Fighting for Flight

by JB Salsbury

  A mix of boos and cheers ring in my ears. Katherine’s grip tightens. The driving bass of Jay-Z’s song “Niggas in Paris” fills the dome-shaped arena, sending the fans into a frenzy. The air electrifies my skin, every hair standing on end.

  “Let’s welcome our challenger. Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Jonah ‘The Assassin’ Slade.” The announcer’s voice draws out his name and my body breaks out in goose bumps.

  A bright light flashes to the top of the stairs. My eyes squint and burn trying to make out a familiar face. Out in front of the group are Rex and Caleb, but I’ve never seen them like this before. Their faces are masks of concentration. Their bodies are taut and unforgiving. They descend the stairs with the bravado of well-trained soldiers. I struggle for breath, suffocated by the anticipation in the air.

  As the group walks down the steps, each member of the team comes into view. Wes walks behind Caleb and Rex, then Blake. His teasing eyes and easygoing smile are replaced by determination. I search for Jonah’s face in the group. Fans stand on their chairs, yelling and reaching to get to Jonah in the center of his crew. Security guards line the aisle, holding people back.

  My hand squeezes Katherine’s tighter and I push up on my toes. I get a quick glimpse of the tips of dark mussed up hair.

  There he is.

  His face comes into view and I’m completely floored. He looks positively deadly and more beautiful than ever. My heart almost beats out of my chest. His eyebrows are low in a fixed state of focus, making his eyes look black. His full lips are held in a tight, straight line, framed by his set jaw. The muscles under his colorful skin seem bigger as they flex under the light. I suck in a breath and throw my hand over my gaping mouth.

  I’ve seen Jonah train and he seemed lethal then. But now, he looks homicidal. I say a silent prayer that this is all an act, because the way he looks now, he’d snap at the slightest provocation.

  They move down the stairs, passing rows of screaming fans. His team is circled around him protectively. They reach the bottom and walk down the aisle of our section. Then the group stops short. Right at our row.

  I’m frozen, my eyes burning and stuck on Jonah. He turns his head towards me as if he’s responding to my call. His eyes don’t search, but land right on my face. Caught in the ferocity of his stare, I hold his gaze. A one-dimpled smile touches his face just long enough for me to see before it disappears and the focus is back.

  That’s it. He’s letting me know that this is an act. I take a deep breath and smile back, huge. He gives me a wink and throws a quick look to Candy. His intense glare makes her cower.

  Take that, bitch.

  And with renewed hope, I watch the group continue down the aisle and into the octagon.

  ~*~

  Jonah

  “. . . sixth time returning Heavyweight Champion Victor ‘The Bull’ Del Toro.”

  Standing in my corner of the octagon, I wait for Del Toro to make it down the aisle. I find my girl in the crowd. She’s holding my mom’s hand. Thank you, Mom.

  And why in the hell is Candy sitting where Guy should be? Maybe he couldn’t make it? But that doesn’t explain why Dominick’s slut-bot is in his place.

  It was one thing to see Candy waltz into my dressing room like she belonged there, but seeing her standing next to Raven is unsettling. I thought I scared her enough to get her to back off. Apparently whatever Dominick is paying is worth her continued humiliation. Candy spent the entire time in my dressing room, sitting in the corner on a plastic folding chair. Blake even made her and her slutty sidekick face the wall just to make a point.

  I force my thoughts back to Del Toro and the fight. Nothing can throw me off my game. Not one fucking thing. Ten minutes. I need to stay up for the first two rounds. After that, game over. My eyes slide back to Raven like they’re magnetized.

  “Get your head in the fight, Slade. Your girl’s still gonna be there when it’s over,” says Owen from behind me.

  I nod. He’s right. I need to focus on the fight and keep the buzzing in my head down to a minimum. Candy works for the enemy, and seeing her so close to Raven makes me wish I’d locked my girl in the bedroom. Maybe I shouldn’t have had her come tonight. I could have set her up somewhere, far away from here, until the outcome was determined. But I need to see her face to stay grounded, to control the rage that’ll be riding me hard.

  Del Toro stands in his corner, giving me the stare-down. I’d give almost anything to knock that confident look right off his scarred face. Almost.

  The ref motions for us to meet in the middle of the octagon. He gives us the speech they always give before a fight about no hits below the belt and make it a clean fight. His words may as well be spoken in Japanese as much as I’m paying attention. Instead, I’m locked eye to eye with Del Toro. The ref yells something and then repeats it. It’s on the repeat that I hear he wants us to tap knuckles. Fuck that.

  “You’re going down, you little bitch,” Del Toro growls as he takes his fighting stance.

  He has no idea.

  I raise my fists and we face off. My blood sizzles with restrained aggression.

  The ref waves his hand between us. “Fight.”

  Del Toro and I circle each other, sizing each other up, fists at the ready. I focus on his hands, keeping his legs on radar. The crowd roars over shouts from our cornermen. Mine yell, “Take a hit!” His shout, “Take him down!”

  Del Toro turns his fist, palm up, taunting me. “Come on, pussy. Take a shot.”

  My jaw grinds against my mouth guard. This cocky fuck thinks I can’t lay him out. I mock swing. He flinches. Yeah, fuck you.

  “Get movin’, guys,” the ref says. “Fans didn’t pay to watch two fairies circling the maypole—Fight.”

  No more milking the clock.

  I drop my guard. He throws the quick left. I dodge it. The crowd cheers. We circle again, and his right leg sweeps at my feet. I jump back. I feel the buzz in my head. My muscles coil. I find my groove and right jab a heavy body blow. He doubles, winded, but recovers. His fist comes at me. I duck. Shit. If this fight goes to decision, I’d win. I need to get hit.

  I rush Del Toro and slam him against the fence, holding him in a clinch. A barrage of punches hammer my back.

  My leg snakes around one of his, keeping him off balance. He attempts a knee to my thigh, but my hold locks him down. He tries for a chokehold. I bury my shoulder deeper into his chest. My body constricts around his. The clock ticks on.

  “Break it up!” The ref pushes us apart.

  Arms raised, I stand back. The ref waves his hand between us. Fight’s back on.

  Del Toro comes at me, head down, aiming for my gut. His signature move. He’s going for the take down. The split second before he hits, I check the clock. A minute and thirty-two seconds left. His shoulder slams into my abdomen, taking us both down. I land on my back, my lungs contracting for breath, and he straddles my leg in half guard.

  Shit. Not good.

  He rears back for the ground-and-pound. I throw my head to the side and cross my arms to protect my face. Blow after blow pound against my forearms. Pain rockets through my body. The buzz a steady hum in my head. Adrenaline shoots through my veins.

  With my free leg, I brace my foot against the mat. The blows continue. Ringing in my ears, the buzz goes nuclear. I need to get to my feet.

  My heel digs deep. I thrust my hips, bucking Del Toro off. I’ve got the mount. I pull back, landing a blow that sends blood to the mat. My instincts want victory, to finish him now, but reason stills my fist.

  A horn sounds and the black-and-white striped shirt of the ref is in my face.

  Round one over.

  I jump to my feet and head to my corner. My head starts to clear. Shit, that was close. My cornermen shout orders at me while I rinse my mouth out. Blake stands back, and my eyes meet his. He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. He knows what happened. I came seconds away from flipping the switch. I nod. He holds up one hand, all f
ive fingers splayed. Five more minutes. I need to hold it together for five more minutes. He drops his hand and motions to the octagon.

  Round two.

  Del Toro’s bleeding. Fuck, I need to get hit more. Concentrate on the end game. My girl.

  In the stands, Raven covers her mouth. She looks scared. Five more minutes, five more fucking minutes and she’s mine.

  “Round two,” the ref yells. “Fight.”

  Focus. We move close, fists raised. Del Toro throws a hard right. I don’t block it. It connects with my jaw. Lightning shoots down my neck. The buzz in my head is now a battle cry. I’m gonna kill this fucker.

  I hit him with double strikes to his stomach. He steps back, gasping for breath. He comes at me with a quick jab to my ribs. Pain blasts through my side. I double over, but stay on my feet.

  We circle each other. He throws a left. I dodge it. He’s open. One right hook would knock him out. I punch his ribs. He stumbles. I’m dying to finish this. I could take him down right now. Easily.

  My eyes lock on his fists. He sweeps at my leg and connects. Pain throbs in my calf. I hop to regain my balance.

  I unleash my restraint, my right fist slamming into his reddened ribs. He grunts and doubles over. My hands drop to my sides with a satisfied smile. Fuck, that felt good. I lock eyes with Raven. Hers widen, and flick past me. I spin. His right knee flies up, I move back, but it’s too late.

  Two-hundred-fifty-seven pounds of force slam into my head.

  Pain explodes at my ear. Bright white light flashes behind my eyes. My vision recedes. I stagger. My body hums. My mind empty, but for one thought.

  Annihilate.

  Del Toro steps into my space. I throw a right. My haymaker connects with the sweet spot on his jaw. His mouth guard flies in an explosion of blood and spit. He goes down.

  Rag-dolled.

  Game over. Oh, fuck.

  Thirty

  Raven

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, your new UFL Heavyweight Champion, Jonah ‘The Assassin’ Slade.” The announcer’s words reverberate in my soul, raising the hair on my skin.

  He won.

  I drop to my seat as everyone around me stays standing. The voices of the fans are slow and slur in my ears. Their faces contort with the force of their excitement. I blink and grip the sides of my chair.

  He won.

  Katherine leans down and hugs me. My body shakes as she continues to jump up and down. She says something, but submerged in my misery, I can’t understand her. I absently nod, my focus distant, as I force my brain into action.

  What do I do now?

  I can’t think of anything. Except him. My body aches for him, wanting to be held, to cry in the safety of his arms. Together.

  We can face anything as long as we’re together. It’s not too late to run. I could go somewhere remote, live low for a few years until Dominick loses interest. Tiny sparks of hope flare. That’s what I’ll do. I need to get to Jonah and get out of town. Now.

  A jolt from my hip sends me to my feet. I press the pocket of my shorts to feel it vibrate. My phone. Who would be calling me now? I check the caller ID. New text from Guy? Guy doesn’t text.

  Hello, Darling. If you want to save his life, you’ll follow Candy. Failure to comply will end him. Slowly. You have five minutes. –D

  He has Guy. Holy shit!

  Dominick has him. That’s why he never showed. My breath catches on a sob. I grip at my neck and swallow hard. He’ll kill him if I don’t cooperate. I don’t have time to get to Jonah.

  “Four minutes and counting.” Candy grips my arm firmly.

  I glare at her hand. She’s in on this. Lying bitch.

  Katherine continues to cheer as she glories in her son’s victory. Her love for her son shines in her radiant smile. That same love that poured over onto me, even if only for a day. And now it’s over.

  Candy tugs my arm.

  “Get your fucking hand off me!” My demand is firm, but soft enough for only her to hear. “I’m coming.” I rip my arm from her grip. “Just let me say good-bye.” I don’t give her an opportunity to respond and turn to Katherine.

  I let the love in her face reflect in mine and muster a smile before leaning in to be heard over the crowd. “Candy said Jonah wants me back in the dressing room. She has a pass so she can take me back.” I lean back from her to look in her face.

  “Oh, of course, honey. You go congratulate our boy. I’ll meet you guys at home.” The pride in her smile aches in my chest.

  I throw my arms around her neck and hug her good-bye. “Thank you, Katherine, for everything.” My throat swells as I muzzle the emotion that fights for release.

  “Oh, well,” Katherine says, seeming surprised by my sudden burst of affection. “Thank you for making my Joey so happy.”

  Released from the hug, her smile’s shadowed with concern. I nod with forced confidence then face Candy.

  “Okay. Take me back.”

  My legs are heavy as I trail behind Candy up the stairs. We pass through the double doors and into a long hallway.

  This is it. I’m being kidnapped. But my life is a small price to pay to ensure Guy’s safety. Katherine and Jonah’s safety. I should have known better than to fight destiny. Fight Dominick.

  We stop at a single door. Nausea claws at my stomach. A rowdy group down the hall walks towards us. I wonder if it’s Jonah and the guys headed back to their dressing room. If he saw me with Candy, he’d never let me go. Panic surges in my veins. If he sees me, Guy dies. I drop my gaze, my hair hiding my face.

  Two quick knocks and the lock clicks. Candy moves forward and I follow through, head down.

  Once in, I turn my focus to the room. The door slams behind me, and I’m plunged into darkness.

  I gasp. My hands reach out for something to hold onto.

  “Hello, darling.”

  I whirl around toward the direction of the door. My body slams against something solid. Arms wrap tightly around me. I struggle against the hold. Deja vu stills my body and stifles my scream. Why is this so familiar? Flashes from the night in the parking lot of Club Six spark my memory.

  Oh God, no. Vince.

  “Fancy meeting you here.” Vince’s low chuckle vibrates against my back.

  “No. Dominick, please don’t do this.” I search desperately around the room for a face to plead with, but the dark is too thick. “I won’t run. Just please, leave Guy alone.”

  Vince tightens his hold. Air is pushed from my lungs on a whimper.

  “And I’m supposed to take your word for it?” Dominick laughs and brushes his hand against my cheek. “Don’t you worry, Raven. I will take what is rightfully mine. What I created. You can’t run far enough or hide deep enough to escape me.”

  I jerk my head aside, away from his touch. Vince shakes me roughly then loosens his grip.

  Responding to his words with pure instinct, I suck in air to yell. A soft cloth is pressed to my face. Stinging vapors pull deep into my lungs, my eyes roll back in my head. I kick and jerk. I’m going to die. My muffled screams echo in my ears. Darkness creeps in. Jonah, help me. Then, everything goes black.

  ~*~

  Jonah

  A tornado of applause whips and swirls around my body. Static roars in my ears along with my hammering heartbeat.

  Del Toro is down. The ref yells, “Knockout.”

  Failure rocks me, weakening my knees. I drop to the mat. Only a minute and a half left in the round, and I would have had it. I watch in slow motion as my team climbs the chain link. They rush toward me, faces alight with victory.

  I search out the one member of my team still standing on the outside. Blake. His glare meets mine. Whatever he sees brings life to his body, spurring him into action. He hops the fence, pushing his way through people. I’m detached, a bystander in my own skin. My conscious mind struggles with reality. It ended so fast. I just . . . snapped. I won the title, but lost the prize.

  Desperation brings me back. Voices go from static to c
lear as I regain my senses. I need to find her. I sit back on my heels. My eyes magnify the faces around me, like binoculars, bringing into focus my surroundings. I search the crowd. A mob of people block my view, jarring me from all angles. They yell, patting my shoulder. My back. My head.

  “Find her.” The mumbled words are a weak command to my body.

  Blake drops to his knees in front of me, his hands on my shoulders, forcing my attention.

  “Do not lose your shit, man. Lock it down, you hear me.” His voice is commanding, his words a touchstone to my sanity.

  I hold his eyes and fight against the tide of crippling emotions that pull at my soul.

  “There ya go. Hold your shit, man. Stay focused on me.”

  I look at him, but don’t see him. Instead visions of my future flicker through my mind. Raven in white. A little girl with aquamarine eyes and my dimples, pigtails and pink ballet shoes. My girl in my bed, every night, forever. Everything I just lost.

  Blinking away the burn, I swallow hard. I lurch forward, on all fours, fighting the rising bile. A stabbing pain rocks my midsection, and I spit my mouth guard to the mat.

  “Don’t do this now, man. Not here.”

  “I lost her.” My voice grates against my throat as I force out the words. I can’t believe it. I couldn’t save her.

  “No. You don’t lose. ‘The Assassin’ does not lose.” He grips my shoulders, pulling me to my feet.

  Breathing deep, I force a nod. My skin feels tight surrounded by people in my space. I need to get out of here. I can’t think straight.

  I need Raven. To touch her and remind myself that she’s real and . . . still here. Her birthday isn’t until tomorrow. We have a few hours to get out of town. Disappear. At least until we can come up with a better plan.

  On a visceral quest, I push through the crowd. No faces, no familiarity, just bodies. Obstacles that stand between me and Raven.

  At the octagon’s perimeter, I search the arena, scanning the crowd. Where is she?

  A microphone is shoved in my face. “‘Assassin,’ how does it feel to be the new UFL Heavyweight Champion?”