Caged Love: MMA Contemporary Suspense (Book One) (6 page)

B
ear Haynes cut diagonally across the parking lot over the faded white lines. He swung his Jeep Wrangler around the only filled in slots and was mildly disappointed to see his normal spot was occupied.

It had been a great day already, and he was confident that both the Mavericks and Celtics would cover the spread. He desperately needed them to. He was down an even $5,000, and half of it was Mr. Smith’s money. So including the ten percent vig on that $2,500 he was down even a little more. That’s why he put $3,000 on both to cover. Pretty big money for him, but nothing he was too worried about. He had some money coming in from a couple of clients, and besides he really was confident in his bets.

Bear didn’t like to admit it, but he was superstitious. He figured that once on a hot streak you’d better ride it for all it’s worth, and he felt hot right now. He won two of three bets last night and earlier in the day he’d tracked down the whereabouts of Bretten Maris. It’d been harder than he thought. The kid had not been in the fight game very long and had never even trained with anybody of consequence. Bear found out that Maris just finished playing college baseball less than a year ago, fitting considering his last name. The thought that he was so green made Bear salivate that much more over the valiant performance at Courage and Heart Fighting Championships. Bretten was an athlete and a gamer, think of what he could do with proper coaching.

Earlier in the day he was cruising down Paradise Road when his cell phone rang. “Hey I’ve got some interesting news for you, Bear.” It was one of his many sources and this guy was usually reliable.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“Bretten Maris and Rodrigo Cortez are on their way to train with Whit Daulton. Matter of fact they’re probably already there.”

With this news, Bear almost crashed into the back of a Dodge Caravan at the corner of Desert Inn and Paradise. No doubt a soccer mom hauling her snotty kids around while Daddy pretended to be a golfer at the Las Vegas Country Club. “Are you serious?” He asked upon gathering himself after the near collision.

“Yep, I heard it was a done deal.”

Bear couldn’t believe his luck. Whit was a great coach, and of the seven fighters Bear represented Tristan Holmes was his best and highest-earning client.

It took three tries before he got Tristan on his cell phone. “So I heard you guys are getting a couple of new fighters. That Cortez kid you beat up a few months ago, and Bretten Maris, the one on the Courage and Heart Card with you.”

Tristan’s response would’ve surely made Bear slam into the soccer mom if he was still speeding down Paradise Road. “Yeah, the two asswipes are here now getting ready for the gauntlet.”

Now hours after the confirmation, Bear ripped open the door to Marshall’s ready to watch the Mavs take care of the Kings by at least six points and the Celtics handle the Nets by at least three. And for sure throw back a few of Marshall’s ice cold brews.

Marshall was genuinely glad to see his old buddy. Since they stayed up all night to watch the fights in Korea, Bear had been scarce. Usually he warmed the bar with his elbows three or four times a week, but in the past two weeks he’d only sat on his stool three times.

Marshall went straight to the tap and started filling up a cold one. He made it his mission to have a beer on the Oak bar before Bear clambered onto his seat. Nine times out of ten he made it, but this time it looked like he wouldn’t. Bear’s smile was less weary, his shoulders were thrown back, and he nodded to the other regulars with a little bit of vigor. Bear’s limp was even barely noticeable.

Bear won, sitting down as Marshall snatched the newly poured frosty one from under the tap. He knew the beer wouldn’t be long for the world, and Bear didn’t disappoint. He accepted it and said, “Thank you my good man, down the hatch.” In two gulps the mug was empty.

“What’s gotten into you, Bear?”

“Remember that kid we watched, the one in the swing fight?”

“You mean Minuteman?”

“Yep, Maris is his name. I’ve been trying to track him down and finally got it confirmed today that he is at of all places, Whit’s gym.”

Marshall wiped his hands on his dirty apron and shrugged. “So what?”

“So my best client, the one who earned me six thousand in endorsements over the last few months, and two thousand bones with his win in Seoul, trains with Whit.”

“You think you got the inside track at signing this Maris kid because of that?”

“Hell yeah I do. How many other agents you think are even interested in the kid? I mean he’s still a rookie. And not only am I interested, but I’ve already got not one, but two fighters at the gym.”

“Two, who’s the second?”

“Remember, your little hottie, the one you said you wanted to rear naked choke...or was it her doing the rear naked choking?”

Marshall slid another beer in front of his friend. “Oh yeah, Brooke Simms. You think you can hook me up with her number?”

“In your dreams you old bastard,” Bear said.

“Worth a shot, even a broke down bartender gets horny every now and then. Sounds like things are going good.”

“They’ll be going better if my trip to Oklahoma next week lands a new client...and if the Mavs and Celts cover tonight.”

“You got a little or a lot riding on them?”

“Enough that if they don’t cover I won’t be in such a chipper mood. Can you find the Celts/Nets on the tube? They tip off right about now.”

Bear sucked down his second brew as Marshall fumbled with the TV remote. He found the game on channel 125 and the Celtics were up six to nothing. Bear could already feel the money in his pocket.

B
retten and Rodrigo headed out to face the gauntlet. The worst part was not having a clue as to what it was.

Nobody worked the bags. The wrestling mat was empty, freshly mopped and guarded by most of the soldier grappling dummies. The rest were splayed out all over the boxing ring. Everyone waited expectantly on the other side of the ring.

The two newbies approached and Newcomb let out another insanely intense. “Gauntlet!”

Again the top of the old building was almost blasted off its decrepit walls. Whit stepped up and met Bretten and Rodrigo with a smile that easily rivaled a kid’s on Christmas morning, “You guys heard of the gauntlet?”

Both men nodded. “Yeah, especially over the last twenty minutes,” Bretten said.

Everyone laughed, and a few more screams for the gauntlet echoed through the gym.

“A lot of fighters want to train here. Some have the balls, like all these guys. Others don’t. I got tired of wasting my time sorting through the nutless ones so I designed the gauntlet. If you can make it through this, you’re one of us. Everyone you see right now has struggled through it, including the old man talking to you. Now it’s your turn to prove your metal.”

Whit produced a couple of pieces of paper with a list that ran almost from top to bottom. Some of the exercises were self-explanatory. Others were accompanied by a brief description.

“Read through the list while you get your blood flowing and stretch. Brooke will demonstrate a couple of the exercises that might be a little confusing.”

Brooke stepped forward. “Good to see you guys again. Hope you don’t have full stomachs,” she said playfully. They both thought about the tacos only an hour ago.

Brooke explained and demonstrated a few of the more unique exercises. She advised them to practice each, but only once, best to save as much energy as possible. They did so on some, and saved others for the real deal.

Bretten studied the list one more time. “This seems tough, but not terrible,” he said to Rodrigo.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Rodrigo said.

They headed back toward the power racks and everyone started to gather. Rodrigo leaned over to Bretten. “Knowledge, power. Character, respect.”

“I’m going to have to start reading more about Bruce Lee,” Bretten said.

Rodrigo nodded. “This gauntlet is where we earn acceptance, respect, by demonstrating our character. And as far as I can see from this list, we definitely got enough character bro.”

The two hit knuckles, but before Bretten could say anything the elderly man they saw upon first entering the back door appeared. “Ah, the noble and philosophical Bruce Lee,” Doc said. “You must be a good man Mr. Cortez.”

Rodrigo nodded. “Are you a Bruce Lee fan, Doc?”

“Absolutely, I had dinner with him once. It was very enjoyable.” Before Rodrigo could muster a response, Doc went on. “You’re right. This is a test of your character. It reminds me of a time when I built luxury tree houses in a remote part of a rain forest in Costa Rica. We installed a zip line that began just feet off the forest floor, but in a split second the forest evaporated and the rider raced along the thin wire three hundred feet above a ravine. We tested it with a dummy and it worked fine, but the crew was hem-hawing around about who would be the first live person to jump on the thing. While they thought about it, I strapped in and took off. The simple act earned me a summer’s worth of respect from the crew.”

“You had dinner with Bruce Lee?” Rodrigo finally asked.

Doc clapped Rodrigo on the back. “That’s another story my friend. What I’m telling you two is sometimes it is prudent to jump right in, attack without fear even if the perceived risk is great.”

“Thanks Doc, that’s a pretty good pre-game speech,” Bretten said.

“Yeah, thanks Doc,” Rodrigo agreed.

Doc clutched a black bag and Bretten glanced at it wondering its contents. The man must’ve read his mind. “The bag holds medical supplies in case of any mishaps.”

“Mishaps?”

“Yeah boys, I’m telling you to jump right in,” Doc then narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to his knew pupils, “but don’t under any circumstances underestimate the gauntlet.”

B
rooke stood on the edge of the circle as the fighters gathered around the strength training area. A handful leaned on the treadmills, others sat on benches, and some stood in anticipation. Whit spoke. “I wouldn’t have invited you here if I didn’t think you guys could survive the gauntlet.”

The dozen or so spectators clapped and hollered encouragement.

“These guys are fucked.” Tristan said to Brooke as he smirked. “They don’t have it in them.”

“Why do you have to be a dick?” Brooke asked.

“I’m just speaking the truth. I destroyed Rodrigo a few months ago. Remember, you were there. And Bretten just seems like a pussy.”

Brooke shook her head back and forth and rolled her eyes. She wasn’t sure when or why Tristan had become so hardened. He used to not be that way. He used to be her boyfriend, and before that he was almost like a brother she never had.

“I’ll bet you a hundred dollars that both of them make it.”

Tristan folded his arms across his chest and shrugged. “Okay,” he replied.

Brooke watched as Bretten and Rodrigo ducked under their respective squat bars.

Whit blew his whistle and the gauntlet was on. The men un-racked the weight and started pushing through their 25 repetitions of full back squats. Down and up they went.

“Look, they’re already struggling,” Tristan said.

Brooke let the comment go and cheered them on right alongside everyone else.

Both men finished, Bretten just ahead of Rodrigo. The crowd cheered as they did their bench press and pull ups. As they both started on their deadlifts, Brooke knew that they were already exhausted and their forearm muscles screamed at them to stop.

“Keep it up,” she said. “You guys got this.”

“Why do you even care if they make it?”

“I like it when people accomplish challenges,” Brooke shot back at Tristan.

“They’re pussies, I’m telling you.”

Brooke’s anger towards Tristan was growing by the moment. He was not the same man she once knew and she wasn’t sure why. Yes, she’d broken up with him and yes he wasn’t completely able to let go, but God he’d changed.

Deadlifts were finished and the group made their way to the boxing ring. Sweat poured from each man’s face and their breathing was hard and raspy. As the grappling dummies were being thrown at each man and they wrestled them onto the canvas, Brooke glanced at Tristan. Everyone else cheered. Not him. His jaw was set and he was steely-eyed as he watched without any emotion.

As the men finished with the grappling dummies and climbed out of the ring, Brooke looked at Bretten. He was miserable and beautiful all at the same time. And then he looked right at her. Their eyes locked and he managed a brief smile and winked.

She felt a rush of excitement at the small gesture. “You can do this,” she yelled.

Why did he do that? Why did she have that feeling? She’d felt a stirring of emotion toward this man she barely knew. It was unsettling.

“I saw that,” Tristan said. “What, you think you and him are going to be a thing? That’s never going to fucking happen.”

As the men were doing their rolls up and down the mat, Brooke turned away from them and faced Tristan full on. “You don’t own me. You can’t tell me anything anymore, not ever again.”

Anger flashed through Tristan’s face. He leaned forward. “You’re still mine and you know it. It doesn’t matter what you say. You know it is fucking true.”

“Just shut your mouth,” Brooke snapped.

For a moment she thought Tristan might take a swing at her. Instead, he smirked and shook his head. “You know what, do whatever the fuck you want.”

“I will!” Brooke turned back to the gauntlet as the men had just finished with their medicine ball sit ups and were now throwing them against the wall and sprawling before catching them.

“Let’s go, guys. You can do it,” she yelled.

She couldn’t believe that Tristan was the last man she shared her bed with. It had been over half a year now and she flashed back to that last time. He was different then. She knew it was over, but there was a side of Tristan that she knew was good. That last time he’d held her. He’d touched her softly. He’d kissed her neck and said sweet things. Now, she knew it was because he knew that they were over. It was a last-ditch effort to keep her, and it almost worked.

Back then she was just so tired of relying on others. She’d done it for so long after losing her parents and being saved by Tristan’s dad. She needed freedom. She needed a chance to find herself.

The group piled out the back door where Bretten and Rodrigo would flip the tires up and down the alley. Again, Brooke found herself looking at Bretten. His thick hair. His sculpted muscles. His cool demeanor. His easy smile. She couldn’t have feelings for him. She just couldn’t.

The cold air nipped at her, and as the men were nearing the end of their tire flipping, both exhausted and on the verge of breaking, Tristan was next to her again. “I don’t care anymore, but you know it’s supposed to be us together.”

“No it’s not, Tristan. We can be friends, but that’s it.”

“I can tell you don’t even believe your own words,” he replied.

Before she could respond, the group exploded. Both men had finished the tires and two fighters were helping Rodrigo up. He’d collapsed into the middle of the giant tire.

“To the hill,” Whit yelled.

The group jogged the three blocks to the only hill in western Oklahoma. The men started the first of their ten trips up the steep hill and into the biting north wind.

Halfway through and Brooke had once again been lost in thought. Her life had been hard, but she was happy for all she had been through. She was stronger for it. She didn’t need anybody, especially not Tristan.

She glanced at him and found his eyes locked on her. He too, looked lost in thought.

“I told you they’d fucking make it,” she said.

“Whatever,” he grumbled.

The men pushed up the hill for a ninth time. On the tenth Brooke jogged along with them just like everyone else. Bretten’s legs shook and he fell into the red and wet dirt. Brooke dropped down beside him. “Get up! You’re almost there.”

Bretten climbed to his feet on wobbly legs, and once again shot her a quick sideways smile. He trudged up the hill for a final time, joining Rodrigo. They’d done it!

Brooke looked for Tristan. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, in so many ways, not just in his lack of belief in Bretten and Rodrigo, but he was nowhere to be found.

After a couple minutes of fluids and recovery, Whit addressed everyone. “Congratulations men. We had confidence in you.”

He then eyed the entire group. “A promise is a promise. They made it. Tonight, eight o’clock at Ben’s, beer is on me.”

Bobby Newcomb threw his head back and screamed, “Gauntlet!”

And like medieval warriors heading into battle the group whooped it up uncontrollably.

Bretten and Rodrigo managed a smile, even though it hurt.