Chapter 36
Thirty Six
Kaden
Finally, it was my time. My first official fight since my injury.
All of my energy was focused on beating the man who had previously taken advantage of Val in her vulnerable state.
My hands were already taped, gloves secure, and the only sound I could hear over the impatient eruptions of the arena was the rhythmic thud of my heart.
Val’s victory was amazing and so deserved.
I was beyond proud of her for pushing through in her moment of weakness when Mia had her in a rear naked choke.
Val dismantled her fear, brick by painful brick, and walked out of the octagon a champion.
Now, it was time for me to handle the ultimate piece: fulfill my promise to take on Mark. A demonstration of good versus evil.
Arlo stood beside me, his coaching energy subdued, yet laser focused. “Look at me, Kaden. This isn’t about him. We’ve watched his previous fights. You’re faster, stronger, and you fight cleaner. Stay structured. Don’t go for the ego knockout. Stick to the jab and takedown. Understand?”
“Understood, coach,” I replied, my voice a low rumble. I knew Arlo had his concerns about me losing my cool. He had every right to be. What he didn’t know was I had made a silent promise to myself that I wouldn’t let him take me out of my element and completely embarrass myself or Val.
The lights dropped and the announcer’s voice came over the loudspeaker introducing Mark with a manufactured hype.
Then the focus shifted to us. “And now, fighting out of the blue corner, making his debut after being out of the octagon for eleven years: Kaden, ‘The Devastator’ McDonahue.” My name was drawn out, and I felt a surge of adrenaline. I was ready.
The lights flashed and the music hit, the rhythmic sounds of Little Girl Gone by Chinchilla echoed throughout the arena.
The beat was defiant, the lyrics cutting, and it was a loud declaration that Val’s toxic past was over and her new strength was here.
I strode out, letting the energy of the crowd hit me like a physical wave.
As soon as the ref cleared me, I rushed into the octagon and hyped up the crowd even more.
Mark was already in place, glaring, trying to use his cheap aggression to intimidate me. When I stepped onto the mat, I went straight to my place, meeting his eyes for one blank and dismissive second. Then I turned my back to him and dictating the pace of the room.
The referee announced the rules, and then offered for us to touch gloves. I stuck my hand in the center, but Mark neglected to follow suit. I should have known. Showing his lack of sportsmanship straight out of the gate.
The bell rang for round one.
Mark came at me faster than I had anticipated, relying on his crude power and heavy hooks.
I met his aggression with the structure Arlo and I had planned.
My jab was a piston. It was fast, sharp, and I found myself constantly snapping his head back.
Mark’s attempt at closing the distance was expected.
He was aiming for the clinch against the chain-link fence around the mat.
When he finally pinned me against the wire, I could feel the heat of his sweat and desperation in his grip immediately.
We grappled for about thirty seconds, two walls of muscle grinding against each other.
I felt his breath hot on my ear and his smell of stale adrenaline and poor training danced around us.
I used my superior conditioning to shift my hips, leveraged his poor balance, and executed a clean hip throw.
We landed hard against each other. I secured side control instantly.
The cheers of the crowd were a distant ring, and it felt as if they knew exactly why I was doing this fight.
For the next minute, I controlled the fight on the ground, keeping him pinned and using short calculated elbow strikes to keep him honest. I wanted to drain his energy, physically and mentally, I wanted him to understand every advantage he had was a lie.
Then, the first round was over. I knew I had won it decisively based on ground control.
In the corner, Arlo was concise. “Good. That’s how you do it. He’s tiring quickly. Look for his liver and don’t get drawn into a slugfest.”
Round two ended up an even exchange. Mark had a moment against the fence where he reversed my takedown attempt, getting me on my back in his guard.
It was a dangerous position but I was able to lock him down, neutralizing his ability to strike and waiting for the momentum to stall.
The canvas was rough against my skin beneath my shoulders.
Stay structured, I reminded myself, feeling the grounding presence of Val’s conviction in my mind. I managed to bridge, scramble and reverse the position. Just before the round ended I was back in top control, landing barely enough measured strikes to ensure another dominant round.
Arlo appeared pleased with my performance over the next two rounds, and yet he still remained tense.
“He’s frustrated, Kaden. He’s running on empty.
Now’s not the time to get cute. Finish him.
” The sound of his command shifted something inside me.
I stood up, and I was ready for whatever Mark had for me.
The bell for the final round sounded, and Mark rushed me instantly, not with a technical attack, but with a wild and desperate energy.
We met in the center, exchanging heavy blows.
I felt a brief flash of red rage at his continued, unearned aggression.
We clinched tight, our bodies pressed against each other in a frantic, sweaty ballet.
The referee stepped in to warn us about our heads clashing.
In a moment of proximity, Mark leaned into my ear, his voice a guttural, venomous whisper. “You think your little silver collar fixes anything? She wanted it. All of it. She led me on, then cried foul. She’s a liar and a user. You better watch your back.”
The air left my lungs in a silent swoosh. What should have gotten him a warning only enhanced my fighting ability. His words were direct and calculated, insinuating her abuse was her fault and her pain was manufactured for attention.
The rage which had been coiled beneath my skin for months, restrained by discipline and structure, broke loose. I ripped myself free from the clinch. Mark was already dropping his guard, a sick, satisfied smirk on his face, believing his psychological attack had worked.
He was wrong.
I threw the jab. Not a clinical, point scoring jab like I had for the first two rounds, but a sharp vicious blow that snapped his head back, stunning him and freezing the smirk on his face.
He didn’t have time to recover. I followed up immediately with a right cross.
It was pure, not perfect, and it delivered the weight of every promise I had ever made to Val.
It connected with the side of Mark’s jaw with a sickening, audible crack.
Mark dropped instantly. His body collapsed backward against the canvas. His eyes rolled up, vacant, and he was out before he hit the ground. The sound of the canvas absorbing his dead weight was deafening. The referee immediately jumped in, waving off the fight and signaling a K.O.
I stood over him for a brief and powerful second. Breathing heavily, I let the raw energy drain from my system. The rage was gone and replaced by a crystalline calm. The ref grabbed my arm and raised it high as the arena exploded. The noise was a glorious celebration of my victory and Val’s.
As the medical team attended to Mark, I stood in the center of the octagon, nodding at Arlo who was screaming words of congratulations. This chapter was finally over.
Val burst into the octagon, her eyes filled with pride and joy.
Her own hard-won victory was still radiating from her.
Ignoring the photographers, I lunged toward her and swung her around in circles before we embraced in a bone crushing hug.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, her body fitting perfectly against mine.
“You were magnificent, sir,” she whispered fiercely against my ear. “You did it.”
I buried my face in her hair, breathing in her essence. The last powerful surge of adrenaline stabilized into sheer and utter devotion. We held onto each other tight.
The crowd noise faded into a distant hum.
All that was left was the rhythm of our joined heartbeats.
The darkness was over. We had won. even though I had finally earned my own gold belt, I realized the relationship I was building, with the brave woman in my arms, was even more precious than any dreams I may have had before.