St. Clair filled Delilah and Rosemary in on the source of their amusement.
“Our young trainee forgot to put in his mouth-guard once. Once. He'll never forget that again, I'll tell you! When he and Tommy started sparring, Tommy kicked him straight on, and Jeremy's eye tooth went flying out of his mouth like a Life-Saver! And the funny part is, he didn't even know it for a minute!”
Ike tried to do damage control with the wide-eyed women, who sat in wonder at the men's wild laughter over such a brutal thing.
“We took him to the dentist. After we stopped laughing enough to be able to drive. Old Dr. Kennedy put that tooth back in, good as new!”
A few fights later, Tommy Moore submitted his opponent in the second round easily. Guy Antolini and team Anto-Engage had accomplished their goals.
The main card was just beginning, but Grace turned to Drago and simply stated that she was ready to go whenever he was. Many congratulations were to be accepted, however, before they could make their exit. Drago and Grace made a stunning pair, and many women took notice of the tall, imposing man with Grace Antolini. Clad in jeans and a black dress shirt over a white t-shirt, Drago Zadrovec was a picture of raw masculinity, muscled yet trim. Not a few admirers took the opportunity afforded by Grace's many conversations on her way to the door to get an introduction to the Slovakian fighter.
Carson was among the revelers of this particular night, sporting a tiny brunette on his arm. But he kept his distance, not ready to reveal his animosity in such company.
“Come on, baby. Let's get out of here for a little while,” he suggested, flashing his signature pretty-boy smile, knowing she'd do whatever he wanted in the hopes of further attachment.
His hope was that she wouldn't disappoint.
* * *
Drago and Grace returned to First Strike. Grace wanted to ensure the cleaning crew had finished up and to lock the building herself. However, once there, she decided to work off the pent up energy watching the fights had generated. Drago drilled footwork in the sparring cage, repeating the steps that would control Matt Harrison's movement when they met, but his mind was preoccupied with Grace. Within the hour, Drago gave in to his distraction. He found her working kicks on the heavy bag, the sexy, feminine frills of earlier discarded in favor of her favorite leggings and compression shirt. Being near her slaked his need, and after watching awhile he moved to finish up for the night. He wanted to share a quiet hour or two with her before returning to the lonely guest house.
“I'm heading to the steam room, if you need me.”
“Okay. I'll go a bit more while you're in there.”
“I will not take long, milenka.”
And he retreated to the locker.
Grace's goal was to circle the bag while also moving in and out to set up her kicks. Target spots, the most effective strike zones and therefore the most desired areas to be able to land a kick, were marked on the bag. Grace returned to her task with vigor, for her workouts cleared her mind. Between the busyness of the fight schedules, the suspension of Carson, and the intensity of her feelings for Drago, she found herself adding workouts quite often lately.
* * *
“That's nice, baby,” Carson purred.
He was relaxed in the driver's seat of his car, the seat fully back and partially reclined. The cute brunette knelt between his legs sucking on his cock, doing, in his opinion, at least an average job, enough to make him come, which was his goal. She was a pretty girl, he thought as he watched her lips run his length, and when he focused on the top of her dark head, especially in the unlit interior of his car, he could imagine it was Grace's mouth on him. That thought, coupled with the vigorous stimulation he was receiving, brought Carson to the edge of his control, and without warning he cursed and filled her mouth. She finished, and Carson closed up his pants.
“Where do you wanna go, honey?” he asked with a smile.
“Wherever,” she replied, smiling up at him. “It doesn't matter to me.”
Carson enlightened her, “Ah, you don't understand, baby. We're not going anywhere. I'm asking where you want me to drop you off.”
“What?” she exclaimed. “That's it? You got your dick sucked, so it's thanks, now get out?”
“Uh, yeah, something like that,” Carson laughed arrogantly. “But don't be upset, baby. Leave your number. I'll give you a call sometime.”
Collecting her jacket and bag, she exited the car in Dirk's parking lot. Before slamming the door she muttered, “Asshole.”
Carson smirked, squealing tire as he tore out of the lot. He thought it was time to visit Grace Antolini.
Speeding down the highway toward the Antolini compound, Carson's eyes caught light in the windows of First Strike, and he slowed to take a look. The only car in front was Grace's. Pulling around to the back lot, he grabbed his keys to the gym, smug at his good fortune, and slipped quietly in the back door. The men's locker was quiet, and Carson smiled at the thought that the Slovak was not around to interfere. It seemed his time with Grace was going to be uninterrupted.
Rounding the corner into the open gym floor, he heard the sound of flesh slapping the heavy bag and the accompanying hissing out-rush of breath as each kick was thrown. Grace moved fluidly as he remained in the shadows, watching her before coming up behind her.
“Hello sunshine,” Carson spoke into the quiet.
Grace jumped in surprise.
“Carson? What are you doing here?”
“Are you glad to see me?” he asked derisively.
Grace ceased her activity, staring at him, an uneasy feeling spreading through her middle.
“Carson, what are you doing here?” she repeated.
“I came to see my best girl.”
A smile spread across his mouth, never touching his eyes.
“But you've been playing a game with me, haven't you?”
He closed the space between them as he spoke.
Grace backed toward the wall warily.
“What are you talking about? Have you been drinking, Carson?”
Grace hit the padded wall.
“A bit,” he said, now directly in front of her.
He slammed his hands against the wall on either side of her head, the smile gone.
Grace flinched in shock, frightened by his behavior.
“Are you fucking him yet?” He hit the wall again. “Answer me!”
He grabbed her by the tops of her arms and shook her. The initial shock passed, and anger welled inside Grace alongside her terror.
“Take your hands off me!” she demanded, jerking her arms away from his grip. “What do you think you're doing?”
Her voice was raised, and she prayed Drago would hear her. Her mind raced. If he was still in the sauna, he may not be able to hear any of this, she thought desperately, but Carson's presence meant that he must not be aware that Drago was also there. Her reasoning sparked hope in her mind.
Carson's hands dropped and a sneer marred his face.
“You've acted the part of the little innocent the last two years only to make a fool of yourself with that foreigner. When he's done with you, you'll realize you chose the wrong guy to whore for.”
Grace was no longer listening, for Drago was headed toward them, and Grace had never been more relieved at his presence. His face a cool mask of indifference as he stalked silently across the gym's floor, Drago grabbed Carson by the throat, backing a stunned Khaler toward the doors.
“I told you once to have respect concerning Grace. Your business here is finished.”
Carson tore at Drago's arm in an attempt to loosen the iron grip which cut off his breath without success. His forced retreat ended as he slammed against the entrance doors. Air rushed into his lungs in gasps as Drago released his hold.
“Leave and do not return.”
Drago stood, arms now at his sides as Carson struggled to regain his breath and clutched at his neck. The steady gaze of the Slovak fixed its absolute emptiness upon him, and for the first
time in his life Carson Khaler knew fear. Men showed anger in their eyes, and rage could be matched, but the black void in the eyes that held his spoke of a hidden brutality that, if unleashed, would destroy any object in its path without remorse. With this new realization, Carson stumbled out into the inky darkness, thinking only of escaping the grasp of terror the black eyes of Zadrovec had induced.
Drago knew the instant Carson comprehended his unspoken message, just as he had known he would have to deliver it. As he watched the man hurry to his car, Drago regained himself and returned to Grace, who still stood frozen against the padded wall. With deliberate care he examined her person, unable to speak until finding her uninjured or marked.
“It's over. You're alright,” he reassured, pulling her into his arms.
“If you hadn't heard me...,” her voice trailed off a moment. “If I'd been here alone...”
Drago would not face those unspoken possibilities now.
“I did hear. You are not alone.”
He said the words as much for himself as for her.
Grace shivered within his embrace. Burying her face in his chest, she relinquished the tears that brimmed over. Thanking God for His providence and for the man before her, she forced away her shock and fear.
“I'd like to go home,” she whispered tiredly.
* * *
The comfort of home lessened the melancholy of Grace's mood. Drago settled in front of the gas fireplace while she went up to shower. Her bravado was commendable, but she placed him in an untenable situation, requesting that they tell no one of what had happened this night. He had not yet agreed and now considered her reasoning in the stillness of solitude, broken only by the wailing wind outside.
Carson would not attempt to approach Grace again, of this he was certain. Still, he would not relax his vigilant eye, for he was not a man to tempt fate. Grace was concerned for her father, believing that he would blame himself for the incident, having tolerated Khaler for so long. Guy would not forgive himself for leaving her, and she could not bear the thought of watching her father suffer. Reasoning that Drago had handled the situation, she had asked him to spare her father the grief that his knowing would surely cause.
How could he deny her? He loved her. Carson would escape with what little reputation he had left because of Grace's love for her father. He admired her willingness to be wronged without seeking revenge. He also filled with disgust at the recollection of Carson's insult against Grace's character and his own motives.
The faint creaking of the stairs roused him from his thoughts. Clad in winter white thermals under a matching knit wrap, Grace padded to the kitchen. Minutes later, she appeared with mugs of chamomile tea, offering one to him with a smile. Taking it from her tiny hand, Drago sat back against the cushion.
“I will do as you ask.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
* * *
Carson Khaler sought Savannah Jameson, his path to destruction not nearly complete. He thought not of his career. He railed against the truth of the man he was becoming. He wanted only the escape from reality he would enjoy, riding his high while riding her body, never fathoming the depths to which his descent would take him, nor the cost he would ultimately pay. He needed to silence the accusations his mind tormented him with, and he knew Savannah would have the cure to his problem. That was reason enough for Carson tonight.
Chapter 7
Guy and the Friar returned with a triumphant Moore and Henner, and First Strike fell into familiar patterns again. Drago surrendered to his training, continuing his pilgrimage toward the nirvana of excellence measured not by steps, but in sweat and pain. Day by day his body obeyed more fully, Antolini jujitsu became an extension of himself, and instinct converged with knowledge. Sundays were the only reprieve from the consuming schedule, and those precious hours with Grace were an anchor in the sea of endless struggle to master his mind and body. In spite of the steep price, Drago thrived.
A week before Drago's upcoming fight, the inner circle of team Anto-Engage surrounded the conference room table. Guy, in his customary chair, sat with hands folded.
“Saint, any last minute observations or concerns with Zadrovec's striking or cardio?”
St. Clair broke into a grin.
“Anto, if there is one time I don't have a concern, it's for this fight. Drago has exceeded my expectations. He's quick, and he sees angles before I have to speak. He moves well, and his cardio is strong. He's also got a pretty good chin. The videos speak for themselves. Will he perform in the cage under pressure? I don't doubt it.”
“All right,” Guy answered. His gaze followed to Allen Eisenhower. “What's your assessment, Ike?”
He waited for the report, hands in the same position throughout. Apart from the telling creak of the ancient chair he insisted on sitting in, he seemed not to move.
“He's a decent wrestler. He'll hold his own. Any lack in perfection of technique is compensated by the fact that he has great hips.”
Yves continued the thought.
“I agree. He's got good body awareness, and that translates well in grappling and submission attempts. Let's face facts; he's powerful, Anto. I don't think Harrison will have the strength to hold him. The weakness is in his submission defense, primarily against the arm bar or ankle lock. We've worked a great deal on it. He's as ready as he can be.”
The six members sat awaiting Guy's input. A moment later he began nodding his assent, and the hint of a wiry grin appeared.
“We'll have a victory. I'm predicting a first round knockout via the left leg. I can feel it in my bones. We'll spend the morning going over the fight strategy and plan. Have the video session ready to review during the morning break.” Guy Antolini wiped the grin from his face. “I hear Khaler has signed with Antonio Paola...”
Ike scoffed, “That boy's making one bad decision after another. Paola doesn't have anything to offer him! What in the hell is Carson thinking?”
“He's not thinking, Ike,” the Friar added. “I know he wasn't happy after you laid into him, Anto, but I'm surprised he would make such a drastic move over it.”
“Has anyone heard from him?” Guy asked. “He hasn't even come in to clear out his locker.”
No one spoke up, so the matter was dropped.
Grace had not commented throughout the meeting, and as Guy drove the winding road toward home, he addressed her.
“Gracie, you remember I warned you away from becoming involved with a fighter?”
Her father's words hung in the air between them. Spring had come and gone, the thick of summer now in full bloom. The air conditioner blew its cool stream of air against Grace's skin. She wished it would carry her father's words away.
“I remember.”
“I thought it would protect you from the uncertainty of the life,” he continued, “But you love him, I know.”
Grace waited to exhale. She was pent up with agitation. The days leading up to this fight dragged beneath her excitement and anticipation, yet sped toward the day that Drago would have to return to Bratislava, away from her. What could she say to her father? She had ignored his wise advice and now suffered. Her heart belonged to Drago Zadrovec.
“I do, Anto.”
“Gracie girl, I've come to realize that life is uncertain. It wouldn't be any less so if you loved a banker or a carpenter. You chose well. Now let go and trust God, Gracie. Things will work out as they should.”
She did not answer her father, but leaned her head on his shoulder, comforted by his steady presence. His support meant the world to her, and his direction to trust in God was a powerful reminder. She was not in control, God was. She would hope for victory, she would follow her heart, but it was not her victory to give. Peace crept into her soul, edging out the questions that swam in her thoughts. Offering her hopes and dreams, her desires and fears in her prayers, quietness resounded within her but for the small, still voice speaking in her heart.
Lay down your cares and wait upon the
Lord.
She slept contentedly that night.
* * *
The final days before the fight were charged with excitement. First Strike business went on, but all were aware of the countdown to Saturday night. Two men remained untouched by the nervous energy in the gym, Guy and Drago. The pair worked side by side, their unspoken bond solidified. The afternoon before their departure for Philadelphia, Guy called Drago to his office.
“Come in.”
Drago took the seat across the desk from Guy, awaiting a strategy session or trip itinerary. He had something to discuss with Guy and would now have the perfect opportunity after they concluded business. No one would interrupt them in Guy's office.
“You're prepared for this fight, now go home and relax. We'll leave tomorrow afternoon for Philly and check into our rooms. You'll weigh in the next morning, and we'll work two sessions in during the day. Saturday we'll have a light session, then strategy, and we'll begin warm-ups a few hours before the fight in short bursts.”
“This is a good plan,” Drago agreed.
“How do you feel mentally?” Guy asked.
“Very well. I know what I must do, and I have trained to carry it out.”
“You're on weight and your hydration levels are good.” Guy closed the folder and rested his arms on the desk briefly before removing his glasses. “But you know all this already.”
Drago remained seated.
“I have purchased a ring, Guy.”
He paused to gauge the reaction his words would evoke.
The older man looked down at the battered desktop and breathed deeply.
“I expected as much,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “You'll talk to her before we leave tomorrow?”
Drago nodded.
“I don't want to clutter up your head before a fight, Zadrovec. There are things to discuss, but it's your call here. Now, or after Saturday?”
“I would not have spoken to you if I believed it would hinder my focus.”
Guy appreciated Drago's calm and frank manner.
“Grace is my most valuable contribution to this world. All I've done, my business, everything, is less important than family. By marrying my daughter you become a part of my family. Don't ever forget what's important, Drago. This life can be the fulfillment of your dreams; you will succeed. But success and fame fade. In the end, it's family that remains.”
Claiming The Prize Page 7
