TWENTY-TWO
The muscleat the back of my jaw pops and twitches as I keep a keen eye on Bear. His people are muscling their way through the crowd to get to him before he enters the ring, but I’m not focused so much on them as I am the fact that I need to win this fight. So much is riding on whether or not I can take Bear down. Now more than ever, my sister needs me to win. No matter how begrudgingly she accepts the money I earn, I am finally certain she’ll use it—and soon—to get away from her abuser of a husband. There’s no way she’ll go back to Brian now.
My head ticks back to the words she’d whispered to me… Fuck. I can’t allow that into my headspace right now. I shake my head like an animal to dispel the encroaching thoughts.
Shoving my mouth guard in, I glance back at my bench where Echo sits huddled between Royal and Beckham, looking like she’s off in another world. I swing my head back to Bear’s side of the cage, and my eyes land on Bear’s father as he throws his head back laughing. Whatever he said to her, he’ll pay for it. I’ll make sure of that. He won’t see it coming either.
Jogging in place, I wait while Bear greets his friends and the girl with them. I’m not paying much attention until the blonde in his arms turns her head and presses a kiss to his shoulder before he releases her. My eyes narrow. That was odd.
At the center of the ring, the announcer has begun to wave his arms, ramping up the craziness in the warehouse again, and the crowd responds as they see Bear approaching the cage. “And now, let’s welcome our undefeated champion, an absolute terror in the ring… Let’s hear it for Bear Pierce!” His name is boomed into the microphone and reverberates throughout the massive room. Fucking pandemonium breaks out as the legend enters the ring, lifting an arm and giving a wave. The bastard hardly looks at me as he walks the perimeter of the ring with an air of superiority that comes from having won every fight he’s ever been challenged to.
I have mad respect for Bear, I really do. But not tonight, fucker. Tonight is my night.
I pay no mind to the cage girls as they circle us, wearing their sparkly little shorts and bra tops as they announce Round 1. The entire point of being dressed that way is to attract attention, and they’re good at working the crowd into a frenzy. They aren’t Echo, though, so they don’t interest me. They’re a distraction, much like everything else that’s going on. Everything we’ve been dealing with, everything I’m worried about—it all stays outside the cage. My singular focus is on the opponent across from me and figuring out the best method to dismantle him, piece by motherfucking piece.
So, I’m good to go. But Bear? My gaze follows the path of his to outside the cage where the OG Bastards are sitting immediately behind his bench. He seems like this fight is not the only thing on his mind, and he’s not doing as well at leaving it outside the ring. Nah, man. Bad move. Don’t pay attention to what’s going on out there, no matter what. My lips curl around my mouth guard. Or do. You know, your loss. Literally.
“Fighters, ready?” the ref barks. “I want a clean fight. Touch gloves.”
Here the fuck we go.Bear’s head snaps back to me, his eyes wary, but he extends his gloved hand to mine.
I challenge him with my eyes, knowing part of any fight is the fucking head game. He’s off tonight, and I’ll have to take advantage of that, poke and prod and punch until I figure him out.
The bell sounds, beginning the round, and I bring my fists in front of my face as we circle. Bear is one big dude, but I have a shit ton of experience on my side, having trained hours on end with Coach Carson all throughout my teen years. The gym was like home to me. Safer to get my bell rung there than at home.
Nope.Not going there. I step forward and throw an experimental jab to test the waters. Bear moves out of the way, and I reassess, shifting my weight from foot to foot. A moment later, surprise rockets through me as he catches me on the chin with a left jab. My brows dart together. I have watched Bear fight for three years. He never leads with his left. Either I’m crazy, or something is going on.
Before I can ponder it further, Bear is on the attack, coming in close to try to overpower me. I grunt as his big body crashes into mine, and we lock together, turning in circles. It’s clear he wants me down on the fucking mat, as if he doesn’t think he can win at the stand-up game… which is really fucking bizarre because I’ve seen this man’s boxing skills, and they’re on another level. So why? The crowd whoops and hollers, people losing their shit at the display of brute strength colliding.
I squint, studying the way Bear’s face contorts as we grapple. Ha ha, motherfucker. Maybe coming in close with me wasn’t such a hot idea. He smirks, shoving me away from him, and I’m almost positive he’s hiding something. He’s in pain. It’s there in his eyes. An injury of some sort. That kiss. The girl kissed his right shoulder… and I’m going to bet it’s got something to do with why he hasn’t thrown a punch with that arm. Around my mouthpiece, I bare my teeth like I’m growling and dare him with a pointed gaze to bring it. Every move he makes, I’m more and more certain he’s not fighting at full strength. And while that’s unfortunate for him, I can’t let it change my game plan—I’m going to win this fight. I give him the crazy eye, letting him know in no uncertain terms he’s in a whole world of trouble.
We size each other up, chests heaving with exertion and sweat rolling. If he’s truly hurt, I can wait him out. He won’t be able to fight a full three rounds.
Bear steps in with a jab-cross combo that lands. Just like I thought, the right was definitely not as powerful as it normally would have been. I hit back, and my fist connects with his cheekbone, a satisfying crack like a shot fired right here in the ring. He sucks in a breath and strikes back, nailing me in the stomach. I blink, but then I’m right back to it. Watching him. Waiting for my chance.
“You’ve got this, Wild. Stay on him.” I can hardly hear Royal over the thundering cries of the throng of people around the cage, but I give a barely perceptible nod. I do have him. I know I do.
With blazing fast agility, Bear hooks his leg with mine, attempting a takedown that fails. Yep. Fucker wants me down on the mat. To avoid falling and giving him what he wants, I catch his arm, using it to keep myself upright. He gasps, wrenching his arm away from me, and I see the howl of pained fury written all over his face. Well, fuck. He’s breathing awfully hard, but I don’t think it’s because he’s out of gas. He’s in a serious amount of agony.
The irregularities of this fight are making the inhabitants of the warehouse crazy, and the people who have bet heavily on the outcome are on their feet, either freaking the fuck out or astonished that their wildest dreams might finally come true.
My attention is grabbed by Bear’s people who are clutching at each other, aghast at what’s happening. And behind them, it strikes me as awfully strange that Derek Pierce is sitting in his cushy chair, calmly sipping his drink. Tristan too. Like they are perfectly fine with what’s happening in the cage right now. My brows dart together. I’m sorry, Bear. I can’t lose tonight. Can’t afford to feel bad for you.
The nursing student in me wants to have a look at his damn shoulder, because as I continue to watch him, I do think that’s where the injury resides. But I can’t afford to be compassionate, so I narrow my eyes and cock my head to the side before laying into him again, focusing hard on his right side.
Bear manages a nasty strike to my jaw, and I recoil a step, checking it by moving it around while I let a sick laugh spill from around my mouthpiece. Do what you need to do to win. ’Round and ’round we go, waiting for the other to make a move. Adrenaline pours through me. I have to end this. Better to do it quickly than make him continue on, forcing him to potentially worsen his injury. I throw a punch that lands on his upper arm. The bad one.
The heavy hit stops him in his tracks, and he can’t hide the pain bursting behind his eyes. I wince hard, seriously regretting having to do it, but at the same time, I need the win. He’s stepped into the ring with an injury. He should know better. I know he does. I exhale hard through my nose and grind my teeth into my mouth guard. And while he’s still recovering from the last blow, I step in, firing a shot at his head.
He falls to his knees, a dazed look washing over his face, then collapses onto the mat with a resounding thud. He’s out cold.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear the entire warehouse erupt into both triumphant shouts and agonizing cries. Beckham’s and Royal’s victorious roars fill my ears, and as I turn my head toward them, Echo beams a smile at me, her arms overhead and punching the air. My head swims with the realization of what’s just happened.
I did it. I beat Bear Pierce. Holy shit. Fighting to steady my breathing, I drag in several breaths while I watch to make sure he’s coming around, because I can’t not. The future medical professional in me is fucking concerned. I breathe out a sigh of relief as the ringside doc gets to him, but still watch carefully for signs that he’s regained consciousness. After several long seconds, his eyelids flutter, then he groans before half-heartedly swatting at the doc hovering over him. Still out of it, but awake. Right about now, I’m sure it’s dawning on him everything that he lost by fighting while injured. He never should have been in the ring today. Makes me wonder why he did it. He had to know.
The blustering of Derek Pierce snags my attention. Bear’s father is red-faced and clearly pissed off. My brow furrows. That makes no fucking sense at all. During the fight, while his son was losing, he was calmly sipping his motherfucking drink and chatting with Tristan Valentine. No sign that he was upset at all until now. That’s fucking weird shit right there.
Before I can process what’s happening, the ref grabs my wrist and lifts it into the air, announcing my win by knockout. I frown at him for a moment. What the fuck is he even doing? Bear’s still with the doc, not up off the mat yet. I grit my teeth and smile, then once the ref releases my arms, I take a running jump at the side of the cage, climbing to the top and lifting both arms in victory.
Beckham, Royal, and Echo are on their feet, close to the cage. Beckham can’t contain his “Fuck yes!” and Echo is vibrating with excitement, grinning hard at me. And Royal, he simply nods and winks. There’s something in his eyes, a glint that has me wondering if there’s something I’m missing. I’ll make him tell me. And if he won’t, I have ways of getting that man to spill.
Rubbing at the clover tattoo on my chest, I soak in my victory. Luck was on my side tonight, but I wish the win had come at a time when Bear was at full strength. There’s no denying it still feels good. No one goes into the cage planning to lose.
I let out a relieved breath and turn on my heel to find Bear standing there in the middle of the ring waiting for me. Unsteady.
I hold out my hand, feeling like shit, but knowing the crowd expects a certain persona from me. Smirking as he takes it, my eyes travel up his arm to his shoulder, locking on it. “You didn’t have to fake being injured to have an excuse for losing to me. We all know I’m the better fighter.” I press my lips together, shaking my head before I withdraw my hand. A chuckle I don’t really feel rips from my lips as I walk away from him. I’ve acted exactly as everyone expects from Wild Man Emory. But that doesn’t stop the pain, worry, and angst in Bear’s eyes from hitting me in a way I never dreamed.
We have more in common than I would have thought, and if I’m not mistaken, it all begins with our fathers.