Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Josue
It was a good thing I’d arranged a driving service from the Velvet Rope Vendetta tonight because for the first time in a long time, I was officially drunk. I never indulged when I was actively competing, since I valued my performance over hubris, but tonight had been a complete waste of my time.
Well…maybe not a complete waste of my time.
I did get to watch a few fights. Even meet a few fighters who seemed to still value what I had done in the cage.
But coming home to an inbox full of offers still up in the air, rejections—hell, even offers for me to make a comeback, wasn’t my idea of a win.
If I were to be honest with myself, nothing would have made me feel more alive than to return to that cage, even if it were just for one more fight.
But I’d be the boy who flew too close to the sun if I did.
It was a fucking miracle I could even still see out of my right eye, that last fight did a number on me.
Mendez versus Vega. I’d already been three titles in, nothing to prove.
But having the heart of a fighter meant I always thought I had one more fight in me.
The most watched fight of my career and I…
lost. It was humbling to say the least. Definitely took more out of me than it was worth.
Required too much surgery, too much rehab.
So much therapy. To this day I’m surprised I didn’t eat a bullet.
But I owed it to myself to actually live.
Not everyone is lucky enough to reach their thirty-eighth birthday.
My mother sure hadn’t. But for a while I was directionless.
I’d had more money than a man knew what to do with, but no focus.
Nothing ever drove me like fighting did, and nothing ever let out my aggression like my time in the cage.
Which became my motivation for the birth of House of Beast. The gym I co-owned with a friend.
At this point, more like family. But you couldn’t have a gym without a champion to go with it.
Reaching for the stash of coconut water I hid in my den, I regarded my three titles hanging on the wall, a reminder of better times.
Flashing lights. Strangers screaming my name.
A feeling of invincibility. My life had been anything but easy, but I’d managed to make it anything but boring.
I’d had my shot four times. I’d been lucky to win three of them.
Most fighters never got a chance to get one.
Considering that, finally gave me purpose.
I was going to make it my life’s mission to make sure every fighter who I mentored at the very least got their shot.
Their first shot. Maybe their only shot.
And I knew I was going to set it where I grew up, because for a lot of boys and men, when you had no direction, you just ended up on the streets.
The only problem was, it was hard to secure fighters when half the bodies I was trying to procure were being poached by my competition.
I wasn’t too worried; House of Beast had only been open six months, and thankfully due to offering seminars, summer and holiday programs for kids, we’d managed to diversify the income enough to keep things running.
House of Beast just needed a face. Someone they could associate with winning. I’d almost had Edgar Martinez. He was young, but experienced. A record of 11-2, but I could’ve mentored him into never experiencing another loss. But Vega got to him first. And honestly, I didn’t blame him.
Sebastian Vega. Otherwise known as the Venezuelan Landslide, was the only man to actually best me during the height of my career.
He was a good fighter. He certainly hadn’t cheated me out of a fourth title, it was just unfortunate to have lost to someone with half my speed.
His power had been impressive. I had a detached retina to prove it.
But beating me had been the highlight of his career, something he knew he could never replicate, so instead of further competing, that Venezuelan fuck opens his own MMA gym.
And it was like the fucker was psychic, because every time I was interested in a potential fighter, in record time, he’d be offering them empty promises that I refused to match.
I couldn’t promise a fighter anything. But if they were willing to do the work, I could help them become a champion.
And what House of Beast needed was a champion.
***
From the time the doors opened for the day, House of Beast was rarely quiet.
It wasn’t always full, but even at the start of a new day, there was sure to be athletes grinding.
The mix of leather and disinfectant were always the two things I associated with opening up, but by midday, the scent of sweat and hard work definitely added to the atmosphere.
Doing an afternoon walk through, I met up with Héctor in the strategy room, the space we referred to when it came to our shared office space.
“Hey, how is Eidan and Mickey on their dues?” following up with two kids who showed up every day for the after school program but whose parents didn’t always pay on time.
“Honestly, I just waved Mickey’s fees for the month. Eidan’s parents are usually good for it, they just don’t always pay on time.”
Mickey I understood. I had a little sympathy for teenagers in foster care, given that’d been my entire childhood. I was just mentally taking note that I may have to phone up Eidan’s parents and ask them to consider a payment plan.
“Who we really need to be worrying about is Victor. Or consider letting Remy go for constantly waiving his member dues,” Héctor later advised.
“I’ll get on that. How is the main floor for tonight’s class?” I wondered out loud.
“It should be good, but I’ll double back just to make sure it’s ready for six tonight.” Héctor was my right-hand man. I’d met him after my second title, when he’d been experiencing poor management, and ultimately had to retire early after a torn ACL made a career in MMA unsustainable.
Originally from Washington Heights, he didn’t leave the world of MMA lightly.
Having still made longtime connections in the industry, where I was better at the hands-on part, such as coaching and training, Héctor was all personality, able to charm and maintain his vital ties with corporate sponsors, matchmakers and other faces behind the scenes.
In theory, together, we could make a star out of the right person. Héctor had a great eye for talent, and I had a thing for guiding talent, so we made great business partners. I’d never had a brother, but in this life, he was the closest thing I had to it.
“What you catching up on?” noticing Héctor’s attention had wondered elsewhere, in the form of a match on his phone.
“Just catching up on a local match from last month. Girl fight. Just seeing what’s out there,” he articulated.
“You need more date nights with the wife,” I joked. “Then maybe you wouldn’t need to focus on women’s fights.”
“See that’s the difference between me and you. To me talent is talent. It’s 2026, female fighters bring out a much bigger draw than when you were coming up,” he defended.
“Look, I ain’t saying female fighters can’t be good.
I’m just not interested in training someone that can’t take their emotions out of things.
And I’m definitely not invested in the time and energy it takes to get them proper fights.
I’ve been in a man’s shoes. I want to be able to see myself in a fighter because I know what hunger looks like. ”
“That’s the problem. You keep looking for another El Jaguar. There ain’t ever gonna be another you. Unless you want to revisit that Puerto Rican kid from Hartford—”
“We keep going over this, that kid’s like, twenty. Maybe in a couple years, but I don’t see him moving all the way to Newark just to train here.”
“?Oigame, cállate la boca ya*! Damn, can you listen just for a second? Most experienced fighters are not going to value what you have to offer because they think they know everything. And you can’t turn down every wet fighter just because they’re not ready.
You need to find a fighter, otherwise the good luck we’ve had over the past six months might run out. ”
See, that’s why I needed Héctor, because he didn’t treat me like a winner of three UFC belts, so he wasn’t afraid to check me.
“I literally had Edgar Martinez in my fucking grasp,” throwing my hands up in moderate frustration.
“And here the fuck Vega comes like a fucking vulture. I can’t blame them, but a lot of these new kids don’t have heart.
They’re only in it for the promise of endorsements.
The recognition I understand, but I want someone who isn’t in it purely for fame overnight,” I argued.
“Well don’t be mad if one day you’re opening the laptop and the browser history is full of LinkedIn and Indeed. I come here for the love too, but ya’ boy needs to stay employed,” he joked.
Deep down though, I knew he was right. My pride was keeping me from training a lot of potential. Didn’t mean we had to take in every stray, but if we wanted to survive another six months, I would have to be willing to adjust my expectations.
Having had some clarity after a weekly mentorship course that went over a little, I was reminded of my time growing up in a boxing gym.
It wasn’t as fancy as House of Beast—which most may not consider it so, but compared to the gym I’d grown up in that no longer existed—it had taught me everything I needed, until I needed to know more.
Thursdays from 6:00 to 7:15, I gave kids anywhere from eight, to as old as seventeen an outlet to keep their rage in check.
Boxing taught you discipline, focus, built up confidence, something a podcast couldn’t do for boys who really wanted to survive in this world.
You had to feel loss, rejection, and sacrifice to not let it bottle up inside and rule you.
Where I’m from, once you lost a boy, he was devoured by the streets.
I got really lucky. And I knew I couldn’t mentor every kid, but I had control over the lives I could impact.
Most my kids were Black or Latino boys, or even a healthy combination of both, with that outlier of a white boy every now and then.
Keeping their attention during class wasn’t hard; it was that moment they were all waiting for their parents, or transportation, when they started to get lively.
Normally, I just left it at kids being kids, as a group of them were crowded around one of their phones, but when one of them boldly stated, “Damn, check out the one with the fat ass and locs,” I knew they weren’t just doing something innocent and needed to be checked.
“Julio, c’mere,” I snapped my finger, urging him to bring his phone over to me. He looked ashamed, which was the point, because I wasn’t going to let it fly that they were going to be talking about a woman without pushback.
“What did I say about what we do when we’re in my house?” I firmly asked.
“We don’t disrespect people,” he answered, humbled.
“Would you let someone talk about your sister that way?”
“No.”
“Would you let someone talk to your mother that way?”
“No.”
“So why you discussing a woman who might be someone’s daughter or sister, that way?”
“I don’t know, we were just joking,” he tried to poorly defend.
“Do you like it when people make fun of your names, or your accent, or the schools you go to?” Asking as a general question meant for everyone to answer. It surprised me not when they all hung down their heads in shame and answered, “No.”
“Then I better not ever hear you talk that way about a person, ever again. Even if a girl isn’t someone’s daughter, they’re still a person. If you can’t humanize a woman, I better not ever hear you complain about a white cop not humanizing you.”
“We were just watching a fight, we didn’t mean anything by it. But next time, we’ll be better at our words. Can I have my phone back?” Julio reached out for it, but I was a bit taken back by the person on the screen.
I knew one of them. Or, I’d met her not too long ago.
She was at the Velvet Rope Vendetta. Honestly, if I had had my way, we would’ve been taking turns counting the tiles on my ceiling.
Julio tried to take his phone from my hand, but I snatched it back, trying to catch the name for myself.
I wasn’t truly there when it came to female fighters, so I’d turned her down.
Even though she’d come to me, personally. Asking me to train her.
But I’d never seen her fight until now. “Have you seen this fighter before?” I asked, in hopes one of these kids had an invested interest.
“I mean, I have her fight card. My aunt likes to go to local fights. That’s how I even knew what to look for on YouTube,” Matteo, another student admitted.
Sierra Medina. There wasn’t much about her on it, which was common for fighters with no draw, but at least now, I knew her name.
“Can I borrow this?” unsurprised when he told me to just keep it.
Before I knew it, I was in the strategy room, looking up her fights.
Sure, she had a rough start. Like most her training had come from a street fight or something.
But I could see the progression from one of her last fights from a month ago.
She changed the fight once she worked with her legs and got her opponents to the ground.
Honestly speaking, she wasn’t half bad. Sure, she could use work; she was raw talent and could definitely benefit from learning basics but…
?Mierda*! Was I really considering this? This was a bad idea, right?
But…she came to you. She sought out mentorship by you. So why does this feel like a bad idea?
Sierra Medina…she wouldn’t have been my first choice. But she was in proximity and willing to train with a man who’d lost his last fight. And from here, could be the one thing standing between us and losing House of Beast.
* Listen to me, shut your mouth already
* Shit!