23. BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS #3
The match continued on until it reached a point where it was down to the wire. Silas remained in the ring being double-teamed by the final two Demolition members. I had eliminated the fourth one in the crowd, and I knew it was time for the spot we’d practiced.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I climbed onto the apron.
Running the cables, my boot found the high-tension rope, and I launched myself into the springboard crossbody.
I flew through the air and collided perfectly with the two powerhouses, sending them crashing to the canvas.
My landing was hard, and my ribs screamed in pain, but the spot was flawless.
Thankfully, Silas didn’t break down. He saw me hit the move, and his eyes burned with impending victory. I jumped up and hit my signature maneuver on the two Demolition member, which pinned him, leaving just the captain against me and Silas.
The final two minutes were a display of absolute, unified destruction.
We cornered the captain, hitting him with a sequence of double-team clotheslines that shook the entire cage structure.
Our end came when Silas pulled him into the center of the ring and executed a devastating, spinning neckbreaker that nearly embedded the man into the canvas.
Silas moved quickly, hooking his leg. His chest heaved, and his fingers dug into the man’s tights as we waited for the bell.
One. Two. Three.
The bell rang loudly through the arena, and Silas’s theme music exploded over the sound system. The crowd simultaneously erupted into a thunderous and deafening wall of sound, cheering for the survival of their champions.
I dragged myself out from the wreckage of a shattered wooden table as every single muscle in my torso screamed in agonizing protest. My ribs were severely bruised, my bottom lip was split and bleeding sluggishly, and my white and gold gear was now covered in a thick layer of sweat, dirt, and ring canvas dust. With ragged breaths, I pulled myself to my feet using the bottom rope for leverage.
The primary camera immediately pushed over the apron, the lens zooming in for a tight, crisp close-up of my battered face. I didn’t pose for the shot or hit my signature, arrogant Deadlock smirk. I looked past the glass lens of the camera to the center of the ring, to Silas.
He had the Heavyweight belt raised high over his head, his body covered in sweat and blood, looking like an absolute god.
My gaze returned to the camera. My breaths were labored, but an exhausted, bloody, and fiercely proud smile broke out across my face. “That’s my husband.”
The arena went wild with the sound reaching a frequency that made the glass of the premium booths vibrate.
As we stood in the center of the ring, congratulating each other with a series of back slaps and high-fives, a new chant started somewhere low in the front rows.
It spread like a contagion, fast and ruthless, fans were screaming in a synchronized, thunderous rhythm.
“TIME-LOCK! TIME-LOCK! TIME-LOCK!”
On live television, shown globally, they were chanting our new ship name.
My face heated. A massive, bright red blush spread down my neck.
Si looked over at me, his own face turning a violent shade of pink, and a hopelessly embarrassed laugh escaped his lips.
He held the belt tighter as we slowly and painfully limped up the entrance ramp with our hands joined.
The second our boots cleared the curtain and we passed into Gorilla, Presley stood dead center, his face a dark, terrifying shade of purple. His tie was ripped open at the collar, and it was clear he had entered into unhinged-rampage mode.
Every single person, from the production crew to other talent personnel, were steering clear of him, backing into the shadows to avoid the incoming blast radius as he bulldozed his way toward us.
“Are you out of your goddamn minds?” he screamed. His voice screeched in a high-pitched roar that silenced the backstage area instantly. With thundering steps, he marched right up to my face, viciously poking his finger into my bruised chest.
“What the fuck was that, Kincaid? That’s my husband? You dare say that on my broadcast? On live TV?”
Silas stepped in front of me without hesitating, his chest puffing out slightly as his hand tightened its grip on the championship belt. “The crowd loved it. Listen to them out there.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about the crowd!
” Presley screamed back, turning his fury on Silas.
“You two are doing absolutely everything you were explicitly told not to do. I told you no rings. I told you to maintain a professional image! I told you to behave like coworkers backstage. And you go out there, in matching gear with his name written on your body in marker?”
He took a step back as his chest continued to rise and fall rapidly. He glared between us briefly as Evan sidled up to our back. This seemed to make his rage heighten exponentially.
“I did everything I could think of to make this easier on you,” Presley roared, twisting the narrative.
“I gave you a private locker room, a green room away from the noise. Yet all you seem to do is look for ways to defy my authority. You think you’re untouchable because the internet makes videos of you?
You think you’re bigger than this company?
I know for a fact if my father were here right now, you would listen to him.
You wouldn’t have dared to pull this high school type bullshit on his watch. ”
“Your father would have sold the wedding on pay-per-view and made ten million dollars, you idiot. You’re just mad because you can’t control us.” I fired back, my anger rising to the surface.
Presley hissed, his eyes narrowing into vicious slits.
“I control your checks, Kincaid. Seeing as you refuse to listen to my instructions, and since the roster doesn’t have another primary pay-per-view event until Man Overboard in January, you’re done.
Both of you. Effective the second you walk out of this building, you’re suspended. Indefinitely.”
Silas lost it. “Suspended? Presley, I’m the world champion. I have media appearances. I have title defenses booked for Showdown next week. I can’t fulfill my duties as the champion if I’m sitting at home.”
“I don’t give a shit about your duties, Reed.” Presley spat back as a cruel, vindictive smirk crept up his lips. “You can go sit in the middle of the woods with your husband and think about your choices.”
He turned his cold, dead gaze to me, his smile widening as he prepared to deliver the final, career-ending blow.
“Oh, and one more thing, Callum,” he started, moving until he was close enough I could taste the venom on his tongue.
He licked the front of his teeth as his eyes looked me up and down a single time.
“I know you’ve been talking to Dallas about potentially sliding into production.
Jim’s been singing your praises all week.
So, let me make this loud and fucking clear.
If you don’t pull your head out of your ass and show me you’re ready to get back in that ring and do what you’re told, you’ll never get a job behind the scenes with this company.
I will make sure you never sit in Gorilla and never write a script.
Because as far as I’m concerned, being inside that ring is all you’re good for.
And if you won’t do that, then you’re of no use to me. ”
The words hit the room like a death sentence.
Silas went completely still, his jaw dropping in horror as his gaze drifted my way. He knew how much Jim’s offer meant for my future. Evan stepped forward, wrapping his hand around Silas’s upper arm to keep him from committing corporate suicide and punching the boss.
“Come on, Si,” I said quietly, my voice coming out more steady than it felt. “Let’s go.”