24. Lilah
LILAH
She’s a queen, but she’ll always have a tiny bit of crazy hiding beneath the crown.
Test her at your own risk.
—Lilah’s Secret Thoughts
“ C hill, Tink,” Maverick lectures as we take our seats, and I growl. Legit growl.
“Tell me to chill when it’s the man you love about to be beaten up for five rounds,” I snap, and Rome, who’s already sitting down, curses me.
“First, bite your fucking tongue, Tink. He’s not getting beaten up. He’s gonna do the beating. And this fight isn’t lasting all five rounds. I say he’s got him before the end of the second. This is ending in a knockout, not in points.”
“I don’t even know what that means.” Damn it. I should have paid more attention.
Rome shakes his head. “Title fights are five five-minute rounds. But your man doesn’t ever take five minutes, does he?”
My face flushes, and I bite my tongue. No one needs to hear about Killian lasting so much longer than twenty-five minutes.
I run my nervous hands over my dress, and Rome looks down and smirks.
“Damn . . . he did good.”
I can’t stop my smile, and my sister yanks my hand to her, nearly taking my whole arm with it. “Holy shit, Tink. Is that?—”
“Damn,” Noah kinda groans. “That son of a bitch finally did it.”
Jamie pulls a twenty out, and so does Noah, and they both hand them to Maverick.
“What the hell?” I ask as the lights go down in the arena, and music starts pumping through the speakers. “Crazy Train” plays as the announcer introduces Victor “The Dominator” Domingo.
Maverick takes their money with a smile. “Don’t be pissy, Tinker Bell. We made a bet in high school, and I just won. You two are engaged before you’re twenty-eight. Jamie had thirty, and Noah had thirty-five.”
“You fuckers bet on how old I’d be when I got engaged?” I ask, shocked and maybe a little annoyed. But maybe not.
“In all fairness, Tink. We bet on when you and Killer would get engaged. So we always knew it would be you two. The whole fucking world knew it would be the two of you.” Jamie shrugs like he’s imparting wisdom, and the lights in the arena flash as the song and the vibes of the entire arena change.
A single piano chord plays before Jay-Z’s voice shouts out, followed by Rhianna’s. Killian’s entrance song is such a powerfully cool version of “Run This Town,” spliced with “Posthumus Zone,” and the entire arena jumps to its feet.
The lights flash purple in time to the beat as the announcer hypes the crowd.
Chills cover my body as I hear the deep voice announce, “And that’s the sound of Killian ‘The Killer’ St. James making his way to the cage he called his cage yesterday at weigh-ins. The Killer knows this is his fight to make it or break it. Win, and he keeps his title. Win, and he becomes the most successful champion the legendary Crucible MMA gym has ever produced. The Dominator is here to win the title. The Killer wants to secure his legacy and step out of the shadows of his father and uncle. Which man is going to go home a winner?”
The crowd roars, and I grab Maverick’s hand. “Oh God, I don’t think I can watch this.”
“I’m telling you, it’s gonna be over fast, Tink,” Rome promises, and I hold my breath.
Killian
“ A nd for the final fight of the night, the heavyweight championship.”
The ref drops his arm, and I tune everything out.
Hearing nothing but the buzzing white noise I’ve trained to drown out the rest.
My coaches’ voices, the only ones I let in.
I see nothing but Victor.
Not the ref. Not my team or his.
Not my girl in the seats who I’ve entrusted to my friends.
Just my enemy and me.
“Let’s go to war,” Dad yells.
“With your shield,” Hudson adds.
“Or on your shield,” I growl back in response.
I step to the left, my body instinctively knowing Victor is going to attack out of the gate. He’s scared and wants to get the first blow. But I’ve studied him longer, better, and closer. He goes right and misses me by a mile, getting nothing but air.
Anger is pushing him.
He’s got something to prove, and it’s going to make him faster to act. Slower to plan. Slower to think. Slower to observe. Nerves are ruling his actions.
He swings his leg out and misses. Again.
That’s it, fuckface. Wear yourself out. Make this easier for me.
Even the best fighters—elite athletes—let nerves rule their fight.
Those fighters lose.
He has two more missed hits when I spin on fast feet with a jab, jab, jab.
I catch the corner of his jaw with an uppercut and grin when his head snaps hard to the side from the impact. Spit and sweat flying across the cage.
Yeah, baby . . . That never gets old.
He steps out to catch his balance and shakes it off, but I rang his bell, and he hasn’t done shit yet. This sport is as much about mental toughness as it is physical.
And right now, he’s shaken.
With his hands up, he stalks forward, not as energized now as he was sixty seconds ago but not giving up.
He’s already slowing down, and better yet, he’s making himself an easier target because his tell is showing. This guy is a great fighter. I’ve watched him in person. Flown halfway around the world to do it. Studied him. For fucking hours. He’s good. Not great. Not me.
Pound for pound, he’s strong and fights like it.
But this sport is more than strength.
But he’s not me.
He hasn’t trained like me. He hasn’t lived this life his whole fucking life.
And it shows.
He’s favoring his right leg.
Off-balance.
Fucking tells.
He’s going to shoot out with his leg.
Not a chance.
“Take it to the mat,” Maddox yells.
Already there, cousin.
I take him down so fucking hard, the cage rattles, and the crowd fucking roars.
My fists rain down hell over his face.
I shift my legs and lock them around his hips, immobilizing him.
He’s fucked. Locked in place because he needs his arms to protect himself.
He can’t fight when he’s too busy defending.
I bring my elbow down as he turns his head and strike his cheek.
The crack of bone on bone is deafening.
His eyes roll back but stay open. Fuck, that’s gonna hurt.
I take advantage of his daze and do it again.
This time my elbow connects with his nose.
Blood sprays from his nose, soaking the mat, but I don’t stop.
Sorry, man.
I do it again, and he chokes back the blood now flowing into his mouth, so the ref doesn’t call the fight, and shifts, trying to break my hold on his hips.
Not a chance, motherfucker.
“Stop playing and end this, Killer,” Hudson shouts.
He’s louder than Dad. Always louder during fights.
Victor shifts his hips, lifting us both off the ground, and breaks my hold on his legs.
Fuck.
I lock my arm around his neck, and he flips us over and slams me back into the mat as the buzzer sounds, and round one ends.
Shit. Not how I wanted this round to go.
My eyes immediately snap to Lilah’s, inherently knowing where she is. And once I see her and know she’s safe, I move to Dad, Hudson, and Maddox, who all yell at once.
“Focus.”
“Breathe.”
“What the fuck are you thinking?”
Their words mash together as I swish water around my mouth and spit.
“You good?” Dad asks, and I nod and look at Lilah one more time. She’s surrounded by the men I trust most in this world. She’s safe, and she’s mine. I’m good.
“Yeah,” I nod, breathing heavy.
“Then fucking finish him,” Dad snarls, his calm breaking. “Don’t let this go to round three, you hear me? You’re the better fighter. Make sure he knows better than to ever challenge you again.”
I nod and shake out my arms.
Round two starts, and Victor rushes me, managing to pin me against the cage.
But his grip is sweaty and sloppy.
He’s already breathing hard before my fists fly against his ribs, over and over until I can force my foot out and leverage it to flip us around.
I press his face against the cage and slide my arm around his neck. “Tap, motherfucker,” I grunt as I cut off his oxygen.
His face turns purple as he fights to get free.
“Choke him out,” Maddox yells.
He tries to shift. To get under my grip. To kick. Desperation showing as he tries to free himself.
Until finally his fighting slows and eventually stops, and I drop him to the floor.
It’s like I’m in an airlocked tunnel for a second with no sound escaping before the arena explodes. The ref moves between us as the medics rush in, but as soon as I released my hold, Victor started coming to.
“The three-time world heavyweight champion, Killian St. James.”
Dad and Hudson rush the cage, but I tune them both out as I catch my cousin grabbing my girl. With Maddox pulling her forward and Rome shielding her from behind, they help her into the cage, and she runs for me. “You did it, champ!” she screams.
Blood and sweat cover me as she throws herself into my arms, and I lift her from the mat and squeeze her to me. I kiss her like we’re alone and there aren’t a hundred thousand people streaming this fight. “I fucking love you, Lilah.”
She pushes my sweat-soaked hair from my face and kisses my brow, my cheek, my lips. “I love you so much.” She holds my face still in her hands and kisses me over and over as she ignores everyone around us. “Holy shit, that was so hot. I’m so proud of you.”
“Yeah, baby. That was just the start,” I warn her, knowing when we get home, the celebration really begins.
The announcer moves next to us and shoves a microphone in my face. “That was an incredible fight, Killer. Is there anything you’d like to say?”
I set Lilah on her feet but anchor my arm around her waist, refusing to lose her in the crowd. “I’d like to thank my entire team for spending a lifetime training me and training with me. Crucible MMA is the best gym in the world with world-class coaches, and I’m fucking lucky they’re my family. Victor put up a good fight tonight. One day, he’ll have a belt. But not this one. This is my town. My belt.” I squeeze Lilah extra tight. “And I fight for what’s mine.”
“Are you gonna take some time off now, or are you eyeing your next fight already?”
I blow out a breath and press my face into Lilah’s hair. “I’m gonna take some time off. Maybe enjoy a honeymoon and figure out what’s next.”
“Are you thinking about retiring?” the ass asks, like he’s gonna get an answer to that.
“I think I’m going to spend a few months as a groupie and figure things out from there.”
Lilah laughs and turns her face away from the cameras.
Her hand lays flat against my chest, and her ring shines bright enough to blind the camera guy.
My town. My belt. My wife.