Chapter 17
I’ve never been an overly self-conscious person.
Self-aware? Yes. But self-conscious? No.
But everything has an exception, and for me that’s right now…
From the moment I set foot in gorilla, it felt like all eyes were on me.
Were they? No, probably not. The people in here are too busy worrying about what’s happening on the other side of the curtain, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling like I’m doing something wrong by being here.
Or maybe they are staring at me, glancing my way when they think I’m not looking, because allowing someone like me inside this sacred space isn’t common practice.
The inside is not what I expected. Actually, I don’t know what I was expecting when I walked in, but from the way everyone talks, I thought it would be…
nicer. Really, it’s more of a glorified copy desk.
Dimmed purple lights fill the makeshift room, and a multitude of monitors and television screens showcase different angles of the ring and arena.
I’ve counted six people stationed around the room, with even more coming and going, but there’s only one who continues to capture my attention: the man in the far corner.
Amos Rafferty—the man behind the curtain, pulling the strings of this entire operation.
Square, black-rimmed glasses sit on the edge of his nose, and his gaze is locked on the screen in front of him.
A headset covers one ear completely, leaving the other partially exposed to the man beside him, his son Theo.
Amos talks into the headset, and the camera angle on the television screen in the corner switches, zooming out to show the two men in the ring.
“Whether you want to hear it or not, you have been EWE Champion for three hundred and twenty-three days, and every month you let main event after main event pass you by, making yourself and that title irrelevant,” Wolf Bennett says, staring Colin Ryker in the face.
“You have been here for how many years now, kid? Ten? What have you done to deserve that title besides bitch and moan?”
“What have you?” Ryker snaps before he chuckles, wagging his finger in Bennett’s face.
“You know, I’m starting to think Grady was onto something earlier.
You are what’s wrong with this company. You are the reason guys like me don’t get title matches, don’t get put on the event posters, don’t have our faces on ice cream bars or collectible chairs or—”
“Oh, grow up. You want to know what your problem is, Ryker? You don’t know who you are. If I asked you ‘Who is Colin Ryker?’, you wouldn’t be able to give me an answer. And these people”—Bennett motions toward the crowd—“they don’t want a phony, cosplaying as a champion. They want the real thing.”
“These people don’t know what they want!
They aren’t allowed to think for themselves, but if they could, they’d see that the real phonies are the guys like you, Brooks Taylor, and Brody Wilder.
The ones who make it impossible for anyone else to shine.
These idiots wouldn’t know what a good wrestler is if one slapped them in the face because they’ve been conditioned—”
“Enough!” Bennett shouts, stepping into his opponent. His jaw is clenched, and his nostrils flare. His eyes are zeroed in on the man before him.
Damn, that was kind of hot.
The crowd goes wild. From the corner of my eye, I see Amos sit back in his chair with a wide grin.
“These people are the reason you are here, the reason I’m here, and you and Grady Chandler are a pair of ignorant sons of bitches who need to learn a little bit of respect. If either one of you thinks you’re going to win at Paradise City, you’re wrong, because I’m going to kick your ass.”
The message is clear as the two men stand toe to toe, poised and ready. Their faces mere inches apart, ready to tear into each other as the crowd roars with anticipation. Without warning, another man slides beneath the bottom rope and attacks Wolf Bennett from behind.
Grady Chandler knocks Wolf Bennett to the mat and pops back up to his feet with a sinister grin.
He captures Wolf’s left ankle and stomps down on his midsection three times before he steps his right leg over his opponent’s body.
Staring out over the crowd, Grady smiles, folding Wolf’s left leg over his thigh, followed by his right.
What are they doing? Bennett isn’t supposed to be doing anything physical tonight.
Grady spins, turning Wolf onto his stomach, squatting down to secure the hold. “Twisted Fate by Grady Chandler!” one of the commentators screams. Jude Paul, I think?
I don’t know whether the pain on Bennett’s face is real or not, and I hate that I can’t decipher it.
The camera cuts to Colin Ryker escaping up the ramp, the championship belt over his shoulder. When he reaches the stage, the camera switches to Grady, now leaning over the ropes. Grady smiles at the champ, all while Wolf still lies in the center of the ring.
“Follow Grady,” Noah Callahan says into his mouthpiece, sitting at the end opposite Amos.
Bennett told me Noah is the Chief Content Officer of Elite Wrestling Entertainment, which means he oversees talent relations and development, the creative team, and live events.
He’s married to the “Darling of Wrestling,” Chelsea Rafferty, and according to Bennett, his position has nothing to do with their relationship, but something tells me it might have a little to do with it. I mean, how could it not?
Grady turns on his heel, no doubt ready to attack the man in the ring again, when a large left boot connects with his face. The sound it makes is sickening, but the crowd goes into a frenzy.
“Stay on Wolf. Follow him. Honor Bound coming up,” Noah directs, and the camera switches to a wide shot of Wolf Bennett standing tall in the center of the ring.
What does he mean by Honor Bound coming up?
Wolf’s face is pulled into a tight line, staring straight into the camera. He rolls his neck and looks around the crowd, soaking it all in, before a sinister grin spreads across his lips.
Okay, that was also kind of hot. Damn, is it always going to be like this?
It’s going to be hard to control myself if he—No, pull yourself together, Sloane.
You are here for one thing. You cannot have both, not right now, and maybe not ever, once Bennett finds out the truth.
Fuck, I should have never let it get this far.
I should’ve walked away when I knew I couldn’t hold back my emotions after lunch.
I should’ve taken a moment to compose myself and not get swept up in the moment.
Looking back at the screen, I see Wolf glance over his left shoulder, his opponent still face down. He grabs him by the hair and forces him to stand. Snaking his forearm around Grady’s neck, Wolf forces him to bend backward, leaving his back suspended over his right thigh.
You’ve got to be kidding me. What is he doing? He’s not supposed to be doing this tonight.
The camera zooms in on Wolf Bennett’s face for a split second—a dangerous smirk on his lips—then another wide shot shows him pivot, falling backward to drive the other man’s face into the mat.
Noah claps to himself before high-fiving Theo over his wife’s head, drawing my attention away from the screen.
The two men talk excitedly, and even Chelsea wears a small smile, but Amos Rafferty doesn’t react.
He doesn’t clap; he doesn’t even smile. He only watches the final moments of the show unfold on the screen in front of him.
I have seen this happen too many times. Watched athletes who don’t take time to heal properly get injured again, and then they can’t come back the second time. Why would Bennett risk that?
“That was fucking beautiful,” Colin says, standing near the entrance curtain between gorilla and the arena.
When the hell did he get here? I didn’t even realize he’d snuck back in.
He watches the television screen, where Wolf Bennett has finally exited the ring and is making his way up the ramp.
When he finally turns away, Colin shakes hands with Noah, who has come out from behind the desk.
“This match is going to be fucking sick.”
“You guys killed that promo,” Noah says, clapping the wrestler on the back. “How do you feel?”
I don’t hear Colin’s response because my focus shifts to the man walking through the curtain. I want to meet him there, but I stay glued to my seat. The last thing I want to do is get in the way.
Bennett exhales and rolls his shoulders, craning his neck from side to side, before he is swept into an embrace by Colin.
They laugh at something Noah says before Theo joins them, no doubt congratulating them on a job well done.
In the midst of their conversation, Bennett’s gaze finds mine across the room, and he winks. Almost done, he mouths, and I nod.
“Hell of a job,” I hear Amos say over the small crowd that has gathered when he finally comes out from behind the desk. The four men practically vibrate in his presence, after what I assume is high praise based on their reactions.
What is it about Amos Rafferty that commands such a high level of respect? Other than him being the owner of the company, I can’t pinpoint a single thing. And how much of that respect has actually been earned versus how much is tied to his title and the power he holds?
“You ready?” Bennett’s voice cuts through my thoughts. He stands in front of me now and smiles when I meet his gaze. “Sorry, it can get a little hectic back here after a show. Amos wanted to make sure I was good to go for Sunday.”
“I thought you weren’t fighting tonight,” isn’t what I mean to say, but it’s the first thing that comes out of my mouth.
“I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. Bennett, you knocked Grady—”
“Sloane,” he snaps, tone matching the look in his eyes. “Not here.”