Chapter 67
sixty-seven
Loud music and the roar of the crowd bounce off the walls of the arena as we follow the attendant down the stairs. The place is packed—thousands of people crammed into tiered seats.
The bass from a hip-hop track blasts through the speakers, vibrating through the soles of my shoes, and I have to grip Ari’s arm to keep from stumbling in excitement.
Our attendant, a young man in a black polo with a headset and a clipboard, leads us down to the front row of the VIP section. Right up against the barrier, less than ten feet from the cage.
The attendant gestures to our seats. “Here you go, sir. Seats one through five. Enjoy the fight.”
“Thanks, man.” Brex hands him a folded bill, and the kid’s eyes go wide as he stutters out a “Wow, thanks!” before disappearing into the crowd.
Ari and I take seats three and four.
“Holy shit,” she says, craning her neck to take it all in. “The view from here is amazing.”
The tickets must have cost a fortune. We’re so close, I can see every scuff mark on the canvas. Close enough to see every drop of sweat that’s going to fly when the fighters start throwing hands.
Logan’s jaw tightens as he eyes the seat next to me. When he glances over his shoulder at Brex, something unspoken passes between them.
When Brex angles his body in an attempt to brush past him, Logan shoots his arm out to block his path.
“Oh, come on, man,” Brex groans, voice dropping into that low, playful rumble which tells me he’s about to push every single one of Logan’s buttons.
The music is so loud, I can only catch parts of what they’re saying because they lower their voices and get in each other’s faces.
“—owe my brother big for these tickets—”
“—I booked the hotel—”
“—yeah, well, I flew us here—”
Blue eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter, Ari leans in close. “Are they actually arguing about who gets to sit next to you?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “Yup.”
“They’re ridiculous.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s kind of hot.”
“You have no idea.”
We watch as Brex plants his feet, crosses his arms over his broad chest before leaning in close to Logan’s ear.
What he says next has Logan cutting a glance at me and then back to Brex, narrowing his eyes with a dip of his chin before stepping aside with a grunt.
Sliding past him with a triumphant grin, Brex claims the seat next to mine. “Sorry, Lo. Better luck next time,” he quips, settling in with an exaggerated stretch.
Logan drops into the seat next to Brex with a scowl.
Brex leans over. “Rune should be here any minute,” he explains, nodding toward the empty seat next to Ari. “Texted he’s running late.”
“Who’s Rune?” Ari asks.
“One of my brothers.”
A few minutes later, a tall, ridiculously good looking guy walks up to us. Other than his dark hair, a jaw that could cut glass, and intense blue eyes, he looks a lot like Brex. Just as tall, but with a lot more muscle. Which is definitely saying something.
Brex was right. The guy looks like he could snap you in two with just his pinky.
“Sorry I’m late,” he greets, voice deep and rumbly.
Brex stands and pulls his brother into a quick hug. “About time, man. Traffic?”
“Yes.” Rune’s gaze sweeps over our group, lingering on Ari for just an extra beat before he extends a hand to Logan. “Logan. Good to see you.”
He accepts the handshake with a brief nod. “Rune. Been a minute.”
“Too long.” Rune’s eyes shift to me, and I find myself straightening under his intense, scrutinizing gaze.
“Rune, this is Reyna.” Brex presses a possessive hand against my lower back, gesturing at Logan with the other. “Our girlfriend.”
He offers me a small smile, transforming his stern face. “Nice to finally meet you. Brex won’t shut up about you.”
Brex scoffs.
“And this is Ari, Reyna’s friend and Dex’s newest legal rep,” Brex continues, waving at my friend who looks a little awestruck.
His look of surprise quickly morphs into a sly grin. “A pleasure,” Rune purrs as he sits in the empty seat beside her.
“So how long are you in Portland?” Brex asks, leaning forward in his seat.
Rune checks his watch. “Not long, unfortunately. I’m flying back to New York tonight.”
“That’s a quick trip,” I say.
“It’s for work,” he answers with a shrug. “Got a gig with some famous actress. Can’t say who, though.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“It can be. But, most of the time, it’s pretty boring.”
Suddenly, the music changes, bass dropping as the lights cut to black before a single spotlight hits the center of the cage.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Fight Night at the Rose Garden Arena!”
The crowd erupts, the sound vibrating in my chest.
“First up! Hailing from Moscow, Russia—with a professional record of twenty-two wins and three losses—the Siberian Haaamer... VICTOR KAZAKOV!”
Rammstein’s: Du Hast blasts through the speakers as a massive figure emerges from the tunnel on the far side of the arena, flanked by his trainers and cornermen.
Kazakov is huge. Like, cartoonishly huge.
His shaved head is gleaming under the lights, and he’s sporting a thick blond beard.
His neck is a tree trunk, shoulders like boulders as he walks with a lumbering, predatory swagger toward the cage.
Tattoos crawl up both of his arms in what looks like Russian script, crosses, and a bear claw gracing his left pec.
A chorus of boos sounds from all around me. People are getting on their feet, raising their middle fingers and shouting obscenities. Including Ari.
“Jesus,” I mutter, pressing closer to Brex. “They really don’t like this guy.”
“That’s because he’s a dirty fighter,” he explains, leaning in and raising his voice. “Last year he gouged a guy’s eye out and got suspended for six months.”
Kazakov saunters into the octagon, arms raised as he sneers at the crowd.
The announcer lifts a hand as the noise dies down.
“And his opponent! Fighting out of Portland, Oregon—the undefeated champion, with a professional record of thirty-eight wins and zero losses—the Demon of the Northwest... DEXTER SAINT!”
The arena explodes as Ozzy Osbourne’s: Crazy Train shifts the energy in the room from hostile to borderline electric. Every single person in the arena is on their feet, screaming and pumping their fists in the air as Dex saunters out of the tunnel.
Dark hair cropped close on the sides and longer on top, his short, neatly trimmed beard frames a clenched jaw. His body is lean, corded muscle—not bulky like Kazakov, but sculpted. Every step he takes has him looking like a predator stalking its prey.
Eyes, dark and intense, scan the crowd as he makes his way toward the cage.
When his gaze lands on his brothers, he gives them a quick, respectful jerk of his chin before his eyes flick over to me. Brex shifts, draping his arm across the back of my seat.
Dex pops a brow, a spark of amusement hitting his eyes before his gaze lands on Ari, spark instantly snuffing out as he goes completely still. Jaw ticking, dark eyes lock onto hers for maybe all of two seconds before they quickly flick away.
As he enters the cage, I lean into Ari. “Have you two met yet?”
Keeping her eyes on Dex, she tracks his every move as he bounces on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders. “Nope. Mostly just communicated via email with his assistant, Jed.”
“He looked at you like he recognized you.”
Ari shrugs as a flush creeps into her cheeks. “I told you I’ve been to a few of his fights. Maybe he remembers me?”
Lips pressed together, my bestie is doing this thing where she tries to act like she doesn’t give a shit, but fails miserably. Ari doesn’t get flustered. Ari is the most composed person I know.
Something is definitely up.
Before I can press any further, the referee calls both fighters to the center of the octagon. They touch gloves, and the bell rings.
As soon as the fight starts, Ari jumps to her feet. “Let’s fucking go!”
Kazakov comes out swinging—wild, widow-maker hooks that practically whistle through the air.
Dex slips by them with fluid, almost lazy movements as he circles patiently, letting Kazakov tire himself out.
And any time Kazakov overcommits, Dex is right there with a sharp jab or punishing body shot that makes the Russian grunt.
It’s like watching a thunderstorm collide with a fucking tsunami.
The crowd roars as Dex ducks under a massive right hook from Kazakov, who follows up with a brutal thrust of his knee, catching Dex in the solar plexus.
Dex takes a knee.
“Screw you, Kazakov!” Ari screams. “Kick his nasty Russian ass, Dex!”
“Oh, shit! Is he hurt?” I shout at Brex.
Eyes narrowed, he watches as his brother stumbles to his feet. “Nah. He’s just feeling him out.”
“He’s waiting for an opening,” Logan calls over to me.
Sure enough, Dex circles left, moves still fluid despite the punishing blow he just took. When Kazakov charges again, Dex turns sideways and lands a devastating jab-cross-hook that snaps the Russian’s head back with every blow.
The arena goes nuts.
“That’s how you do it, bro!” Brex shouts.
Beside me, Ari is practically vibrating. “Come on, come on, come on,” she chants under her breath.
Dex presses his advantage, driving Kazakov toward the cage with a flurry of strikes, forcing the bigger man to tuck his arms in against his torso. For a second, it looks like Dex might finish him off, but Kazakov clinches, twisting his massive frame, pinning Dex against the fence.
“Shit,” Rune growls. “Classic, Kazakov.”
Heart in my throat, I watch as Dex’s rival lands several dirty elbows to his face.
Blood gushing from a gash above his eye, Dex suddenly drops his center of gravity and wraps his arms around Kazakov’s waist.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, gripping Brex’s arm.
In one explosive move, Dex hoists the giant off his feet. Kazakov’s eyes go wide as his massive frame seems to suspend in midair, arms flailing, before Dex slams him onto his back with a sickening thud.
The crowd loses its mind.
“Holy shit!” Ari shrieks, jumping up and down. “You’ve got ‘em, Dex! Go for the chokehold!”
Before Kazakov can scramble away, Dex is on top of him, sliding his arms around the Russian’s thick neck, locking him into a rear-naked choke. Kazakov thrashes, his massive hands clawing at Dex’s forearms, legs kicking wildly against the mat.
But Dex just tightens his grip, veins popping in his arms and biceps as he continues to squeeze.
Kazakov’s face turns from red to purple, his movements growing sluggish and desperate. He tries to slam his elbow back into Dex’s ribs, but Dex angles his body away, maintaining the choke.
“Keep it steady!” Brex shouts, his voice raw with excitement.
Logan is on his feet. “He’s not going to tap,” he shouts.
“He’s too stubborn,” Rune agrees, arms crossed as he watches with a keen eye. “Pride’s gonna put him to sleep.”
More like Dex is going to put him to sleep. Or kill him.
Hands cupping her mouth, Ari screams, “End it, Dex! Finish him!”
Kazakov’s arms flop to the mat and the horn blares.
Immediately, Dex releases and rolls away, jumping to his feet as The Russian slumps against the mat.
The referee drops to his knees, checking to make sure Kazakov has a pulse before raising Dex’s arm.
“Winner by technical submission—DEEEXTER SAAAINT!”
The arena erupts as the confetti gun pops, raining streams and bits of colored tissue paper from the ceiling as Dex stands in the center of the octagon, blood oozing from the cut above his eye, fists raised in triumph.
The crowd chants, Dex! Dex! Dex! in a deafening wall of sound, shaking the buildings foundation.
On my feet, screaming right along with everyone else, Brex grabs me, bends me over and kisses the shit out of me.
Breathless, he breaks away and smirks down at me. “Was that fucking awesome or what?”
I grin, hands cupping his face as he rights me on my feet. “So much fun. Thanks for bringing us.”
“Anything for you, Pretty.”