back to him.

  My interview is over.

  “Congratulations!” Whitney screams into the phone.

  Pulling it away from my ear, I chuckle. “Thanks.”

  “Two weeks, huh? You were cocky as hell, weren’t you?”

  A loud laugh booms from me. “You forget who I am?”

  “I’m proud of you,” she says and I shit you not, it’s as if she just reached through my chest and squeezed the fuck out of my heart. “You’ve worked so hard for this.”

  “You can’t be talking like this while I’m hours away from you,” I warn.

  She giggles sweetly.

  “Carter wants to go celebrate. Mind if I go?”

  What the fuck did I just ask?

  “What the hell did you just ask me?” She cackles. “Ryker. Permission? Seriously?”

  “You’re a powerful woman, Whit,” I tease.

  “The headlines did say I tamed the beast,” she titters. “I should have a whip.” She pauses. “Wait! No. No I shouldn’t.”

  “I’m perfectly content keeping the whip out of the room. It’ll take the sting from my palms anyway.” I say thickly.

  “Go have fun. You deserve it,” she tells me.

  We say our goodbyes and hang up. I shower, change my clothes and head to Carter’s room beside mine.

  I remember now why I loathe clubs. I’m surrounded by drunk women, drunker men, all stumbling to find a good time for the night. Easy…it isn’t appealing.

  We’ve held down this table along the side wall for an hour. I’ve watched Carter dance, yes, finally able to break free and dance. Although, he can’t move for shit, he gets out there and tries. I’ve been babysitting this beer the whole time. My last hangover had me wishing death would push through the door and take my agony away. But Carter, on the other hand, is going to hate life tomorrow. He’s about five shots and two beers down…and it’s only been an hour.

  He returns from the dance floor, striding proudly with his arm wrapped around a copper brunette. Her dark purple dress hugs her body as she hugs him.

  “Ryker, this is Becca.” He releases her name on desire.

  I laugh inwardly. I remember these nights. Just starting out and thinking I was something. All the women flocked to me and I fucking enjoyed the hell out of it. Something about a bad boy attracts all the good lays.

  She puts her hand out for me to take. Not shake.

  I tip my head leaving the petite hand dangling. “Nice to meet you.”

  She blinks seductively, dragging her teeth along her bottom lip. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

  Carter plops his drunk ass on the stool and pulls her onto his lap. She giggles, wrapping her arms around his neck, and they start whispering amongst themselves.

  If he plays his cards right, he’ll have a damn good night.

  “Hey,” a voice says behind me.

  I drop my view to the hand on my arm before turning around. Smokey, stunning “down to fuck” eyes peer up at me. Her lips are rocking a ravishing red color, quirked up with seduction.

  “How come you’re standing here alone?” she purrs, placing herself to my front.

  My brow jumps high and the corner of my lips pull. “Because my wife is at home.”

  She runs her tongue across her top lip and bats her eyes flirtatiously. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her then,” she says as she’s running her paws up my chest.

  I laugh. “Aren’t you a prize.” My tone is laced with sarcastic annoyance.

  She steps back and runs her hands down her body giving her hips more attention. “Don’t pretend you don’t like what you see.”

  Jesus…this is what I used to thrive on.

  I shake my head. “I didn’t.”

  She leans closer with come-hither eyes. “Then let me take care of you tonight.”

  I stretch my head from shoulder to shoulder, glancing to the amused Carter.

  “What’s your name?” I ask low.

  “Kelly,” she sighs, touching my arm again.

  I bend my head, placing my lips right beside her ear. I pause, listening to her breath pick up before I speak. “Kelly…” I draw it out setting her up. “I married my fantasy. No need to try to be what you’re not.”

  Shock dons in her expression as she withdraws her hand, taking a step away. Her stunning eyes are filled with angry rejection. “That was pretty rude.”

  It surprises a chuckle from me. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you wanted respect with how sluttastic you were acting,” I deadpan.

  She just stands there blinking at me. I wait but I get nothing.

  Tipping my head to Carter, I tell her. “You’ll have better chance with him. Maybe his friend won’t mind if you join.”

  Carter’s eyes nearly bug out. I’ll admit, mine did the first time I was offered, and I wasted abso-fucking-lutely no time rushing to my room to consume the entire situation.

  I don’t wait to see what plays out and step past, clapping Carter’s shoulder. “Plane flies out at ten. Keep it safe.”

  The hotel is two blocks from the club, so instead of catching a cab, my ass walks, whistling motherfucking dixie.

  “Hello?” my beautiful wife answers sleepily.

  “My sleeping beauty,” I croon into the phone.

  “Are you drunk?”

  I laugh. “No. But I had to call you and tell you. I’ve still got it.”

  “You thought you lost it? You’re delusional.”

  “You forgot sexy,” I say.

  “That’s a given.” Her voice says she’s smiling. “Was she pretty?”

  Women—why do you ask such questions expecting the honest raw truth? You know you don’t want to hear it.

  “I’m pretty sure Carter will have a fun night. I, on the other hand, will be snoring until morning.”

  “Marriage has changed you,” she snickers. “You used to be more…oh, I don’t know what the word is. Filthy? Dirty mouthed?”

  “You want me to say I’m heading back to rub one out? Cause, Whit, it’ll be your face I’m coming on.”

  She gets quiet and I swear I can feel the heat of her blush through the phone. This too makes me laugh.

  “You’d think I would’ve corrupted you by now,” I say.

  “At times, my purity is tested.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t have a straight face when you said that,” I ask.

  “Not a chance,” she admits.

  “I’ll be ho
me tomorrow afternoon,” I say.

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  We hang up just as I step into the hotel lobby. Once inside the room, I strip and rest with my hands behind my head. I know I’ve changed, but it’s for her. I’m still the same Ryker without the wild arrogance. Now I have a purpose, something more to live life for. And right now, I’m missing the fuck out of her scent.

  Chapter 27

  The past two weeks have been grueling and brutal. Daniel and Flynn flew back in, thrilled to get back to our regularly scheduled training. They must’ve been itching like crazy to drag me through the coals because for thirteen days straight I was on the brink of collapsing.

  Coaching and fighting are two different animals. Coaching is less intense, which is why my ass was on the verge of exhaustion. Carter came and trained with us, taking in the skills from my trainers and getting to full on spar with me. He tried hanging with me but gassed out. No lie. I was close.

  But Daniel and Flynn meant business. We had two weeks to get me back in competition form. Of course, it didn’t take long, but that also meant I barely had any time to spend with Whitney.

  She’s a fucking trooper.

  We arrived in Salt Lake City yesterday, a day after everyone else, because Whit had a doctor’s appointment she couldn’t get out of. Once she got home, we were out the door. This time Jackson came with Kyce. He wants me to worry about absolutely nothing. Knowing they’re here and Whit’s in both their hands invigorates me. And, Carter is right beside them offering extra insurance. She’s protected.

  Unfortunately, this go around, Whit isn’t the same. Her worries are flowing off her in rogue waves. This time she’s insanely nervous. All the fake smiles in the world can’t hide the brittleness underneath. I hate she’s experiencing it.

  I’ve been warming up. I’m ready. I need no more hype. I didn’t need the shit to begin with. I’m ready to stomp Malicious Malone’s ass all the way around that octagon. I don’t give a fuck if he’s been in the game longer, or if he’s a motherfucking professional. Yeah. That’s right. The head honchos didn’t want to make it easy on me and matched me with someone they think is my disadvantage.

  Dumb fuckers.

  It only drives me harder. Professional or not, I’m battling for my life.

  The knock on the door surges my adrenaline. It’s go time.

  I crook my finger to Whitney. Her eyes are large. Her face paled.

  I smooth her hair, but before I can say anything, she sprints away from me slamming into the bathroom. I’m right behind her. She pukes her brains up as I rub her back.

  “You good?” I ask as she wipes her mouth.

  She rinses out her mouth several times and then washes her hands. “I’m a fucking nervous wreck, Ryker.” Her eyes burn with anger. “I’m trying so hard to be strong, but…” She digs her fingers into her forehead before wet eyes blink up to me. “I’m scared.”

  I grin, clutching her hands. “Quit worrying.”

  She laughs sadly. “How do you do it? How do you handle the pressure?”

  I kiss her softly on the cheek. “Easily. I know I’m going to win. No doubts. Envision it, baby. It’s going to happen.”

  “I need gum,” she huffs and walks away.

  I hate knowing she’s this wrecked up over this.

  When she wraps her arms around my neck, her eyes smile. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

  I place a chaste kiss to her lips. “Who you betting on?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Like you have to ask. The other guy, of course.”

  I puff a breath. “I win, we’re starting in the car. They won’t be with us.” I nod at my brothers and Carter behind me. “I want to drive around the city while I fuck those sexy moans out of your mouth,” I whisper thickly.

  Her eyes flare with heat. “And if you lose?”

  “You cheer me up taking every ounce of control,” I say.

  She squints. “You can’t hand over the control.”

  “Precisely. I don’t plan on losing.”

  I kiss her gently and then straighten up. No more soft, sappy, Ryker. Striker takes over. Solid and stoic, determined and war-bound. I watch as Kyce takes her arm, Jackson and Carter directly behind them as they disappear out the door.

  We’re directed to the hall, awaiting my entrance. I close my eyes and take in a deep, heavy breath. It’s the calm before the storm. Everything goes quiet. Noise doesn’t exist here. Only my breath echoing through my lungs. The world muffles out, slowing down around me. My body allows me this moment of peace, where my muscles lie in wait, my pulse stables out, my mind quiets its chatter. Nothing exists but me.

  Right here.

  Right now.

  In this blurry moment, it’s only me.

  Daniel slaps my back, bringing me back to light. The crowd is loud. The energy slams my chest and energizes my soul. My muscles lift the barrier and adrenaline course through them attacking my heart.

  I’m ready.

  I bounce from foot to foot as we walk my entrance. I glare ahead of me, directly into the cage where the massacre will take place. Hyper-focused and prepared.

  Springing across the ring, I make my way to Daniel, but first I find Whitney. Her eyes are saturated in the worry she’s so desperately trying to hide from me. Just her being here pulls at the corner of my lips, but I don’t let my smile erupt, sliding my view back to Daniel.

  Malone enters the octagon with murder in his eyes. I’ve watched this fucker on TV many times. He’s predictable, and I’m ready to give the fans an action-packed show.

  Fight!

  The uproar around me dissipates. No one remains except him and me.

  Quickly, I move to the center where Malone meets me. Wasting absolutely no time, I attack, surprising him with a left jab, and directly behind it with a right hook. He counters and as I block, he lands body shots into my ribs. Clenching behind his head, I jerk his body into my knee, expelling his lungs. He grants me an ugly left hook across my face.

  Gathering our bearings, we circle, but my knuckles have been begging for blood and I’m ready to see some spilling. Advancing forward, I fire off a wicked combination—left hook, right hook, left jab—springing away from his counter.

  I strike his thigh with a kick, following it up with a left slam to the face. He doesn’t falter, pushing forward. We stand stationary, trading blows back and forth, one after another, neither of us letting up. Pound for pound, power for power, we drive our knuckles, ducking and feinting.

  The fucking bell.

  Daniel and Flynn are squawking in my face about techniques and Malone’s weakness. I nod, taking a swig of my water.

  The bell rings.

  I’m hasty as I pounce, pounding him with body shots, slowly wearing him down. He drives an upper cut, but misses, only barely grazing my chin. He lunges and wraps me up, desperate to take me to the ground, but I’m not fucking going. I heave a punch into the side of his head and his weight bears down on me.

  Malone shoves me against the fence, my arms tangled with his, as he catches his breath trying to control the pace. I push and bound to the side, leaving the trap of his arms. He pivots, eyes glaring, chest heaving.

  The clock shows fifteen seconds. We stand, exchanging slugs, one after another, drill after drill.

  The bell chimes again.

  Daniel is saying something, but I interrupt. “I’m switching it up.”

  He disagrees telling me to keep the course, but I’m not.

  The moment the bell calls for us to fight again, I leap, digging into my strength and catching him off guard with a solid punch to his face. There’s nothing like the sound of crunching bone under your knuckles. It revitalizes me. I don’t let up, nailing him again with a left jab. He stumbles backward and I press forward.

  Regaining himself, he presses back, striking at me, but I block. He locks his arms around my waist, takes my legs, and slams my back to the mat. I’m littered with a flurry of forearms and elbows. I buck, switching
between trying to grab his wrist to stop the hail of strikes and blocking them.

  He rises and falls, driving fiercely. I reach up and bind my arms around him and yank him into my chest. I need a fucking breather.

  Thank fuck the bell rings, giving me one.

  Blood trickles down my cheek as I walk to my stool. If Daniel’s irritated, his expression doesn’t show it. The cutman shoves the gash over my eye, trying to slow the bleeding. Face cuts are the worst.

  Just in case, which I know she’s horrified…I give Whitney a thumbs up without looking at her.

  Back on the mat, Malone, surprises me with a swift attack.

  Blackness trickles my vision. Quick bursts of red dripping from the corners flash.

  It’s all a full circle—losing to Levi, losing because of what happened to Whitney, being denied into the pros, the assholes trying to hold me back, my coaching Carter.

  The picture clears up and I’m glowering at the dead set determined eyes before me. Blackness swallows me hard, and I shove his body off me, sinking a large kick into his body. Firing off punches, I back him up. He trips, stumbling down, and I dive on top. A flurry of elbows rain down upon him. Blow after blow, I batter his face. Jabs. Strikes. Brutally. Violently.

  His eyes roll. His arms quit fighting me. The ref bulldozes me off.

  The uproar from the crowd thunders me, grounds me back, and I scream, squeezing my eyes shut.

  When I open them, Whitney is running toward me and leaps into my arms.

  “You did it!” she cries, beaming. “Baby, you did it!”

  I’m overwhelmed with a sense of victory. I’m fucking speechless.

  Jackson, Kyce, and Carter jump on me, shouting their elation.

  I put Whitney’s feet back to the mat and kiss her forehead. “I fucking told you.”

  “You did! You did it!” Tears stream her cheeks.

  After four rounds, declaring the victor… Ryyyykkker, the Striiiker.

  This announcement…it fucking feels better than any other I’ve ever heard. Fucking hell, it hasn’t lost its glorious touch.

  The reporter shoves through the people surrounding me. “Ryker.” He shakes my hand. “Man, what an intense fight. How does this feel coming back from such an awful tragedy with your forfeit?”