Austin
Brooks stands at the top of the ramp with an unamused look. The character of Brooks Taylor doesn’t find any of this comical—he hates every bit of what he’s been put through—but the person behind the mask has been eating this shit up.
I adjust the oversized championship belt on my shoulder, the same belt I won in the triple-threat match against Brooks and Brody at Capitol Punishment six weeks ago.
“And you know, I think it’s comical you think you can beat me when you couldn’t even beat Vee with a hand tied behind your back.
” They’d gone head-to-head in a handicap match the Monday before we took a small hiatus to get married properly.
“Should we see a clip? I think we should. Roll the clip!” My demand is met with an instant replay of a highlight reel from the match.
The ref tied Brooks’s hand behind his back, and he tested the give of the rope before he rolled his neck and shoulders, loosening up.
I whispered to Vee outside the ropes from the apron, and she cracked her knuckles, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
This was going to be a piece of cake. It was something Brooks wasn’t happy about when Amos suggested it, but when he saw how excited Vee was at the opportunity, it quelled his refusal.
The ref motioned for the timekeeper to ring the bell, and I jumped down from the apron to the floor just as Vee moved toward her opponent.
She chopped Brooks in the chest three times, backing him into the corner of the ring before she jumped up on the ropes on either side of him and began to punch his head.
Vee looked out at the crowd before landing a final blow and jumping down from the rope as Brooks slumped farther into the corner.
She moved to the opposite corner, watching for a moment, and when he began to stir, she pushed out of the corner to perform a somersault and landed a hard kick on his chest. The impact sent him back into the ropes, but the force springboarded him back into the ring, straight into her foot.
When he fell to the mat, she took a moment to celebrate, a little too long in my opinion, giving him the chance to recoup. Vee attempted to kick him on his way back up, but he took hold of her foot and twisted instinctively. She yelped in pain, and Brooks dropped her foot.
“Enough, Vee!” Brooks yelled. “Enough, I’m not going to fight you.”
“Finish him,” I said from under the bottom rope, and the crowd began to chant the same thing. As Brooks tried to talk sense into her, Vee climbed the top rope and landed another dropkick, this time onto his head. Brooks fell to the mat, in a quick 1…2…3, Vee was declared the winner.
The camera pans to Vee, and I watch her smirk grow on the jumbo screen hanging above Brooks. A loud chorus of “boo” fills the arena. Their response surprises me. This is the first crowd that has mostly been behind him since the start of our feud.
There’s been a strange energy in the air tonight.
I think everyone feels it. I tried to pry the name out of him before the segment earlier, but he swore he didn’t know.
The Raffertys have kept the name of his tag-team partner under lock and key.
No one is supposed to know who will walk through that curtain until they are on the other side.
“You didn’t even try, Brooks,” I say. “You could’ve at least tried to put up a fight, given her something to work with.”
Brooks stands tall and confident at the top of the ramp, maintaining the stereotypical Brooks Taylor facade.
The same one that used to bug me every time we were forced to work together.
The best part of this feud has been knocking Brooks down a few pegs over the last few months, even if it was only in story form.
Everyone knows there isn’t anyone who can oust Brooks Taylor from his place on the throne of EWE…
There isn’t anyone prepared to take his place because no one is willing to do what he does. Not even me.
“Are you serious?” He scoffs.
Intergender matches aren’t a normal thing at EWE, and if they did happen, there was always some handicap to protect the women.
I think the concern is a safety precaution.
We work in a business where you can do everything right, and there will always be a risk that something could go wrong.
But if there is any man I’d let Vee get involved in an intergender match with… it’s Brooks.
“I wasn’t going to fight your wife, Austin. Are you insane? Vee is good, but…I refuse to do that.”
There’s a spark in the air following his words. A hum in the crowd as I watch a smirk lift the corners of his mouth.
Brooks wets his lips and chuckles. “But I know someone who will.”
Showtime.
The arena goes dark, and for exactly ten seconds it’s so quiet you can hear a pin drop until the opening riffs to a familiar song fill the air, followed by “Get on your knees and bow down…” But I can barely hear the words, drowned out by the crowd.
“There’s no fucking way,” I say, but my words are lost in the madness, and I swear the building quakes on its foundation.
The chorus hits, and she steps out. Savannah Williams, better known to the world as Savvy Skye.
The woman who disappeared from the company two years ago after turning on the man next to her.
She stood by his side, cheered him on from the sidelines, and then cost him the championship before she disappeared.
Savvy’s eyes scan the crowd, soaking in every ounce of energy thrown her way, and I can’t deny I’m a little envious. I can’t remember the last time they were this loud for one of us.
“I see why they didn’t tell us,” Vee says, glancing up at the ramp.
Her tongue swipes across her lips, never taking her eyes off the other woman.
She’d never admit it, or maybe she would behind closed doors, but seeing Sav up there makes her nervous.
Don’t get me wrong, Savannah was one of the best women wrestlers in EWE and one of the safest people to work with, but the last time she and Viv worked together, my wife got injured. “Wonder what Brooks thinks about this.”
The crowd begins to simmer, and I take the opportunity to keep the show moving—that’s what Noah and the head of Creative told us to do once her identity was revealed. “You can’t do this!”
“It’s already done,” Savvy says, wearing a proud smirk, and the crowd cheers. “You already signed the contract.”
“I didn’t sign—”
“Did you even read that contract before you signed it?”
I scoff. “Did I read the contract? Of course, I read the—”
“She’s right,” Vee says, holding up the contract I signed less than ten minutes ago. I snatch the folder from her hands and scan the words.
Holy shit. I should’ve looked at that damn contract.
Right there—in bold printed letters—is the name of Brooks Taylor’s tag-team partner, and I didn’t even see it.
Spencer Austin and Viviana Austin will compete in a \________________ match between Brooks Taylor and Savvy Skye on April 28, 2019, in Indianapolis, Indiana, at “Wrestlefest” as the Main Event of the show. Match stipulations can be set by Taylor and Skye at any point leading up to the event. _
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I scrub a hand down my face, scratching through the scruff on my chin.
“Signed, sealed, and delivered,” Savvy says. “We’ll see you in three weeks. Oh, and I hope you’re ready because the match…it’s going to be No Disqualifications.”
No Disqualifications? Is she fucking serious?
No Disqualifications means it’s basically a free-for-all…There are no rules, except one: pinfall or submission must be in the ring to win. Why wouldn’t Noah warn us about this?
“You don’t even work here, Skye! Not to mention, the last time you were in the ring with my wife—”
“Scared your wife can’t hold her own?” Brooks asks.
Normally, I’d expect the two of them to share a smirk or a look or something, but they haven’t made eye contact once since Savannah came out. Barely even acknowledged each other…Oh no, are Viv and I going to have to play referee between these two?
I did not sign up for this.
“This is between you and me, Taylor! Leave the women out of this.” I can feel the heat radiating from my face, and the crowd boos in response. “I’m not putting my wife in the ring with her.”
“Your wife would be lucky to step foot in the same ring as her.” Brooks practically sneers. It would seem I’ve hit a nerve. “Maybe she could learn a thing or two about wrestling.”
Viviana gasps and looks at me with fake tears in her eyes before she buries herself into my chest. Her reaction is over the top, even for her character, but the crowd eats it up. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I comfort my wife and glare at my opponent. “This isn’t over, Taylor!”
“You’re right.” Brooks chuckles. “It’s not over until I bring the title back where it belongs.” He drops the mic and motions toward his midsection with his thumb and index finger on each hand to represent where the belt should hang on his hips. “We’ll see you in three weeks!”