by Mandi Beck
I love how pissed these guys get, like it’s gonna fucking matter one way or another once we get in the cage. Heading off the stage, I hear someone calling my name, a female someone, a not-Frankie female someone, so I ignore it and keep moving. Once we hit the bottom step where Sonny, Pop, and Reggie are waiting, I look to where Guy and Frankie had been sitting. They’re talking with Derek, Trent standing close by, so I turn my attention to my brothers and dad.
“I’m heading over to the press room now to go over the questions a final time. I’ll see you in there in five minutes, Deacon.” Mav turns and walks off toward the front of the convention center.
“Pop and I are going to talk to Derek, and then we’ll meet you in there,” Sonny says raising his hand for a high-five.
Signaling for my brother to go on without him, he starts in on me, “Now, Deac, the questions are bound to get personal no matter how well Mav does fielding them. You took time out during the middle of a season—people want to know why. It’s not their business. Try to keep your cool and stick with the answers that you and your brother went over, okay?” Cupping the back of my neck, he gives me a stern look. “That shirt is not cute either, you fucking hooligan.”
Smirking at my dad, I try not to laugh.
“‘Hooligan,’ Pop, really?”
He shakes his head like he’s exasperated with me, although we both know he expects nothing less, and leaves to join the conversation with Derek who is still speaking with Guy and the Princess. I love how she’s so comfortable in my world. I know it’s because of her dad, but still, it makes me happy and life a little bit easier. I look over at Reggie to tell him that we’re heading out when I feel a small hand on my back. Looking over my shoulder, I groan inwardly. Fuck me. No good can come of this shit.
“Hey, D. I’m so glad that you’re back. I’ve missed you. Not sure if Veronica is here tonight, but we could call her—or not,” Sylvia says in what she must consider her seductive voice, running her talon-like fingernails over my arm and curling them around my bicep.
Cringing, I pull my arm out of her grasp. Not only is she a friend of Veronica’s, she’s also a friend who doesn’t mind sharing, and the three of us have shared a few times.
“Not gonna happen, Sylvia. No fucking way.” As I turn to walk away, I’m stopped dead in my tracks when I see Frankie standing right behind me.
“Oh my God, what are you doing here? I thought you were like dead or something.”
Snapping my head in Sylvia’s direction, I can only stare at her in fucking amazement. Did she seriously just say that shit? Before I can even recover from my shock, Frankie blows out a deep breath.
“Charming,” she says in a bored tone, rolling her eyes. Dismissing Sylvia she focuses on me. “You ready to go, Deac, or do you want me to head in with Reggie?” I can hear the edge in her voice, the hint of pissed off simmering just below the surface. My girl is jealous. Fuck, that’s hot.
“Ummm, we were talking, Franny,” Sylvia says nastily.
“It’s ‘Frankie,’ and why don’t you do us all a favor and go put some clothes on?”
She’s looking at me expectantly for an answer, but I can’t even remember the question.
I’ve seen Frankie get into a couple catfights before—talk about hot—but this, this is because she’s jealous. Over me. I’m hard; I can’t help it.
“Don’t be jealous—I’m sure you’ll grow a pair like these someday too,” Sylvia says, cupping her barely covered and very paid-for tits.
Scoffing, Frankie flicks an icy gaze at her in amusement.
“If by ‘grow’ you mean go into the nearest alley and have some fakey plastic surgeon you found on Craig’s List implant them, I think I’m good. You might want to get a refund though, those things look lumpy.”
Gasping loudly, Sylvia hisses at a cool and collected Frankie as Reggie and I stare in absolute wonder.
“Fuck you, you ratchet bitch!” she yells before pushing past us.
“Classy, doll. Real classy,” Frankie calls after her before pinning those glacial eyes on me.
“Really, Deacon? Sylvia Cortez? You know what, don’t fucking answer that. Can we go now or are there more of your girls to deal with?” Eyebrow raised, lips pursed in aggravation.
All I can think to say is “You’re my girl, Princess. And you’re stupid fucking hot when you get jealous.” Scooping her up and kissing her pouty mouth before she can argue with me, I smile against her lips. “Would you have hit her?”
Shoving against my chest forcing me to release her, she huffs out an exasperated breath and stomps off in the direction that the press conference will be held.
I follow behind her, watching her bubble ass sway as she walks. A quick glance over at Reggie and I catch him looking at her ass too. I can’t even be mad—it’s fucking perfection.
Sitting at the long table in the front of the room, I take my seat at the microphone in between my two brothers. Normally both fighters would be here, but seeing as this is my first fight back, it’s kind of a big deal and so I’m the only fighter being interviewed. I already did a spot for the EWF last month that has been running for the last two weeks, so this is purely for the press. All of the big name magazines, newspapers, and sports stations are crammed in here. Derek Elliott, the president, enters the room and makes his way to where we are sitting. I stand to shake his hand once again as cameras click and whir. Once he takes his seat, the questions begin.
After twenty minutes, I’m over this shit. Everything has gone pretty well so far. The reporters have kept the questions away from my private life and why I forfeited the fights that I did. That is until Rick “I’m a dick” Withers sneaks one in.
“I was told by a source extremely close to you that there wasn’t anything necessarily important that you took time off for, only that you needed a break from the Octagon. Did you think that because you had already accumulated so many points that you would be able to jump right back into the game even if you bowed out of a few fights? Are you worried how other fighters, your peers, might perceive that bold move?” Rick asks condescendingly
Trying to keep my cool even though I want to come across this table and hand him his ass, I manage to say as evenly as possible, “I didn’t realize Extreme Fighter ran a gossip column now. Next time tell them to send their sports reporter not Anne fucking Landers, yeah?”
Looking away, dismissing him, I scan the reporters in the room so I can take the next question. I’m still heated, the muscle in my jaw ticking. I know that I’m going to get fined by the EWF for the f-bomb I just let fly, but I really don’t even fucking care, I knew as soon as I saw his face and his smug fucking grin that he was going to be trouble. Just like his sister. Fuck me. What the hell was I thinking, fucking around with Veronica? Clearly the whole family is a bunch of assholes.
FIGHT NIGHT:
DEACON “THE HITMAN” LOVE
VS.
BRUNO “THE DEVIL” TAMASINO
Sitting on the table in the dressing room I look down at my girl standing in between my legs wrapping my hands and wrists like she’s done a thousand times before. She has her hair down tonight, a little braid in the front keeping it out of her face. Hot pink heels that match the lettering on my shorts perfectly put her head even with my chin, allowing me to take in the coconut smell of her hair. She has on this black strapless one piece shorts thing that is beyond sexy. It leaves her shoulders completely naked except for her ink and a light dusting of freckles, and her tanned legs smooth and bare. Who cares that it’s cold as fuck outside? Not me…my cock is about to break through my fucking cup I’m so hard. Plus I love that she always makes sure that she’s wearing the gym’s colors, my colors. What a fucking pussy I am.
Lips pursed in concentration, I let the sure and steady movements of her hands hypnotize me and concentrate on not having a goddamn hard on right now. I’m not one of those fighters who gets anxious, throws up, or paces liked a caged animal before a fight. I don’t need to be talked down
or massaged to loosen up. Before stepping into the cage, a sense of calm takes over my body. It’s one of the only times I feel completely at peace and then when the door slams closed leaving me standing in that Octagon, I’m home. My mind and body go into warrior mode, my training kicks in. This is what I was built for. I shut out the outside world and go hard.
Glancing at the guy in the corner sent in by the Federation to make sure there’s nothing against the rules going on, Frankie asks, “Blue or red?”
“Red tonight, Miss De Rosa.”
Nodding, she takes the roll of red tape and tosses it to Sonny. When we get out there, my taped up hands, mouth guard, and gloves will be checked. Once I get the okay, I can put my gloves on and the red tape will then be wrapped around my wrists over my gloves, indicating that I am the fighter in the red corner.
Looking up at me, I can see that she’s nervous in the way that she keeps biting at her lip and the tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“What’s wrong? You worried about the crowd? Reggie and Trent are both with you, tonight. You’re safe here, baby—this is my house,” I tell her, raising my arms to encompass the room and wink at her.
Laughing at me, she shakes her head.
“Shut up, you dumbass. I’m nervous because this is your first fight in a while and Tam is no fucking joke! He’s mean and I don’t like him,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting a little.
Now it’s my turn to laugh at her.
“He’s mean? Really? That’s all you got, huh? Okay, I’ll give you that. He is mean, but I’m better than he is in every way that counts.”
Not caring who is in the room with us, I pull her in closer, forcing her to drop her arms, and whisper in her ear, “Bet you sex in the cage that I beat him by the second round.” Smiling at her gasp, I nip her ear and pull back.
Her face is tinged pink with both embarrassment and lust. I need to get out of here before I forfeit this bout too just to be inside of her.
She doesn’t get a chance to snap out of her stunned silence before Mav walks in with my dad.
“It’s go time, boys,” my pop says, smiling at Frankie.
He doesn’t know what’s going on between us, but her being here like this is the norm so nobody thinks twice about it.
“You too, Princess. Guy is already out there schmoozing.”
Giggling, she says, “Sounds about right.”
Turning back to me, she takes both of my hands in hers and with a serious look crossing her face, flips them palm side up and places a kiss on each of my wrists, leaving soft pink lipstick stamps on the white surgical tape.
“Take him out, Deac, and don’t let up until he’s out. If he gets you on the ground, don’t let him get you on your back. Go for his legs, and he’ll submit – just make him do it before he gets too mean.”
I nod my head and she squeezes my hands, dropping them, and goes to the door where Reggie and Trent are standing.
“Hey Frankie?” I call as she’s walking through the door.
Shooting me a questioning look over her shoulder, she stops in the doorway. I just smirk and hold up two fingers, reminding her of our bet. Shaking her head, she tries for a reprimanding glare that falls flat when her lips twitch into a flirty smile. Reggie gives me a nod as he shuts the door behind the three of them, leaving me alone with my dad and brothers and our chaperone over in the corner.
“She’s right—if you go for the submission, do it before he starts to get mean. He has weak legs. Don’t let him take you to the ground though, Deacon, because once you let him have control, he’ll wear your ass out.” Sonny is in trainer mode now, gone is my brother. This guy is all business.
“If you don’t think that you can get him to tap out, let him up and stay on your feet—do not let him take you to your back. Go hard at his upper body and take the KO.”
My dad and Mav stand quietly and let Sonny and I go over the war plan. Rolling my head on my neck, I feel the pops and pulls, allowing them to loosen me up. Sonny lets me down from the table, and I stand twisting at the waist and stretching my arms and shoulders. This is our ritual—my brothers and dad let me do my thing while they watch. Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I feel the adrenaline course through my veins. Closing my eyes and breathing deeply I chant my mantra silently to myself, “That’s my cage. I’m a warrior. I dominate because this is who I am. I will win. There is no other option. I am a warrior.”
Opening my eyes, I clap my hands together,
“Let’s go boys…OORAH!” I yell.
Leaving the room with my entourage, we head down the hallway toward the tunnel that leads into the arena. As we are passing, the door to my right opens and Tamasino steps into the doorway.
“Nice shorts, you fucking pussy,” he shouts, snickering.
Looking back over my shoulder, I smirk, which throws him off.
“I’m always in the pink, motherfucker.” I continue toward the opening, a smile on my face. It’s fucking good to be back.
Making my way down the aisle toward my seat, I’m flanked on either side by Reggie and Trent having to hold crazed and screaming fans back until they realize that I’m not one of the fighters coming out of the tunnel. Flashing my ticket and all access pass to the usher, he leads me to the first row behind the commentators. Thanking him, I look around the crowded arena for my dad but don’t spot him.
“You guys go on and walk with Deac; I’ll be fine,” I yell to the boys.
Leaning in so that I can hear him, Reggie asks, “Are you sure you don’t want us to at least wait until Guy makes it over?”
Shaking my head no, “I’m fine, Reg, really.”
Scanning our surroundings for what, I don’t know—it’s not like Andrew is going to come after me here—he finally agrees and jerks his head, indicating for Trent to follow him. Watching them stride quickly back the way we came, I take out my phone to check the time and see a text from Cristiano.
Cristiano: Just thinking about you, preciosa.
Groaning I ignore the text and shove the phone back into my purse just as my father slips into the chair next to me. He hugs me and presses a kiss to the side of my head before releasing me to shake the hands of the commentators as they turn to greet him. My father is treated with much respect in this world of tight-knit men. He and Joe Love both. They have trained many talented fighters, making a name for themselves and the gyms that they own. Waving to me, they jump into action when the sounds of Imagine Dragons “Radioactive” starts playing, signaling that Deacon is making his way to the Octagon. His intro song is drowned out by the roar of the crowd chanting his name over and over, louder and louder the closer he gets. I can feel their excitement; the energy is a living thing rolling off of each and every spectator. They’ve missed him and I don’t blame them. That he is able to make his comeback in his hometown could not be any more perfect. Chicago loves him and they are not shy about letting him know.
Deacon is all fluid grace and rugged strength. Every move precise and calculated, nothing wasted. He is one of the best fighters in the organization, his style all his own. Never taking my eyes from him, I think back to something that he once told me.
“There are fighters that actually love to fight, Frankie. It feels as natural to them as breathing. It’s the only time they feel completely free, free to be who they really are. There aren’t any pretenses or prejudices in the cage. A fighter can be just that—a fighter—and he’s championed for it. I’m one of those fighters, Princess. That’s who I am through and through and I’ll never apologize for it.”
This is where Deac shines the brightest and although I am more nervous than usual, I need to remember that. I’m not sure why tonight is so much more nerve wracking than the hundreds of other fights I’ve watched, but it is. I’m a hot mess, on the verge of chewing my nails off as I watch him stand at the bottom of the platform having his hair, hands, gloves, and mouth piece inspected before he’s allowed into the cage.
I let my eyes
rake over him. I think he is literally the most beautiful man on the planet. Standing in all of his inked glory, wearing his black boardshorts with the hot pink writing across the ass and front. I marvel, not for the first time, at a man secure enough to wear pink in an arena such as this. He never even thought twice about it. I said that I wanted bright pink and black as the gym’s colors so that I could incorporate my dance studio and he said okay. So there he stands, sporting neon pink and owning it.
Once he’s cleared, he hops up the two steps and holds still so the cut man can swipe Vaseline over his eyebrows, nose, and cheekbones to help prevent them from breaking open. Hair pulled back in a tight man bun, mouth piece in place, he’s finally let into the cage where he does a sweep of the arena, arms open wide. His cocky-as-hell smirk in place, I know that he’s trying to spot me. I also know with the lights and my height, he won’t be able to until everyone is sitting. He stands there listening to his dad and Sonny as he sways and bounces on the balls of his feet, completely immune to the fact that Tamasino’s intro music has started and that the crowd again is going wild, though there’s a lot more booing coming from loyal Deacon fans. As Bruno “The Devil” Tamasino finally makes his way into the cage, Deacon turns around and smiles at him.
As the announcer rattles off their stats, I can hear the commentators discussing Deacon’s comeback and what they feel the outcome of this fight will be. They’re split down the middle, but I’m with the one who thinks Deacon is going to take it early.
Watching the men meet in the center with the referee and stare each other down has chills of anticipation running down my spine. Anticipation for the fight, and if I’m honest, for what’s to come after. Looking at that sexier-than-should-be-legal smirk, I’m reminded of all the wicked things I let him do to me and the things I want him to do again. Brushing away those less than pure thoughts, I turn my focus back to the Octagon just as I hear the ring of the bell indicating the start of round one.
Deacon moves around the cage and I can see him assessing Tam, reading him to see what his best course of action is going to be, and then BOOM he strikes! I don’t see it coming, and by the way The Devil flies back into the cage from the beautiful push kick that Deac got him with tells me he sure as hell didn’t see it coming either. Once up against the fence, Deacon goes to town on Tamasino’s upper body, throwing jab after jab, showing no mercy and not slowing enough to give the other man time to do anything but cover his guard as best he can.
