Claiming The Prize

by Nadja Notariani

  “Zadrovec, Harrison weigh-ins are up next. Line up at the end of the hallway and wait for your entrance music.”

  The young man's voice faded as he disappeared out the door, his conversation with a co-worker slipping away as the door slowly closed behind him.

  Guy, the Friar, and Drago gathered in a huddle as Grace looked on. Words of affirmation were spoken before Guy's pronouncement of readiness broke the group's circle. This would be the fighters' first face to face meeting. Interviews played on television built the hype for the AMMAO event, and if you trusted in them, which Drago did not, it appeared Matt Harrison was confident of victory, just as his own interview portrayed.

  Derek Sloba, AMMAO president, welcomed the competitor onto the dais amid the wildly cheering fans. In Drago's case, an impressive section of Slovakian patriots waved flags and raised their cries, swelling pride in his chest as he passed. Shaking hands and exchanging greetings, Sloba asked, “How does it feel to be here today?”

  “It is a great honor for me to be here today. I thank you all for this large welcome,” he answered, sweeping his hand in the direction of his vocal supporters who roared their own response.

  Harrison fans waved signs and began chanting, “Harrison, Harrison...”

  Drago undressed, stripping down to his shorts and stepped onto the scale, which registered two hundred-four pounds. Camera flashes winked furiously before the beautiful, although barely covered, AMMAO girls escorted him to the side as Matt Harrison entered to deafening fanfare.

  Harrison was a cage veteran and a crowd favorite, and Drago knew he must achieve an overwhelming victory to establish himself as a front runner in the quest for a title match. He observed his opponent's entry, noting his interaction with team members and the crowd. Standing six-feet one-inch tall, he matched Drago in height and reach, and the scale showed him to be within a pound of the Slovak's weight. Flanked on either side by the beautiful ring girls, Harrison took his place opposite Drago, fists raised, fight face in place for the photo op. Drago, arms at his sides, was as still as stone. He wore no expression, his eyes boring through all before him. The wait, as blinding flashes exploded in the men's peripheral vision, passed, and Derek Sloba positioned himself in the middle of the pair.

  “Tomorrow night, you two will battle for the right to continue on toward the light-heavyweight world title. Good luck, gentlemen.”

  Drago reached out, and the men vigorously shook hands before turning in opposite directions to exit the raised platform. Fans eagerly awaited this time in hopes of gaining an autograph, handshake, or even an up close glimpse of a favorite competitor. The right hand side of the modest weigh in venue had to settle for newcomer Drago Zadrovec, which hardly affected their revelry. It was a full fifteen minutes before team Anto-Engage re-entered the warm-up room in high spirits. A workout was what Drago needed to channel his emotions, and he knew Guy would give him plenty of focus over the next hours.

  * * *

  The Wells Fargo Center in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, thrummed with excitement. Drago Zadrovec walked the path to the octagon staring straight ahead, his black eyes fixed on the looming cage where destiny awaited. AMMAO fans cheered as gloves, head, and body were checked before the thin coating of petroleum jelly, applied to minimize skin tears, was rubbed over his face. Drago heard the questions and instructions relayed, heard his own responses, but the stream of adrenaline pumping through his veins removed him from the situation. Entering the caged ring to the announcer's introduction, Drago heard only Guy Antolini and the Friar reaffirming the strategic fight plan.

  His had been a simple entrance, being new to the organization. Now, the lights blacked out momentarily before blazing anew as heavy metal music blared, signaling Harrison's appearance. Drago stood at the cage's side, watching as Matt Harrison traveled down the aisle, passing the fans who yelled out their encouragements before his opponent submitted to the same pre-fight inspection he had just been through. Time unfolded in slow motion as Matt Harrison climbed the steps into the cage, and Harrison ran the cage's edge and jumped on the metal sides, raising his arms to incite the crowd's enthusiasm further. The men were called to the center, receiving last minute instructions from the referee. Harrison, bouncing on his toes, lurched forward, his face contorted in pre-fight aggression, but Drago remained still, his eyes locked with his opponent's. Touching gloves, each man retreated to his corner, awaiting the ref's call.

  “Gentlemen, let's fight,” came the command.

  Gloves up, Drago moved forward.

  In the second row, Grace sat between Ike and St. Clair. Her stomach turned over and her muscles tensed at the familiar sign as the referee's arm dropped, commencing the first of three rounds. The next thirty seconds were torturous as Drago and Harrison circled, feeling one another out. Grace's experience in the gym would take over, she knew, once the first punches were thrown, and instinct would push worry away.

  Harrison hunted, his right arm poised to follow heavily after the jab he worked to set up. Drago evaded and circled counter-clockwise, then reversed. Unleashing a flurry, Matt Harrison slammed his fist into Drago's face. Grace flinched, and then her own adrenaline rush kicked in, and she willed Drago to counter. He did.

  As he took the punishment of Harrison's onslaught, Drago's training and athleticism took over. His mind knew only these aims - punish and defeat. He heard Guy's voice.

  “Let your hands go, Drago. Unleash the legs.”

  The sheer brutality of Drago's first strike was audible in the collective gasp of the crowd. Harrison staggered slightly as he retreated. Drago stalked him, offering no quarter and kicked Harrison's lead leg. It buckled. Pressing ahead, Drago ate another jab, but followed with his own punishing liver kick followed by a jab and uppercut. Harrison lunged in for a takedown, grasping for a leg, but Drago sprawled on top of him, throwing in an underhook and tossing his opponent across the mat. Like a predator closing in on its prey, the Slovak pounced, grabbing Harrison's head and slamming his knee into the exposed brow. A scramble ensued, and Harrison managed to regain his balance.

  Blood streamed down Harrison's face from the wide gash Drago's knee had opened on his forehead, and the veteran swung wildly, hoping to connect, to halt the damaging punches, but Drago eluded his fists while continuing to rain down devastating blows. Harrison never saw the left leg kick that dropped him to the canvas. The power of Drago's kick was felt by every spectator in the arena, and as Matt Harrison crumpled to the mat, Drago dropped over him, slamming his fist into Harrison's head ferociously until the referee covered the battered man's body with his own. Drago jumped to his feet, turned, and walked to his corner. He had achieved his goal.

  Ike and St. Clair were on their feet, as was each body in the arena, cheering wildly. Guy and the Friar rushed into the metal cage, hugging and lifting Drago in the wake of victory. Drago turned his head and found Grace's eyes immediately, his gaze searching hers for acceptance of the beast revealed within him. Knowing their future together hinged on her reaction, his eyes bore into hers, waiting for the singular sign he needed. She met his gaze unflinching and nodded as she linked arms with Ike and St. Clair, the trio raising their own cheer.

  Drago Zadrovec lifted his arms in victory. In less than three minutes, he had secured his first win in the AMMAO decisively. Guy quickly forced the navy, Anto-Engage t-shirt over Drago's head and gloved hands as the Friar toweled his face and poured a quick drink down his throat. The medical team assessed Harrison, and when he recovered enough to answer coherently, they were satisfied and escorted him out of the octagon. The ref shook hands with Guy, awaiting the official decision.

  Drago stood for photos, fists up, staring hard into the lenses. Not until after his victory by knockout was proclaimed in the ring's center did his face break into a smile. Derek Sloba congratulated Drago and announced the official grant of the coveted, five fight contract to the fans' applause and satisfied look of team Anto-Engage.

  The screens replayed the crushing final blows
and debilitating left leg kick as the AMMAO spokesman, Vance Anderson, narrated each move. At its conclusion he asked, “Can you tell me what was going on in your mind at that moment? Were you planning to throw that absolutely amazing kick before you saw Matt was in trouble?”

  Drago responded, “Of course, I will always look for the kick. Matt Harrison is a good opponent. I never would underestimate his skill. I knew I must wait for the right opening.”

  Vance continued, “Well, this was certainly an impressive victory for you tonight. Welcome to the AMMAO.”

  “Thank you. I am glad to have the opportunity to fight here, and I thank the fans. I would like to thank Guy Antolini, team Anto-Engage, and all at First Strike. I would also like to thank my team in Bratislava, Spar-Slava, and my sponsors. Their support and guidance has made this night possible for me.”

  “Congratulations! Ladies and gentlemen, Drago Zadrovec.”

  Drago waved, leaving the octagon. He had accomplished the first step on his journey to a world title. Exuberant fans cheered and reached to touch him as the team made their way out of the limelight. Drago did not notice the pain of his slightly swollen nose, nor the ache of his ribs. All he felt was elation. Five fights, he thought. Grace by his side. He was on top of the world.

  But would she remain so if he lost? He determined never to find out.

  * * *

  Back at the hotel's banquet hall, music filled the air. Dozens of bodies reveled on the dance floor under the synchronized light show, and the bar was surrounded. White swags of satin hung from portable frames, partitioning the tables near the dance floor from those outside it, and the bar outside the club was peopled by a slightly more subdued group.

  Drago took a deep breath before entering with Yves, Ike, and St. Clair. What he desired was a quiet night with Grace and maybe a small celebration with Guy and his team. But he accepted the necessity of his presence here. Training full time, maintaining his gym, paying his team and trainers, not to mention living and travel expenses took money, a lot of money. Coming off a win tonight would guarantee the interest of new sponsors as well as ensure continued support from current ones. As one introduction merged with the next, Drago kept one eye on the entrance, scanning the crowd for Grace. Anto had left after seeing Drago back to the dressing room and watching over his physical exam to accompany his daughter back to their rooms. Why was it taking them so long to arrive?

  Even in the climate controlled hall, the press of bodies created a sweltering heat. The black silk, V-neck shirt clung to his chiseled form, showcasing his physique, and the sight was not wasted on the women in Drago's vicinity. Red lips, carefully coiffed hair, and exposed cleavage converged on him from all sides. Ike and St. Clair were already on the dance floor. Only the Friar remained with him, keeping the onslaught from overwhelming him completely. Continuing to exchange pleasantries, Drago did his best to satisfy polite conversation without appearing rude. When Grace entered the ballroom the chatter around him faded into the recesses of his hearing, his senses distracted in drinking in the sight of her on her father's arm.

  Grace was smiling as her father, instantly besieged with congratulations, led her into the hall. Not able to see over the heads of the crowd, she gave up her perusal for Drago for the moment. Guy had advised them to tread carefully if they wanted any privacy concerning their engagement, but all she could think of was seeing him, being near him. The slide of the thin, gauzy material over her skin brought to mind the feel of his touch on her arms, and she shivered in spite of the heated air.

  Her dress was a mixture of orange and yellow hues, creating a soft watercolor effect on the fabric, and it complimented her tanned complexion. Sheer and feminine, the dress's petite, wispy sleeves covered only the tops of her shoulders, and the deep angle of its neckline bared the yellow-orange camisole beneath it. A wide belt encircled her tiny waist, and from there the material flowed down, stopping just above her knees, hinting at the curves of her hips and thighs, but not revealing their secrets. Open-toed, slingback heels the color of her belt added two inches to her height and called attention to her shapely calves.

  Guy conversed with Danny McGovern and his wife in the growing circle of business associates as Grace tried to look around once again for Drago. Disappointed at not locating him, she resigned herself to the conversation in front of her when she felt the weight of Drago's hand at the small of her back and breathed in his intoxicating scent. Icy heat radiated up her spine, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

  Stepping forward to stand at her side, Guy announced, “Ah, here he is!”

  Mac was the first to extend his hand in greeting, which Drago shook enthusiastically, never breaking contact with Grace's body.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Zadrovec!” the promoter exclaimed. “I know a few reps here that would be glad to talk business. Have Anto bring you by my office Monday. I'll make some introductions tonight, and we'll have a few offers to look at then.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Mac laughed.

  “I like him Anto! He sure doesn't say much.”

  Guy gave his half grin and nodded.

  Again, Mac chuckled.

  “No wonder you took to him. He's a chip off the old block. I didn't think they made them like that anymore.”

  The talk turned to more festive topics as longtime business associates enjoyed the party. Guy Antolini's eyes followed as Drago escorted Grace to get a drink, and he knew their engagement would not be a private affair for long. The man guarded Grace possessively as if they were on a dark street somewhere, he mused, sparking a grin on his face. Publicity, he could worry over, but he would not have to worry or wonder if his daughter was well loved.

  * * *

  The remaining two weeks passed in a blur. Meetings, photo shoots, and business lunches occupied most of Drago's time, leaving Grace to explore the city of Brotherly Love on her own. While never much for high fashion fads, Grace couldn't pass up an afternoon shopping at the famous King of Prussia Mall, returning in the evening exhausted but claiming victory at having secured much of her fall wardrobe and at traversing the acres of retail space. Neither could she ignore a luncheon held by Beth Ann DuFois to raise money and awareness for autism.

  Dressed in a pale coral linen skirt and white silk blouse, Grace was the picture of summer. White slip-on sandals stood out against her bronzed skin, and her dark hair was pinned atop her head in a loose twist showing off the delicate shells dangling from each earlobe, the combination of classic and casual styles hinting at the soft sweetness of her personality.

  Grace loved children and was eager to help Beth Ann succeed. It was the one area aside from martial arts in which Grace was open and outgoing without effort. She hoped to have children of her own one day, and her engagement heightened her expectations, adding a deeper dimension to their task of helping children.

  Beth Ann was tireless in her charity work, and Grace admired the woman. Her husband, Stephen, was nearing the close of his fighting career, and the couple was opening a new chapter in the world of philanthropy as the former one inched towards its conclusion. Kind and energetic, Beth Ann was easy to work with.

  Grace had studied all the information the woman had sent her as well as researched on her own in preparation for this event. Mingling with the many guests, she used every opportunity to steer countless conversations back to the topic of autism, helping afflicted families, research, and known data – and she accomplished it with a genuine charm that aided her efforts greatly. Turning to scan the crowd for groups she hadn't spoken with, Grace found herself in front of Savannah Jameson.

  “What a surprise!” Grace exclaimed. “I had no idea you were involved with autism awareness.”

  “I'm not, really,” the young woman answered honestly. “I'm glad I ran into you, Grace. Carson told me all about your little incident at the gym. I don't know why you didn't tell anyone, but thanks. Carson signed on with Antonio Paola, and we're engaged. We just want to start fresh at a new gym
. You know...”

  “I understand, Savannah. Congratulations. I wish you both the best.”

  Grace was stunned. She hadn't known about their engagement. She wondered how much of the truth he had told Savannah. After the way Carson had acted, and knowing about his positive drug screen, Grace was uneasy. She hoped that it really was a fresh start Carson was looking for.

  Savannah smiled, lifting her hand to show off the two-carat diamond solitaire Carson had bought her, but Grace sensed something was not quite right behind the display.

  “It's beautiful,” Grace commented.

  Concern for the woman before her must have shown on her face because Savannah attempted to smile harder, if that were possible.

  “Well, thanks,” Savannah said flippantly. “Look, Grace, I don't know anything about 'true love happiness' or any bullshit like that. Carson and I have a good time together. We're alike.”

  Suddenly, Savannah threw her head back and giggled, hugging Grace as if they were old classmates sharing a juicy secret before flitting off.

  Grace was left not knowing what to think of the woman's bizarre behavior. Her eyes were now alert for any sign of Carson. After her encounter with Savannah, Grace was certain he was there. She did not want to run into him.

  Drago and other fighters were gathered in front of Pascale's Bistro signing shirts and posters for the young autistic boys after the promo photos. Family members thanked the athletes for their time and for the joy it brought their sons to meet them. When his gaze found Carson Khaler among the participants, bile rose in Drago's throat with disgust for the man. Carson looked away when their eyes met, but not before understanding the unspoken warning to stay away from Grace. It was unnecessary.

  Carson was obsessed with Savannah, for he had found the one woman who beat him at his own game. Even when he proposed to her – the one thing he was certain would bring her under his hand somewhat – Savannah had laughed in his face and tossed the costly diamond ring over her shoulder without a backward glance. That she then proceeded to shove him back on their sofa and suck him to the brink of exploding into her mouth over and over until he begged for release left Carson not only unsure of her feelings, but brought him further under her power. For she had never agreed to marry him, truth be told. In the night, he had found the cast off ring and placed it on her finger. She hadn't yet taken it off, which was the only reason he had any hope. No, he thought, the Slovak had no worries from him. He dismissed all thoughts but Savannah, and wondering what color panties he would find under her dress, if any, Carson went in search of her.