“I will begin right away, and I'll let you know if I have any concerns.” Drago said.
“Great. The Friar will be around soon. He'll be taking notes, so if you think of anything, just let him know. I'll see you later.”
“I hope to see you later, also.”
His admission left Grace more eager for later than she ought to be.
The Friar wanted a daily session with the Slovak, so Grace had rearranged the schedules to accommodate this request. The Friar, thinking that Drago's weakest area of expertise was wrestling and jujitsu grappling, wanted to focus on improving there. Of course, Ike agreed. Zadrovec warranted an hour of their time exclusively on top of the usual attention they gave trainees.
Afternoons were to be split up into workouts by days. Mondays and Wednesdays would be crazy-cardio days. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays brought striking and technique sparring sessions with St. Clair followed by strength training and bag and mitt work. Saturdays would be altogether different. Drago would begin with a four to five kilometer run. Then Guy would work on leg striking and movement strategies with him before specific leg strengthening exercises would be worked. The afternoon training would be determined by Guy's perception of what was necessary from his observations and team feedback. Drago did not yet know that Guy saw something special in him. No other fighter had been given as much of his time. Not only was Guy with Drago an hour or two each weekday, he was devoting his entire Saturday to this fighter.
Drago worked through the morning routine, and Ike and the Friar were more than pleased with what they had to work with over the next six months. Grace's notes were many for the wrestling and jujitsu coaches, but she admitted only to herself that her interest was proving to be more than clinical. Anticipating the afternoon's sparring match, the minutes ticked by too slowly. By noon Grace had ordered supplies, paid all outstanding invoices, and completed her meeting with the fighters whose schedules had changed. The gym shut down until three o'clock, but, thankfully, today was her own jujitsu session with the Friar. This would eat up one hour and live grappling another. She hoped her partner wouldn't be Carson after last week's incident, but, of course, neither Ike nor the Friar knew about it, and Grace didn't want them to.
She headed upstairs for a quick lunch of sliced apples, black grapes, yogurt, and walnuts. Guy was not inside, so Grace set out his lunch and settled at her desk. The soft knock on the door frame roused her from her thoughts on the upcoming clash between the two fighters, revealing Drago at the threshold, almost as if she had conjured him with her mind's wanderings.
“May I come in?”
He waited for her answer before crossing into the room.
“Of course, please come in.”
“I haven't had a chance to shop for food, and I cannot drive yet in your country. I was hoping you might take me...,” he noticed her lunch. “I see you are eating. Possibly later then?”
Grace had already gotten up and headed toward the small fridge and cabinet.
“How about you eat lunch here today, since I have class shortly? We can shop this evening after my team meeting, if you'd like.”
The broad grin she was developing a fondness for spread across his face.
“I appreciate your help, Grace. As soon as I am able, I will sit for the exam to gain a temporary license. Then I will purchase a vehicle. Your father will help me with this, he says.”
Again, that deep voice speaking heavily accented English hummed through Grace. What was happening to her? She was quite enjoying the sound of that voice, her morning had been spent thinking of him, and she was altogether pleased that he sought her company.
Drago took the plate Grace offered, and downed an entire bottle of water before grabbing another from the fridge.
“What is this class you must make?” he asked curiously.
“I take an hour of jujitsu instruction and an hour of live sparring twice a week with the Friar,” she answered softly.
“Ah, so you are the student. I see!” His eyes lit with understanding. “But who partners you?”
The smile faded a bit as he contemplated the answer he would likely hear, realizing that he did not like the idea of Grace grappling with a man. He also recognized that he had no right to be bothered by it.
“Usually I work with Yves. My Uncle Bruno had always been my trainer, but he died two years ago in Thailand. You've probably heard the story. I think most everyone has.”
Drago had heard the unfortunate story.
“I'm sorry about your uncle, Grace.”
There was a sadness behind her eyes at the mention of her uncle. Guy's brother had lived with them for as far back as Grace could remember. Bruno had never married, being somewhat of a ladies' man and wholly a brawler. The man had been a jujitsu specialist – the Friar had been his prodigy. But Bruno Antolini had also liked the drink. After traveling to Thailand to study the technique of groups of men who engaged in drunken brawling for sport, he had decided to join them. That decision ultimately led to his death one night in a competition, and it remained a sore spot with Guy. He loved his brother, but had been sorely disappointed with Bruno's choices.
She sighed quietly before explaining on.
“Anyway, I work with mostly with Yves now. He brings in Khaler when he wants to evaluate my technique.”
Drago stiffened slightly at the mention of Carson Khaler. That man's reputation preceded him, and it was well known that he lived fast and hard. He had just met Grace, he saw she was intelligent, and he hoped to God above she wasn't mixed up with a guy like Khaler.
* * *
Drago, fresh from the shower, had nothing to do until his afternoon sessions began, so the small gathering caught his attention. Moving alongside the jujitsu mats, he watched as the Friar and Grace rolled and followed one another fluidly through different attempts by each to better their position. Ike, clipboard in hand, scribbled furiously between the flurries while Khaler, and another young fighter whom Drago couldn't name, looked on excitedly. Carson motioned for Drago to join them, and he learned that the young trainee was Jeremy Henner. The three turned their focus once more to the pair vying for supremacy on the gray mats.
“They're something else to watch, aren't they?” Jeremy said, absorbed in the action.
“I'm as good,” Carson boasted. “The Friar would have me partner Grace all the time, but I'm too big for her.”
Jeremy snickered his answer to Drago, who stood between the two.
“The only thing that's too big on Khaler is his ego.”
“Yeah, well just hang around, Zadrovec,” Carson shot off. “Jeremy's partnering Grace for live grappling today.” Leaning around Drago he added, “She's gonna tap you out in less than a minute. And that never happens with me.”
Jeremy laughed.
“Never, Khaler?”
Drago couldn't help but smile. But Jeremy and Carson were not what held his attention.
Whatever Drago had expected hadn't prepared him nearly enough. Baggy jeans gone, Grace's lean, shapely legs drew his eyes immediately. Her long ponytail of dark, silky waves swung from her head at every granby, tuck, and roll, and the form fitting gear clung to her tiny waist and arms revealing, to his thinking, a perfection of form.
The Friar spoke, and they separated. He set up a few scenarios where Grace would begin in a bad position and instructed her how to reverse or escape. Then he called Henner over.
“Henner, you're up.”
Yves was demanding in practice, but he was also a patient and effective motivator. He had earned the nickname, the Friar, years before when he was training under Guy and Bruno, known then as the Brothers Antolini.
Yves Friarsson was extremely soft spoken, and that character trait paired with the fact that he believed passionately that jujitsu was an art form – he argued that is was called 'mixed martial arts' – gave rise to Guy's joking that he was a 'holy martial artist'. That his last name was Friarsson made the transition from 'holy man' to 'the Friar' a natural progressi
on among the men. Guy had a certain way of calling a man some nickname or other that made everyone view it as legitimate, and everyone who was anyone in the sport knew Yves as the Friar. And even though Yves was only thirty-five years of age, the name gave an added authority and respect to him.
Jeremy, the promising yet inexperienced fighter, walked over, unsure of what would be expected of him.
“You will go for the takedown; Grace will defend. No hesitation on your part, Henner, understand?”
The Friar put on a look of amusement before continuing.
“Your weight and strength won't be an advantage to rely on. Grace is more experienced and more flexible. Remember, leverage is the name of this game.”
Grace circled as Jeremy moved toward her, eyes alert. Staring him in the eye, she intuitively read his body movements, where his balance rested, how his eyes tracked, anticipating his steps before he acted. Carson began encouraging Henner to shoot, coaching him on his footwork from the mat's edge. Jeremy changed levels and wrapped Grace's legs with his arms, amazed at how deep he had penetrated with the shot. Ecstatic as he felt them falling toward the mat, he realized he would end up in Grace's guard. A moment too late, he understood his fatal error.
She hadn't sprawled to defend the takedown because she welcomed it. Her arms came around under his neck the moment he committed to the move, and before they hit the mat Grace locked in a Guillotine choke, forcing Jeremy to tap out within twenty seconds. Several more attempts were made, each ending with Henner tapping his submission.
The Friar was satisfied. He had accomplished his goals for the day. Grace had a larger, stronger partner she wasn't familiar with to practice on, Henner now understood how great was his need for instruction, and the Slovak had witnessed the superiority of Antolini jujitsu, as a petite young woman of only one hundred-ten pounds had easily dispatched a young buck with two years of some other jujitsu training under his belt, and who outweighed her by thirty pounds.
“That's a day, Grace,” the Friar announced. “Good work. Thursday we'll work on defending chokes.”
The sweet, fresh-faced smile Grace wore belonged on someone who had just visited her frail grandmother or taught a child to read, not on the perpetrator of the disabling moves Drago had just witnessed. His gaze followed her across the room, and instinct spoke within his heart. She was of his world, she was grounded, was beautiful inside and out, and he wanted to know her completely. Drago Zadrovec was fascinated.
* * *
St. Clair worked the two men until he saw the telltale signs of fatigue necessary to ensure that uninhibited skill and heart would be revealed inside the ring. Checking the tape on their hands, he ordered the donning of protective head gear and mouthpieces.
Carson strutted around the ring, his golden eyes gleaming with the anticipation of humiliating this new opponent. Drago, quite the opposite, stood stock still, swilling a mouthful of water as he mentally ran through a series of combinations. His face devoid of any emotion, Drago fixed his gaze above the heads of the onlookers and approached the ring's center.
“All right, I want to see clean striking in round one. Ground game is open in the second round,” St. Clair informed the two. “Touch gloves, guys.”
At the bell, the fighters closed the gap separating them, each eager to establish their pace, their style, and for thirty seconds, the tentative in and out, side to side movement played out. Grace looked on with Jeremy beside her, betraying no hint of the tense energy brewing in the pit of her stomach.
Carson jabbed. Drago evaded. Again, Carson advanced, looking to land his powerful jab, but the Slovak side-stepped and countered with a jarring left followed by an uppercut, snapping Khaler's head back. A few seconds of footwork repositioned them back in the center of the ring. Drago stepped back, bounced, and then unleashed his hands in an impressive combination. As Carson shook it off, Drago landed a heavy leg kick to his opponent's left calf.
For the next two minutes Drago skillfully landed jab after jab and continued punishing the left leg, picking Khaler apart. Carson, out of necessity switched his stance, putting the right leg forward, his left appendage suffering the effects of the damaging leg strikes.
Knowing the success his leg attacks were having, Drago now relentlessly focused on the right calf in between his jabs. Pressing forward, he released his hands anew, delivering one punishing blow after another and backing his opponent against the ropes. Khaler brought his hands up to protect himself instinctively, and when he did, Drago unloaded powerful body shots, knowing they would force Carson to lower his arms to protect his mid-section.
In perfect choreography, Drago swung his right leg up and connected with Carson's exposed head, delivering the infamous and lightening quick kick-of-death Yves had spoken of. Grace inhaled sharply as the violent blow reduced Carson to a heap on the navy and gray canvas.
Drago turned around immediately at landing the kick and walked calmly to his corner, not even glancing back at Khaler. His expression remained unqualified even as his actions revealed his complete confidence in the finality of the blow.
“Sweet Jesus!” St. Clair bellowed.
His eyes immediately went to Grace's, and he added with a sheepish grin, “Forgive me for taking the Lord's name, Gracie girl.”
Jeremy was aiding the assistant icing Drago's neck by pouring water into the Slovak's mouth as St. Clair and another checked out Khaler, who had regained his feet.
“We have ourselves a striker!” Saint beamed. “Carson, you okay there?” he chuckled.
“Yeah,” Carson answered.
His awkward gait belied his assurances.
Grace was stunned. She had known no one able to deliver such fierce kicks besides Anto, and she had certainly not anticipated the clear superiority of Drago's stand up. Who was this man that in conversation was soft spoken and subdued, yet in the ring bared such intensity? And why did she feel so drawn to him?
After a few minutes and at last convinced that Carson had recovered sufficiently to continue, St. Clair marked the onset of round two. From the balcony overhead, Guy Antolini turned around to return to his office. He had seen all he needed to. His instincts had been dead-on.
Once again the men circled the ring. Carson, more cautious than before, knew he needed to take Drago to the mat. On their feet, Zadrovec was landing punches at will. When another right kick from Drago landed on his bruised calf, Carson changed levels and took them to the canvas, landing in Drago's full guard.
Drago clutched Carson's neck tightly and wrapped his legs up, allowing no separation between them, stopping Carson from being able to capitalize on his dominant position. Carson attempted to snake his arm around Drago's neck and under the shoulder, working toward a choke, but the Slovakian managed to repel his efforts while working his legs higher around Khaler's back. The move was an effort to set up a triangle choke, and Carson deftly repositioned himself to eliminate the threat. Henner, St. Clair, and the others began to shout out to the men caught in stalemate. With most of the advice being directed towards Carson, Grace determined to coach Zadrovec. Her voice, with its higher pitch, carried above the din as she calmly but quickly spoke her directions.
“Drago, keep the right arm trapped and slide your hips to that side...Good. Bring your left arm against his neck. Pressure! Pressure!”
Carson recovered Drago's hips expertly, undoing any progress he had made.
“Again!” Grace commanded.
She was pleased that he was taking her advice, so she ignored the fact that her cheeks were burning. She didn't coach fighters unless assigned to do so in the gym to avoid rumors of favoritism. Today, for the first time, she broke her own rule. Her mind raced, one moment ordering the next maneuver, the next hoping she was not humiliating the Slovak in assuming he would want her coaching.
“Stand up now, Drago,” she encouraged. “Watch for the knee on your up-step.”
Carson realized he could not keep the fight on the ground any longer and stood along with Drago. At
the shove-off, Drago slammed an uppercut into Carson's chin. He recoiled at the heavy-handed blow, immediately dropping to take Drago down again.
Though hurt as he was, Carson, Grace knew, would keep a cool head, methodically working to submit Zadrovec before the five minute round ended. With Carson having the upper hand on the ground, Grace called out her instructions in rapid succession. Drago followed her every word, but without Antolini jujitsu experience behind him, he struggled in the battle for position. Even though Carson now had control, Drago continued to strike from the bottom. The headgear absorbed the blows that would certainly be doing considerable damage in a real fight. When Carson managed at last to secure an arm bar, Drago fought to escape before submitting. Carson whooped at his victory, showboating around the ring, but Drago returned to his corner with the same calmness he had exhibited after his own earlier victory. As Jeremy iced his neck and offered water, Grace spoke quietly in Drago's ear.
“Do you want me continue in your corner?”
His head snapped around to look her in the eye.
“Very much,” he stated.
Grace immediately slipped into coaching mode. Still close to his ear, she went on.
“Take deep breaths. Keep this round standing as long as possible. Carson will look for the takedown early, so be prepared to sprawl. Get back on the lead leg with the calf kick, it's hurting him. Go for the high kick, but look for the body kick as well. And don't drop your hands when you throw the leg. Carson likes to step inside if he suspects a kick is coming, and he has real power.”
Drago nodded.
“Breathe,” she repeated as he rose for the third and final practice round.
Drago was satisfied. He had not expected to compete on the ground with Khaler so soon, but was encouraged that he had lasted nearly the entire five minutes before being submitted, even managing an escape. Antolini jujitsu was the next step in perfecting his technique, and he would learn all he could while here in preparation for his AMMAO debut. Grace's willingness to coach him through his ground game sparked a hope inside him he hadn't acknowledged in years.
Claiming The Prize Page 3
