But tonight Lyssa had more people in her sights than just the two towering fighters.
She knew Travis Oates and Nikolai Bukov were in town, and she wondered if she’d see them at tonight’s fight as well.
As members of the MMA league roster, they’d both have VIP tickets. Would they be there?
Not to mention, Jared and Nicola Heberg would also be at the fight tonight. Once Silas’ sponsors, they were now the financial backers of Rashann Jackson.
It was quite a cast of characters she’d found herself mixed up with. For years, Lyssa had watched and reported on the MMA league merely from the sidelines. Now, she was embroiled in the messy behind-the-scenes of it all; and she wasn’t entirely sure she liked it.
Shaking her head, Lyssa tried to focus on the reason she was in Las Vegas at all – the fight itself.
Tonight she’d watch Wlodek “The Bear” Winogrodzki – the man who’d ended Silas’ own MMA career - go up against the newcomer, Rashaan “Hungry” Jackson.
It was a clash of the titans. Wlodek’s record spoke for itself, but Rashaan was an unknown element. He was a man plucked from obscurity by Delwood Grey and Hannibal Alexander, and with funding from the Hedbergs, threatened to shake up the league in a big way.
With that in mind, it was difficult for Lyssa to even pick which fighter she wanted to win that night.
Part of her - the part loyal to Silas – wanted to see Winogrodzki knocked out of the running – in vengeance for what he’d done to Silas’ career.
But Wlodek hadn’t meant to hurt Silas; and by rooting against him, Lyssa would have to support a fighter funded by the very same couple who’d kicked the injured Silas aside like he was garbage, when he needed them the most.
As Lyssa found her seat, in the press pit down by the octagon itself, she let out a heart-rending sigh.
She used to pick the fighter she’d support by his past performances, or even something as superficial as how hot he was.
When you actually got into the dirty laundry of the MMA, it became a lot less easy to decide who the ‘good guys’ and the ‘bad guys’ really where.
She’d just have to let them decide that in the cage.
Chapter Eighty Five
Lyssa
The fights kicked off at eight – and, as always, there were a series of bouts before the headlining event.
Lyssa wasn’t paying a huge amount of attention to them this time around. The big names – like Hannibal ‘Baller’ Alexander, or his rival James ‘Bulldog’ MacDonald – were off the slate until later in the year, and most of the fights were between up-and-comers who were fighting for their chance to take a swing at the ‘big name’ fighters.
One worth remembering was Sofia Sola, “The Jackal.” She was a scrappy Chilean woman with a background in Muay Thai and kickboxing. She easily won her bout via a knockout – and that meant later on in the year she’d face unbeaten female champion Billie George.
But for the most part, Lyssa only the briefest notes, sipping her beer as she waited for the headliner to begin.
The main event started at 8pm, but it was past 10pm by the time the other fights had all wrapped up.
By that time the impatient crowd was riled up – eager to watch the hotly-anticipated ‘clash of the super-heavyweights.’
As the announcer called for the main event to begin, the crowd started going crazy.
“Wlodek! Wlodek! Wlodek!”
A gang of Polish fans waved flags from the back of the stadium – calling out the name of the Polish fighter in two sharp syllables: “Vlo – Dek! Vlo – Dek!”
There wasn’t such a fanbase for Rashaan Jackson – but when the announcers summoned the two fighters towards the octagon, there was a respectable roar and applause to welcome the big, black fighter as he approached the cage.
“In this corner,” the announcer declared, as Wlodek took to the octagon, “fighting out of Kraków, Poland, is Wlodek “The Bear” Winogrodzki.”
“Vlo-Dek!” The Poles screamed. “Vlo-Dek!”
“And in this corner,” the announcer welcomed Rashaan to the cage, “fighting out of Hartford, Connecticut, in his first MMA League fight, is Rashaan “Hungry” Jackson.”
The crowd’s roars increased, and Lyssa could see why.
It really was the clash of the titans.
Wlodek Winogrodzki was a bear of a man – pale, and hairy, and easily weighing in at over 300lbs. His massive chest and beefy arms were rivalled only by his solid mid-section; the physique of a powerlifter who liked his carbs.
In contrast, even the towering Rashaan looked small. But with his enormous arms and huge shoulders, there was still something deeply scary about this newcomer.
Rashaan’s dark, brown skin and Mohawk added to his intimidating presence – and his bushy black beard and abundant tattoos were just downright scary.
He looked like Mr. T’s tougher, meaner older brother.
“Tonight’s fight is five rounds,” the announcer declared. “Let’s keep it good and clean.”
And then the buzzer sounded, and the two lumbering super-heavyweights cannoned towards each other.
Chapter Eighty Six
Lyssa
What proceeded was one of the most dramatic fights Lyssa had ever witnessed in her life.
Just like with his fight against Silas, all those months ago, Wlodek Winogrodzki started slow. He circled Rashaan, as the leaner young man took some exploratory jabs, and tested his reach.
Then Rashaan attacked – and it was brutal.
For a big guy, “Hungry” Jackson had some speed to him. His massive fists swung left and right in a punishing one-two-three that even Winogrodzki didn’t see coming.
The Pole blocked the first punch, deflected the second, and the third hit him hard above his ear.
Wlodek stumbled back, snarling as he shook his head.
Rashaan continued the offensive, swinging those big fists of his like piledrivers. While Wlodek had the bulk and strength to withstand the onslaught, it was clear each punch was taking its toll – and, worse than that, they each prevented him from launching his own attack.
By the time the buzzer rang for the end of the first round, both fighters were dripping in sweat – but it was clear Wlodek had come off worse. His nose was bleeding, his right eye was puffed up, and he was moving slowly and lethargically.
Lyssa scribbled notes as she watched. For a moment, even her own personal dramas were eclipsed by this incredible fight. She wanted to capture every detail.
Soon, the second round began, and it was more of the same. Wlodek Winogrodzki was a lot more aggressive this time – taking his own swings, and showing a surprising amount of dexterity in avoiding Rashaan’s punches.
But it was no good.
Rashaan was faster, and fitter. After four minutes of the punishing second round, he was still fresh on his feet – whereas the great, pale bulk of Wlodek Winogrodzki was dripping in sweat, and his face was the color of a beet.
The buzzer sounded, and the big Pole practically collapsed into his corner.
Lyssa called it right then and there. The fight was ending in the third round. It would just be a question of how.
She got that answer a few minutes later.
As the third round opened, a slightly-refreshed Wlodek lumbered forward with his arms outstretched, clearly intending to change things up, and bring the fight to the ground.
For a big man like him, that was risky territory. He had the weight and the strength – but wrestling was incredibly exhausting, and Wlodek’s reserves already looked pretty tapped.
For a moment, though, it looked like the big fighter was onto a winning tactic. His big hands clawed at Rashaan’s thighs, and “Hungry” Jackson clearly wasn’t expecting a take-down. He threw some ineffectual punches into the back of Wlodek’s head, but then toppled beneath the weight of the bigger man.
Lyssa winced as Winogrodzki came crashing down on top of Jackson – that had been exactly how Silas had nearly en
ded up paralyzed.
But Rashaan was surprisingly agile for a big, muscular man. As Wlodek plummeted down on top of him, Jackson started wriggling out from under the bigger man’s crushing weight; hooking his burly arms around Winogrodzki’s massive thigh.
Lyssa watched with amazement as Rashaan Jackson swiveled his torso underneath the big, Polish fighter – and then hooked his leg up, around Winogrodzki’s neck.
A moment later, it was all over. Jackson executed a textbook armbar – pinching Wlodek’s neck between his muscular thighs, and arching his back to stretch the bigger fighter’s arm out wide.
For a second, it didn’t look like it was going to take – Wlodek tried to haul himself off the canvas, and shake himself free. But even the Polish powerlifter couldn’t heft his 300lb opponent into the air.
There was a groan of agony, and a snarl of rage, and then Lyssa watched Winogrodzki tapping out frantically.
The referee skidded to his knees and called the fight – and with a groan of relief, Wlodek’s arm was released.
Down in the press pit, Lyssa watched with astonishment.
Wlodek Winogrodzki – the man who’d nearly crippled Silas – had just lost the fight.
Chapter Eighty Seven
Lyssa
The press conference after the fight was practically a riot.
“What do you make of the loss, Wlodek?”
“What are your plans now?”
“Rashaan! How do you feel about winning so decisively in your first fight?”
Up on the floodlight stage, sitting either side of MMA League CEO Dan Blanc, Winogrodzki and Jackson both reluctantly answered questions.
“I was… how you say? Unprepared.” Wlodek’s heavy Polish accent was nearly unintelligible. “I will get him in rematch.”
Rashaan Jackson was a little more eloquent.
“My brother Wlodek there,” the big, black fighter said, with a respectful nod towards the surly Pole, “left himself open, and I had to take it. But major props to the man. He fights hard.”
There was a ripple of applause as the crowd rewarded Rashaan for his chivalry.
“Okay, we’ll be doing private interviews back at the Grand,” Dan Blanc wound up the press conference. “Look out for more information about how this effects the fight lineup over the course of the next few days.”
Flashbulbs went off and people called out for Wlodek and Rashaan, but by this time it was late, and the two fighters were clearly tired. They shuffled off the podium, into the wings, and left the reports and photographers to pack up their stuff.
Lyssa was one of the last to go. She was sitting on a folding chair at the front of the audience, and had a few thought to process before she left the rapidly-emptying conference room.
“Hey.”
A voice distracted her.
Lyssa looked up, and saw the handsome face of Dan Blanc looking down at her.
“You’re Lyssa Meadows, right? From the Herald-Tribune?”
Lyssa looked around in surprise. This was Dan Blanc – the CEO of the MMA League. He was, like, a big deal.
And he was standing there, looking at her expectantly.
“Uh, yes,” Lyssa nodded, fumbling with her notepad and papers. “T-that’s me.”
“Dan Blanc,” Dan offered his hand. Lyssa shook it nervously.
“I know who you are,” she stammered, still amazed that this famous businessman had singled her out to talk to. “Everybody does.”
Dan chuckled self-deprecatingly.
Sitting down on the empty chair next to Lyssa, the burly businessman leaned in to her and murmured:
“I liked your article on Silas Batras. It was good stuff – especially the way you tied it into the dangers of mixed martial arts.” He nodded, as if agreeing with himself. “It helped our case in trying to bring the sport to New York.”
Lyssa blinked.
“Um… Thanks.”
“So you keep in touch with Silas?”
And that’s when the penny dropped. Dan Blanc wasn’t interested in her at all – more in who she knew.
“I’ve been trying to get it touch with him,” Blanc continued, deceptively casually. “The big guy seems to have dropped off the face of the world.”
“He’s in Spain,” Lyssa explained. “After what happened, he kind of wanted to get out of the public eye.”
“Right on, right on,” Dan nodded thoughtfully. “But you still keep in contact with him, right?”
Daily Facebook messages. Skype sessions once or twice a week. At least three or four sessions with her Hitachi Magic Wand, picturing his face.
“Sure,” Lyssa failed in sounding casual. “I guess.”
“Well, tell him to give me a call, okay?” Dan placed his hand on Lyssa’s knee – more of a gesture of solidarity than a come-on. “Can you do that?”
“S-sure,” she nodded.
“Good,” Dan nodded. He looked up, towards the door that Rashaan had left from. “What happened tonight changes everything. I’d like to talk to him about it.”
And then Dan was standing up, brushing down the front of his suit.
“Good to chat to you,” Dan nodded, almost dismissively. He might as well have just come out with: ‘I don’t need to talk to you anymore.’
But then a flash of conscience hit him, and he asked: “You doing anything tonight?”
Lyssa looked up, a little nervously.
Was he asking her on a date?
“We’re having a private party over at the ballroom,” he explained, detecting her confusion. “It’s invitation only, but I’ll tell them to expect you.” Dan paused. “If you’re free.”
“S-sure,” Lyssa nodded again, and then realizing how dismissive that sounded, she added: “Thanks. I’ll be there.”
“Good,” Dan gave her a nod. “And make sure you talk to Silas for me, okay?”
And then he was gone – the head of the CEO sauntering out of the conference room with a swagger to his step.
Lyssa sat there in the now-empty room and watched him go.
She had to tell Silas what had just happened.
But, first of all, she needed to get to that party, and wolf down every free morsel of food and drink she could get her hands on.
Chapter Eighty Eight
Lyssa
Thumping music and the smell of dry ice welcomed Lyssa as she entered the ballroom of the MGM Grand.
A security guard blocked her path at the door – but true to his word, Dan Blanc had added Lyssa’s name to the guest list, and she was soon ushered into the gorgeous room.
Techno music was being churned out by a cool-looking DJ with a Mac, and shot girls were wandering around in plastic miniskirts, offering glasses of ‘mini margaritas’ and ‘micro martinis.’
The moment one of those poor bitches came within earshot, Lyssa practically cleared her tray.
A few moments later, with tequila fiery in her belly, Lyssa headed off to the buffet line, looking around with astonishment at this hyper-exclusive, MMA league event.
For all her years following the sport – both professionally, and as a dedicated fan – she’d never been behind the scenes like this before.
There were all sorts of familiar faces around – including other MMA fighters like James ‘Bulldog’ MacDonald, who sipping a Single Malt beside his girlfriend, the hip hop honey Toni Rome. She was looking resplendent herself, in one of her signature wrap dresses.
As a reporter, Lyssa should have probably tried to interview one of the more famous fighters – but she was too shy to approach them. Besides, right then she was too hungry to even think straight.
So instead, she weaved her way through the crowd towards the buffet – a long line of tables bearing hard-carved barbeque and shrimp-on-skewers.
For the next half hour, that was pretty much where Lyssa stayed – wolfing down plate after plate of delicious food, and grabbing whatever free drinks were walking past her. Soon she’d piled red wine on top of champagne, and chased
that down with three shots of Patron tequila.
By the time midnight rolled around, she was feeling pretty buzzed - which made what happened next even more upsetting.
Just as Lyssa was wiping barbeque sauce from her fingers, she heard a familiar voice reverberate across the loud, crowded ballroom.
It was somebody talking into a microphone, demanding the room’s attention. Somebody Lyssa knew.
She looked up, clutching her plate of half-finished food, and nearly dropped it when she saw who it was.
Climbing up onto the stage across the room was none other than her former lover, Nikolai Bukov.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” Nikolai spoke into a microphone, in his heavily accented Russian. “I’m sorry to disturb the – how do you Americans call it? Festivities. But I have big news, and I’d like to share it all with you!”
He was drunk, Lyssa realized, as she gazed up at one half of the Travis/Nikolai tag team she’d become so intimately familiar with over the past few months.
“My friends, I have a huge announcement,” Nikolai slurred, as he held the microphone out reach of the DJ. “A-And I wanted you all to be the first to hear about it.”
Lyssa snorted angrily as she watched her former lover get the attention of the whole room. She was still mad at him for refusing to let her stay at their apartment.
But a moment later, Lyssa learned the reason why they’d made that call.
“M-My friends,” Nikolai slurred, as he swayed drunkenly on stage. “I-I’d like to introduce you to somebody. Come up here, lyubov moya,” he called. “Come up here.”
And then, as Lyssa watched from the crowd, a pretty blond girl in a tiny, tight dress tottered up onto the stage on eight-inch high heels.
She had bleached blond hair, a waist so tiny you could fit both your hands around it, and breasts that looked like they were picked out of a catalogue on the Sunset Strip.
“Harmony, zvezda moya,” Nikolai snaked his hands around this tiny woman’s waist. “C-Come close so everybody can see you.” And then he turned to the crowd, and crowed: “And e-everybody – meet Harmony Mercedes – my fiancée!”
Broken: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance Page 16
