Chapter 22 #2
The third fight was another long one, the two fighters taking similarly conservative routes and having to be forced into proximity by the ref.
They toyed with each other for two whole rounds, and it wasn’t until the third round that one of them finally got the other in a leg lock, of all things, that the other fighter couldn’t roll out of and had to tap to, or risk tearing apart his entire knee.
The crowd was getting restive again, but the fourth fight fed their hunger by giving us a knockout by heel kick in the first. Fucking. Round. “Never say Tae Kwon Do can’t win anything, baby!” the winner said in his post-fight interview.
The fifth fight was the first title fight, with two guys a little over Carson’s size going after each other with brutal speed and fantastic technique.
I didn’t know either of them, but by the end of the first round they were both bleeding from cuts to the face.
In the second round, the fight was called due to a TKO when one of them got a cut opened up on the bridge of his nose that just wouldn’t stop bleeding.
TKOs were often frustrating ways to win, but given the amount of cheers and applause from the crowd full of bloodlust, this time it was an entertaining one. I was still explaining the finer points of the match to Ethan as the lights went up, indicating the intermission.
“I don’t get why he couldn’t roll away,” Ethan confessed.
“That style of kimura actually doesn’t allow for it,” I said, standing up so I could stretch my legs.
“You saw how he rolled through and pushed down with his grip? It doesn’t look like it, but that’s actually an immobilizing position.
The only reason Marquez got out of it was because Preston lost the grip when he went for the back, and—”
“Mr. Radovitz!”
Shit. I’d gotten so involved in the fights that I’d forgotten who’d paid to get us here.
I put on my professional face as I turned to the short, wide man wearing a golden suit and top hat.
He wore an enormous chain around his neck with a diamond-encrusted EFC at the bottom of it.
He was simultaneously compelling and repulsive, but I was feeling more repulsed right now.
“Mr. Dimon,” I said as evenly as I could. “Thank you for the tickets.”
He smirked at me. “I thought I’d get through to you with those.” People were moving all around us, jostling as they headed for the bathroom and to get more food and drinks, but I ignored them all and focused on getting through this next part unscathed.
Dimon’s smirk widened. “A real fighter never gives up a chance to get a good look at his competition. Who would you rather go up against—Barovsky or Tachiyama?”
“Either would be an honor,” I said.
“A gentlemen’s answer, but I don’t want the nice-guy facade you’ve got going on.
” Dimon’s eyes were sharp. “I want the guy who choked out his opponent with a smile on his face at that tournament last month. I want the guy who spiked his opponent into the mat when it looked like he was going to lose.”
I went stiff with anger, and Ethan reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. It calmed me down enough to get the next part out. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not going to be fighting for the EFC.”
Dimon scowled. “What, you signed with someone else?”
Um, no? “Nope, I just want to stick with Jiu Jitsu.”
He shook his head. “No way. You’re too good for that.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“I want to know who bought you out from under me.”
For fuck’s sake. “I’m not fighting for anyone else. I have no intention of going pro.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“How about you listen to him instead of arguing with him?” Ethan put in, pulling all of Dimon’s rising ire his way.
“Who the hell are you?” Dimon snapped.
“My guest,” I said at the same time Ethan replied, “His boyfriend.”
Both were true, but… MMA didn’t have a good reputation for being LGBTQ-friendly.
Not many sports did, but this was one where people could literally be choked unconscious for their sexuality and have it labeled a “training accident.” I’d seen it happen, which was probably part of the reason I’d resisted coming out for so long.
It was Ethan’s turn to go stiff, as if he expected me to be mad about him being honest. Fuck that. It was out there now; I might as well own it.
“My boyfriend,” I agreed, and Dimon got a look of absolute disgust on his face.
“Well,” he said with a barely concealed sneer, “it looks like I dodged a bullet then. The last thing we need is someone like you in the locker room.”
“What the hell are you implying?” Ethan demanded.
“Nothing,” Dimon said, then gestured to a few burly guys in security uniforms. “Just that I want to look after my fighters, and having someone panting after their asses backstage is the opposite of that. I think we’re done.
” One of the security officers stopped by Ethan’s side. “Get these two out of here.”
I was pissed, but I was willing to go, even though it meant missing out on the main event. But then, while Ethan was still reaching for his jacket, the wannabe cop beside him got impatient and reached out and jerked him toward the end of the aisle—
By grabbing right above where the cast ended. Ethan’s face went pale from pain, and when I stepped forward I barely recognized my own voice. “Let him go.”
“Back the fuck off,” the security guard snapped, and he did. Not. Let. Go.
So I made him let go.