KAGE (KAGE Trilogy #1)

by Maris Black

  “Okay,” I sniffed, wiping the tears away with the back of my hand.

  “Really, it’s fine, son. The doctors say it will be fine, and I believe them. They can work wonders with plastic surgery these days. It’s not like it was in your grandma’s day.”

  “I love you, Mom,” I blubbered. “I’m sorry.”

  “Shhh, baby. Nothing to worry about. Go take care of your love life and forget about this. It’s nothing but a blip on the radar of life.”

  SUNDAY morning, Kage started having my meals sent up. Talk about spoiling me. I was getting chicken, fish, seafood, fresh vegetables, and brown rice delivered to my door like clockwork. Possibly the coolest part was knowing that he was ordering two of everything, and that I always knew exactly when and what he was eating even though we weren’t in the same room. We were sharing a diet.

  By Monday, he’d even started making pre-workout shakes for me with creatine and protein to give me energy and build muscle.

  We settled quickly into a routine. We shared morning workouts, then I observed and took pictures. I started using the machines some while he trained. After lunch, I would go to the office to work in my little cubicle. Kage had failed to find me an office, but I assured him that I was fine in the cubicle, and that I wasn’t blasting any sensitive information around the office. One day I tried to work in my room, but I found I needed the office setting to keep me motivated and feeling legit. However, I did go to my room to make business calls or to talk to Dr. Washburn. Not only did it feel uncomfortable talking out in the quiet office, but Kage was right. There were certain things those people didn’t need to hear.

  I especially felt skittish about revealing anything to Catwoman Cathy or Mark Gladstone. They were altogether too nosy, giving me the third degree every time I walked through the door. They always wanted to know how Kage and I were getting along, and I always told them as little as possible. It was weird. I always wondered what they could possibly get out of know all of my business, but after a while I figured out that it was probably just the thrill of gossip that drove them. No doubt they discussed everything I told them amongst themselves and with anyone else who would stand still long enough to listen.

  It got to the point I felt like I was being felt up every time I entered the office. I know that sounds icky, but that’s how it felt.

  Mark Gladstone still tried to chat me up in private, like we were buddies or something. I was polite, but I tried to limit our conversations with excuses and sudden bathroom urges. He thought he was God’s gift to the universe, but he definitely wasn’t the kind of guy I could ever consider a friend. If it hadn’t been for needing to feel like a real professional, I would have stopped going into the office altogether.

  On Tuesday afternoon, I’d used some of the photos I’d taken to create a press packet. Well, really it was a glorified flyer, but I used every ounce of creativity I had in me to make it appealing. I painted Kage to be this infamous underground fighter who was on the verge of becoming a superstar. It wasn’t true exactly, more like a forward-looking statement, but it was based on fact.

  Through snippets of conversations and a few comments Kage had made directly to me, I’d pieced together a picture of what was really going on in the Michael Kage camp. To be honest, I’d almost begun to believe he was just a rich guy with a hobby— that he’d probably never even been in a real fight. But the truth was more dramatic and bizarre than a publicist could have hoped for.

  Kage had been training to be a fighter all his life, since he was around four years old. It’s all he ever wanted to do. I wasn’t clear on the specifics of how his uncle ended up being his guardian, or where his parents had gotten off to. But I did know that his uncle was just as serious as Kage about him getting a UFC contract and becoming a champion. He’d poured a lot of money into Kage’s training, and then when he felt Kage was ready, he did the unthinkable.

  He offered a reward to anyone who thought they could beat his nephew in a private MMA fight to the finish. The fights were broken up into typical three-minute rounds, but the difference was, there were no judges. The fight could only end with a submission, a KO or TKO, or a forfeit. Originally, the prize offered was ten-thousand dollars. Big bucks for a struggling lower-level fighter. But as Kage began to require stiffer competition, the amount went up.

  By the time I came to the Alcazar, the prize for defeating Michael Kage was one-hundred-thousand dollars.

  It was as yet unclaimed.

  Now technically this was a rumor, or a legend if you will, because I had seen no real evidence that Kage had ever participated in a fight other than his sparring practice with Marco. But I believed it, just as I was coming to believe that Kage could walk on water or make a blind man see.

  So I used the legend to our advantage on the flyers. I sent them to three large gyms within driving distance of Vegas announcing that this mysterious undefeated fighter would be in their area soon if they’d like to have him stop by. I didn’t attempt to charge for appearances. In my mind, this was just a way to get Kage used to the exposure while getting the word out about him. People associated with the MMA world needed to know the name of Michael Kage.

  I didn’t know what kind of response to expect, but I was thrilled when one of them called on Friday to book him.

  “What did you do that for?” Kage asked when I told him what I’d done. “Am I gonna have to miss two workout days for that?”

  “Yes. But it’s a good idea. It’s just one appearance, but we need to get used to this kind of thing, Kage. One of these days, people are going to be dying to get you in their gym. Think of it as a trial run.”

  He nodded. “Okay, I just don’t know what to expect. Do other guys do this?”

  “I think so,” I told him. “I’m pretty sure they do.”

  He laughed and ruffled my hair. “Me and my rookie publicist. Alright, if you want me to do it, I’ll do it. It could be fun to take a road trip.”

  I didn’t tell him, but I thought a road trip sounded fantastic. “Do we need to rent a car?”

  “Actually, I have a car,” he told me. “It’s in the parking garage. I just hardly ever drive it.”

  I gave him a skeptical look.

  “Don’t worry. I’m a great driver. If I hadn’t gone into fighting, I probably would have been a race car driver.”

  “Oh, that’s reassuring.”

  10

  THE anticipation of our road trip was killing me. Before, I’d been sweating the actual appearance and trying to pretend I wasn’t a stupid college kid from Stone Mountain, Georgia. But now that the trip was imminent, I was more worried about all of the time Kage and I would spend closed up in a car together. Plus, Kage had suggested that we get a hotel room the night of the appearance and drive back home the next day.

  I was preoccupied all week, and it showed in my workouts.

  “Focus,” Marco would bark at me. “If I’m going to be training you, the least you can do is give me a hundred percent. That’s what I’m giving you.”

  Kage would just smile or wink at me when I’d get into trouble with Marco, but he never interfered.

  They had started teaching me punches and kicks, and I was trying to perfect my form. Sometimes I took Marco’s place as Kage’s punching bag, but I got the distinct feeling he was going a lot easier on me than he did Marco. Which was probably a good thing. I probably would have ended up in the hospital like Davi Matos if Kage had opened up on me one good time.

  After Tuesday’s practice, three days before our scheduled appearance, we stayed in the gym after Marco had left.

  “I want to learn some submissions,” I said after the door closed behind Marco. I knew Kage was worn out, and it might not be the best time for a lesson, but I didn’t want Marco to be around when I was trying to learn too serious or dangerous. The instructor had this way of looking at me like I wasn’t shit. Like he didn’t think I deserved to breathe the same air as Michael Kage.

  Maybe I didn’t.

  Tha
nk goodness Kage didn’t seem to share that opinion. He doted on me, took the time to make sure I was comfortable and that I understood things. I didn’t know why he did it or what exactly he saw in me, but I was grateful.

  Even as tired as he was, worn out from hours of hardcore drills that would put a lesser man in the emergency room, Kage smiled that indulgent smile and held out a hand for me. I placed my hand in his and quickly found myself spun around with my back pressed up against his front, his arm like a steel band around my throat.

  “Triangle choke,” he said. “Now I drop the other arm in behind your neck, grab onto my bicep to lock my arms in place, and I’ve got you in a vice. Just try to get free.”

  I struggled, succeeding only at making the arm around my neck tighten. It didn’t surprise me that I couldn’t muscle out of the death grip of a professionally trained MMA fighter, but it did surprise me to discover I was ashamed of that fact. Logic assured me that I should not be able to escape, but pride said I wasn’t much of a man if I couldn’t. How must it feel for a seasoned professional fighter to get caught in such a grip and be unable to escape, knowing that defeat was only seconds away? Was it humiliating for them, or were they hardened to failure? Did they have a more realistic attitude, or were they slaves to pride just like I was?

  “Struggle, Jamie.” Kage leaned from side to side just enough to goad me into action. “Use your hands and your fingers. Try to claw your way out. I want you to feel how effective this hold is.”

  I wiggled and clawed, but to no avail. “Can’t,” I choked out in a strangled voice. “No way.” He wasn’t hurting me, but he was dominating me for sure.

  Finally, Kage let me go and turned me around to face him. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The concern in his eyes was real, and it made me feel safe.

  “No, I’m fine.” I rubbed absently at the side of my neck, feeling the film of sweat he had transferred from his arm to my throat.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Show me some more. I want to learn.”

  “Okay. How about you try that move on me?” Kage turned his back toward me and showed great patience as I executed a ham-handed triangle choke on him, moving through the steps slowly and hesitantly, like a kid learning to tie his shoe. He indulged me by spreading his legs and bending his knees, striking a horse stance so I didn’t have to stand on tip-toe to reach him. “Very good,” he lied smoothly. “You’re a natural. Now let’s take it down to the mat, and I’ll teach you a couple of armbar variations.”

  We rolled around on the mat for a few long minutes as I attempted to mimic Kage’s armbar maneuvers. The guy made everything look so easy, it was surprising how difficult it was to actually attempt them myself. Several times, I nodded and assured him that I had a sequence of motions down, only to discover I actually had no clue what I was doing. It was excruciatingly embarrassing, and I decided this would probably be the last time I asked Kage to show me any moves.

  Maybe a trivia night was in order, or an online IQ test showdown. Anything to show my own worth after this crash course in humility.

  “How do you know when to do these things on someone?” I asked. “I can see how a person could memorize the moves and execute them on command in practice, but in a real fight your opponent isn’t going to get into the perfect position and just let you armbar him.”

  “You’re right about that.” Kage laughed. “He’s not going to let you get away with anything if he can help it. The key is drilling these things over and over again in practice to the point that you feel it when the setup is right. Sometimes you don’t even have to think about it. Your body knows it’s time to get the bastard into an armbar, and it does it without any help from your brain.”

  “Muscle memory, right?” I asked, marveling that I’d actually gotten the chance to use a piece of information that I already knew.

  “Exactly. Your mind may not know what to do, or even have time to process what’s going on in a fight. But if you’ve trained right, your body will know. Which is a beautiful thing if you’re like me, because my brain turns off as soon as the fight begins and doesn’t turn back on until an hour or two later.”

  “I’ll never get to that point.” I frowned, surprised that I even cared. “This job is going to be over in a couple of months, and it’ll be back to school for me. I’ll be lucky if I can even retain a quarter of what you and Marco have shown me.”

  Kage didn’t comment on that. Instead, he leaned back onto his hands and spread his legs into a vee. Then he patted the mat between his legs.

  I tried to follow his unspoken order, crawling up between his legs and turning in a confused circle like a dog trying to settle into a bed. Finally I got turned in the right direction, and Kage pulled me down into a seated position, my back pressed to his chest.

  He put his powerful legs around my waist. Then he draped his left arm over my left shoulder, slid his right hand under my right arm, and grabbed onto his left wrist, securing his arms diagonally across my chest.

  “This is the rear mount position,” he said. “And what I’m doing with my arms is called the over-under grip. Some people call it the seatbelt grip.”

  I didn’t figure I’d forget the seatbelt grip any time soon, because the name actually described the position perfectly. But then he changed positions suddenly, and his left arm was around my throat again, just like in the triangle choke we had worked on. He didn’t squeeze, though.

  “I’m going to show you how to do a Rear Naked Choke.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” He loosened his grip slightly.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that every time I hear Rear Naked Choke… Well, it just sounds dirty.”

  “You just have a filthy fucking mind,” he teased.

  I made a sound of protest. “You’ve gotta admit it sounds dirty.”

  “Nah,” he said, his voice low and seductive right beside my ear. “It’s only dirty if you do this.”

  He dropped his right hand onto my thigh and ran his fingers deliberately up under the fabric of my shorts. His fingertips caressed the front of my underwear, skimming over my dick, and my entire body tensed.

  But just as quickly as it had happened, it was over, and Kage was laughing quietly at my ear. The warmth of his breath on my cheek added to the chill that was spreading over my entire body, and I tried to ignore the tightening in my groin and the fact that I was getting hard. I struggled to get away, terrified that he’d discover my reaction, but he tightened his arm around my neck just enough to calm me back down.

  Then he was back to the business of showing me how to properly execute the submission, as if he hadn’t just touched my dick. As if he hadn’t made me hard. I couldn’t focus on what he was saying. My mind was blown, and all it could do was replay the memory of that quick caress over and over.

  “And this is how you finish it,” Kage was saying, still against my ear, still in that same low tone that sounded almost seductive. He slid his right arm behind my head and secured it in the same way he had the Triangle Choke. “Do you want me to choke you out?”

  He made it sound like a treat, like something you might sell your soul for. Then again, maybe I was just perceiving it that way. Except for the offhand grope, Kage been nothing but professional. I was the one who was affected— the one having unprofessional thoughts. He’d accidentally brushed my package during a joke, and I was freaking out.

  “Um… Is it safe to choke someone out?” I heard myself asking.

  “Not if you don’t know what you’re doing,” he admitted. “But when it comes to something like this, you couldn’t be in better hands.”

  And after today, I’ll never think of those hands the same way again.

  He hesitated. “If you don’t feel comfortable, it’s no big deal. I just thought you might be curious about what it feels like. You’d be surprised how many people have asked me if I would choke them out.”

  “Really? People actually ask fo
r that?”

  “Yeah. But if you don’t want it…” He started to ease his hold on me.

  “Do it,” I blurted before I could change my mind. Because I was curious. And because I didn’t want him to let go of me.

  He tightened his grip on me again, putting gentle pressure not on my windpipe, but on the arteries to either side of it. I felt the damming of the blood flow there, and that same pressure I always got in my face when I strained way too hard to lift weights. The last thing I remember was a tingling sensation in my brain, like a thousand fireworks bursting in slow motion, and Kage whispering in my ear. “It’s okay, Jamie. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  The next thing I knew, I was lying on my back, looking straight up into Kage’s handsome face as the world came swimming back into focus. Only it seemed like I’d been watching him for a while, listening to the soft droning of his voice. How long had I been back?

  “Hey, chief.” He smoothed my hair back from my forehead. “How are you feeling? That shit is wild, huh?”

  Wild, indeed.

  It felt like I’d just been reborn into the world. How long had it been since Kage had whispered that he wouldn’t hurt me? For all I knew, it could have been years. It seemed like years.

  “How long was I gone?” I asked.

  He smiled down at me. “Only a few seconds.”

  “Are you serious?” I sat up too fast, nearly clashing my head into his. The world wavered, and I was reminded of that overwhelming brain tingle I’d felt just before losing consciousness. “It felt like so long. I think I was dreaming.”

  “Oh, yeah? What did you dream about?”

  “You.” His eyebrows shot up, and I hurried to continue. “You and I were in this post-apocalyptic world, and we were trying to get away from zombies. This girl came to our house and tried to get us to let her in, and I was gonna open the door, but you stopped me and told me she’d been bitten. Somehow you knew. And then we had to go out on a late-night food run, and we ended up in the cafeteria of my old school, and all we could find was whole kernel corn, green beans, and corn dogs. You said the corn dogs were too fattening, so we didn’t get them. And you’d only let me get skim milk.”