Scrapper: MMA Badboy Romance

by Chloe Ellison

  The police were polite at first, even complimenting Cage on the knockout from his last fight. At first glance they were happy to see that things hadn’t gotten more out of hand, but after reviewing the tapes, their tone changed. I was writing my official version of what happened down on a single sheet of paper for the police when I heard it.

  “Mr. Edwards, you have the right to remain silent.” the cop began reading him his rights. Cage simply stared back at the officer, sizing him up like a piece of meat with closed fists. I wasn’t the only one who took notice, the officer himself was uneasy. “Sir, I’m sorry. It’s not my call. They reviewed the tapes, we’re gonna have to take you in.” The arresting officer stood a few feet away from Cage, with his hand at his sidearm until two more officers joined us upstairs to help out

  “Ma am, we’re gonna have you step right down here.” I was lead down the stairs as he was being cuffed. His face was blank, expressionless. I should have snapped a photo of him, it would have been worth a lot, but I couldn’t do it.

  At the bottom of the stairs I caught whiff of another side to the story. A quick review of the situation revealed that there were a total of nine men involved in the incident, not including security. Cage, Cash, and Brandon. The man Cage punched to start things off. Aaron Mueller. That’s five. By the time I was back on the bottom floor, I was calling Bryan.

  “Bryan! Holy shit, please tell me that you are awake. I think I’ve got a story.”

  Six - Angela

  When the cops told me to leave I was happy to do so. I needed to get somewhere to make the story happen. Bryan was ready on his end for updates and to help me with what I had, we were going to make sure we had something live as soon as possible.

  There was a House of Waffle one mile from the club. I texted all the photos that I had taken that night over to him while I walked, as well as photos of my notes. It was late, and the street was wet with fresh rain that glistened under the lights. My pace was fast for more reason than one, I despise walking alone at night.

  “Just a black coffee please, and keep them comin.” I said, and took a seat alone in a booth with yellow table tops. My laptop was at the hotel, but there was plenty that I could do from my phone. I had all the apps. “Thank you so much.” I said, sliding close my late night drug of choice. My phone rang, it was Bryan. “Hello?”

  “Angela, we are gonna do live updates and try to break the story! Dan Barrantine was one of the men in the picture you sent me, he trains with Jet Westerson!” Bryan never talked that fast.

  “Aaron Mueller.” I said, interrupting.

  “Who?”

  “Aaron Mueller, he fights. Look him up, he was there too. We’ve got to get names of the other men involved, they had to be fighters too.” I said. Everything was happening so fast, details were still emerging.

  “Okay, but get something fast. We can break this thing.” he said. We hung up to do more work, and I quickly wrote something short for the site.

  Cage Edwards, Others, Arrested After Nightclub Brawl with Jet Westerson Training Partners! Tonight at Club Loco Toro, TFC Middleweight world champion Cage Edwards was host of a TFC 263 after party. Club Loco Toro, was host to an impromptu brawl between Edwards, Edwards training partner Brandon Ewing, and Jet Westerson training partners Aaron Mueller and Dan Barrantine, among others. Specific details have yet to be released, stay tuned. Cage Edwards is scheduled to face Jet Westerson for the title at TFC 264 in Vegas.

  Photos were included in the small blurb, and it was enough to send our views instantly into the stratosphere. There was a whole lot more work to be done, details, details, details. We broke the story, but everyone else would be following up. We had to stay ahead of the curve. My intimate proximity to the story had allowed us first dibs, and given us an unprecedented leg up on the story. No one else had exclusive photos, or video. We did.

  As the night unfolded, so did the story. Once we had the initial blurb live, I took a cab back to the hotel. With my laptop and all of my tools at my disposal, I could really work.

  I mentioned there being nine men in total involved. Cage, Cash, and Brandon. The man Cage punched turned out to be Kristoff Raby, another one of Jet Westerson’s goons and training partners. That night he suffered a broken nose and over fifty stitches, some internal. Also in on the fun were Rondell Bohn, Jordan McGinnis, Aaron Mueller, and Dan Barrantine, all pro fighters who trained out of the same gym as Westerson. The ninth man turned out to be random. Some drunk idiot from the crowd who had tried to help Cage. He was dragged along the bar by Rondell Bohn for his trouble, and was treated at the hospital for a concussion.

  By the time that details began to emerge, we already had a massive following. Our updates were steady, and we followed right behind the local and national media outlets with developments. The club released bits of the footage, and a few other club goers had pulled out their phones to catch bits and pieces of the carnage. The story itself was huge, national news. The very same reasons that Cage had so much interest around his fights was the same thing that drove thirst for coverage of the incident.

  That night I took advantage of the situation by writing two short pieces about it. One from my point of view as a first hand spectator of the inciting incident, as well as a conspiratory editorial, connecting the announcement of the Jet Westerson title defense to the presence of an occupying force of his training partners at the very club Cage happened to be hosting a party. Coincidence? I thought not, but my opinion was less the point than writing a leading article that would continue to pull traffic our way.

  It was almost six in the morning when the police issued a warrant for the arrest of Chase Edwards. Club footage showed that he and Brandon Ewing had partnered in the assault of Dan Barrantine, a one sided affair that was hard to watch. Chase had hung on for dear life from behind, and Ewing had done work until security got them loose. Mug shots of all the fighters were posted on the news, and on the front of every MMA website. That night was a blur. After my House of Waffle coffee, I managed staying up until 8 that morning, updating continuously until my brain did a hard automatic restart.

  Seven - Angela

  I woke up with ten missed calls, and plenty more unread texts. After checkout, I drove straight home. The incident was the biggest story in MMA overnight, and everyone was talking about it. My articles and coverage were blowing up, and I received multiple requests for national interviews.

  “We are looking for Angela Clark.”

  “This is she.” I said, answering my phone.

  “Hi, this is Stephanie Gates with XYZ news, we are doing a report on the Cage Edwards Brawl, and wondered if you were available for an interview?”

  I couldn’t believe it, and the requests kept pouring in. Everyone wanted to know what had happened, and I was a prime witness. The numbers on the site were higher than ever, and the story was continuing to grow.

  Before dealing with any of that, I first had to take a shower. My bathroom, and the privacy of my own place. An escape from the noise, and the constant flow of thoughts that had plagued my mind ever since I met Cage Edwards. After turning off my phone, I was ready for a quick moment of recharging alone.

  The water was hot on my skin, and the shower sound soothing. A little break before another busy day. Instead of relaxing into nothing as planned, I found myself rubbing for release. It had been days, and I was spurred on by vivid images, and fantasies of a certain middleweight fighter. I played out what might have happened under the flowing water the night of our first interview, of the things I would do to him, and how he might take me.

  “Ugh…” I exhaled, leaning against the shower wall for balance. My body tingled, and a satisfied smirk appeared on my face. A part of me was surprised at my own reaction, at the arousal that the mere thought of him brought sweeping over me. I washed away the impure thoughts with fresh body wash, and readied myself for the grind. There was no time to think about boys.

  When my phone was back on, so was I. Bryan and I had a quick chat wh
ile my coffee brewed, and then I reviewed my messages. MMA Sandstorm, a one hour nightly live show that covered fighting exclusively, wanted me to appear via satellite. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse, and another opportunity to continue growing my dream into a career. The rest of the afternoon involved my talking to various MMA sites, journalists, and news stations. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before I needed an assistant. At one point or another I had applied for positions at almost all of the MMA websites that were contacting me, and I took the time to give each interview request denial a personal touch.

  After email, and the strategic acceptance of the most potentially beneficial requests for interviews, I caught up on research. Since I heard last, Cage was out on bail. He was facing a list of charges, and had refused all requests for comment.

  Less than an hour after being released, Cage was seen driving Chase to the police station so he could turn himself in for booking. Cage stayed until he was done, and then bailed him out immediately. That was the last anyone had heard from the two of them.

  Brandon Ewing, Aaron Mueller, Jordan McGinnis, Dan Barrantine, and Rondell Bohn were also released on bail. Kristoff Raby was still being held. His priors left him ineligible for release. Once I was caught up on the particulars, I called in to the radio show where I was having my first interview. There were two more after that, and then the MMA Sandstorm appearance.

  My passion is writing, but I knew that expanding into on camera work was something to keep an open mind about. Plenty of media in the MMA world were known more for their on air persona, than the one behind a pen.

  The first few interviews were over the phone. Very easy, and for me, low stress. It was the MMA Sandstorm appearance that had me uneasy. It was live, and I would be on camera.

  Bryan was eager to help, and so I made the hour drive to meet him at the office. It was a tiny space we used mostly for storage, or as a place to work on occasion. In this case it became our satellite location, complete with a our logo displayed on a banner behind me. Free advertising. Bryan always thought in terms of branding.

  “How do I look?” I asked, sitting on a stool in front of our HD webcam. Cheap quality.

  “You are a babe. Why do you think I send you to cover all the events?” Bryan was making the final adjustments, centering me on the screen. I wasn’t as confident as he was. It was one of those days, my hair and makeup were on the same page as far as not cooperating. My shirt was low cut, a last minute decision that I was regretting as I watched Bryan count me down. “Three, two, one.” he mouthed the words, and then pointed to let me know I was live.

  “We are here live with Angela Clark, a journalist for Fundamental MMA. How are you Angela?” he asked. His name was Kenny Kocol, the host of MMA Sandstorm.

  “I’m great, thanks for having me.” I said, staring into the little black lens.

  “Is it true that you were there at the club, as a guest of Cage Edwards, on the night of the incident?” he asked.

  “I was. We were supposed to be conducting an interview, but you know. Things got out of hand.” I said.

  “I’ll say!” he exclaimed, having a laugh. Bryan was streaming the show on a laptop beside me, muted so that he could see what was happening. “There is actually very good club footage of Cage Edwards, I don’t know if you’ve seen this yet Angela, but footage of Cage Edwards, literally punching a guy in the face, straight through a beer bottle.”

  “Kristoff Raby.” I added.

  “Right. But he wasn’t done. So he punches this guy out of nowhere, a bunch of his buddies, who happen to be MMA fighters, jump in and all hell breaks loose. Even Edwards’ younger brother, a seventeen year old minor, was in on the action. Where were you during all of this?” he was talking fast, and getting all of the details wrong. I was wearing an earpiece and it was hard to hear anyway.

  “Uhm, yeah. The guy actually spit on him, and I don’t know if you are aware, but he is a training partner of Jet Westerson.”

  “Yeah yeah, they had an argument and it got out of control. Professional fighters are always going to have an ego, but you have to control yourself. He is champion of the world for God’s sake! He can’t be out acting like this, and you’ve gotta keep your little brother out of the club. Who does that?” Kenny was practically yelling. He had a tendency to steam roll over people with his opinion, and talk for long periods of time without taking a breath. “Angela, you can’t be condoning this kind of behavior. Am I wrong?” he asked, running out of air.

  “Of course not Kenny. What happened is terrible, and the club should be blamed for allowing entry to a minor. I do however, think it is worth noting that every single member of the incident trained with Jet Westerson, and to question what they were doing there in the first place.”

  “Enacting their freedoms. This is a free country and these guys can go wherever they want. I’m not saying they are angels, but they also aren’t champions. They don’t carry the same level of responsibility around as Cage Edwards.” he said, always with the last word. There were two other members of the panel, and they joined in.

  “Is it true that there was drug use happening at the club prior to the incident?” one of them asked.

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  The questions were rapid fire, and their angle on the story was clear. Painting Cage as the bad guy, the hot headed young champion. I didn’t know any better myself, they may have been right on some level.

  “Thanks for coming on to talk to us Angela. When we get back, Jet Westerson is gonna be on the show, discussing what this means for his title shot, and what he thinks about the situation.” and that was that. The three minute interview was over.

  “You did good. They are kind of predatory with the way they word some of their questions.” Bryan said.

  “Thanks. I’m glad it’s over.” I said.

  “Another good day for the site. Beer before you go?”

  “Sure.” I could use it. Plus, I was already downtown. We walked two blocks and stopped in at a pub for a brew. I was still sipping at the foam when I got a text from an unknown number.

  Xxx-xxx-xxxx - What’s it like to be big time?

  ANGELA: Who is this?

  Xxx-xxx-xxx - I read your article. It was good, not as cool as being there though. Ready to try that interview again?

  ANGELA: Oh boy. Haven’t I got you into enough trouble already?

  Xxx-xxx-xxxx - You wish. What do you say?

  ANGELA: When and where?

  Xxx-xxx-xxxx - Gotta fight for this one. Meet me at 1227 Old Gellar Street in Bayson. Tomorrow at 8 AM. Bring workout clothes and a mouthpiece.

  ANGELA: It’s an interview. See you then.

  Xxx-xxx-xxxx - Booty shorts and a tube top counts as workout clothes in my book. By the way.

  ANGELA: Now look who is wishing.

  “Looks like I should cut myself off after this one. Another interview with Cage in the morning.” I said.

  “No fucking way. Awesome. How do you keep getting these interviews? Is he in love with you or something?” Bryan asked.

  “Whatever it is, it’s great for the site.” I said. I drove home after the beer. Eight would come early, and I would need to be well rested.

  Bryan’s comment stuck in my head, made me think. Why did I keep getting these interviews? I was small time before meeting Cage, an opportunity that should have been one in a million, but he kept popping up.

  When Cage said that I was being vetted, I thought of it as a pickup line and little more. My reaction to him was defensive, and I had my reasons for that. Taking him seriously would have meant making myself vulnerable, and I wasn’t ready for that. Not until I thought I could trust him.

  I had a built in bias against him because of who he was, and how he acted. The belief that he held in himself was almost unhealthy. All of the things he said, his boasting, he believed it all. A big star, with big money, and big temptations. Plus, he was young. That equation doesn’t add up, and if anything, the club scene only furth
er cemented that truth.

  Still. When the sparks fly, and two people want each other, they find ways to be spend time together. Cage was making an effort, and his personality was awesome. He was a blast to be around, and so damn pretty. Smart, talented, successful. All the things any woman would desire.

  He was cute, and there some tension, but it was all business.

  Eight - Angela

  Cage may have thought I was dense, but his little plan was easy to see through. It didn't surprise me he would dangle the carrot of an interview to get a date, what did is that he wanted to see me at all.

  It can be easy to get the wrong view of someone, especially someone in the public eye who has a big personality. One thing can rub you the wrong way and give you a distorted view of them, so I tried not to formulate any notions of who or what Cage really was. Yes he was cocky, there really was no denying that. But what athlete isn't? A borderline unhealthy belief in yourself is a requirement for championship level fighters, so that was to be expected.

  Some of the things he had said while we were at the club had gotten into my head. I told myself not to fall for him, or at least to be careful, but I knew that attraction is automatic. Tell yourself whatever you want, feelings are beyond your control. Having a crush is okay, but getting hurt is a bad idea. No matter what he said, he would have to back it up with action. I wouldn't forget that he was dangerous.

  Maybe he was worth it. I don't mind a hard exterior if what’s in the middle is gooey enough. He claimed he wanted the real shit, to indulge in a pure love that wasn't cut with anything. More than just a booty call.

  “We'll see.” I said out loud, talking to myself. There was something that Cage didn't know about our little meeting, an ace I looked forward to showing him. When he told me to show up in workout clothes and a mouthpiece, I assumed we were sparring.. The address he gave was an old church in Bayson.