FIGHTER: An MMA Romance Novel (5 page)

W
ith his feet
back on the ground for less than half an hour, there were already complications with the fight. Kade's phone showed twenty-three missed calls and several frantic text messages from Luiz, his Brazilian correspondent. Kade's blood boiled.
What kind of incompetence was this?

"Something the matter?" Nicole asked. Since they'd left the bedroom, she clung to his arm with a somewhat possessive touch. For now, he'd allow it. Soon she'd learn her place was beneath him.
Always.

"I have no clue," Kade said. The text messages all read the same.

Luiz, was not skilled in English. The disregard for spelling made Kade angrier.

"We've got to get to the venue. Something must be wrong. I apologize for the rush."

Last night the jet stopped in Florida to refuel, but neither of its passengers had noticed. Nicole's body was everything he hoped it would be.
Dark meat,
Kade decided,
was his favorite.
There was something about black women, a kind of spice, that white women just couldn't live up to. He'd ridden Nicole until they were both raw, and she'd still wanted more. As long as she didn't get attached, he could see her becoming a regular fuck.

"If the fight's so soon, it's probably best we get there anyway. I want to get my bearings before I have to get to take pictures and get footage."

Her quips about work were as frustrating as Luiz' failure.
Why did he care what she needed? What did anyone care?
Kade bit his tongue. He wasn't done laying on the honey. Until he knew she was his, he wasn't about to lash out at her.

"Right. Let's go."

A town car, not as grand as his limo back home, waited to pick them up. The driver turned back to look at them. A thick grey mustache concealed his upper lip, caterpillar eyebrows weighing his brow.

"To the hotel, Mr. Holland?"

"To the Centra Carioca. There’s no time for the hotel right now."

The driver nodded, taking off from the curb to match the insane Brazilian traffic. Kade sat back heavily and covered his eyes with a hand, attempting to drag his temper to a tolerable level. To his surprise, Nicole rubbed his arm with concerned affection. He wished she'd hold off on public displays of affection. It was awkward and unprofessional.

"It'll be okay," she assured him.

"Oh, I know," Kade shot back forcefully. To make sure she didn't think he was snapping at her, he softened his tone. "I'll make sure of it. I don't sit by when things go wrong, I make sure they get fixed. No matter what it is, I’ll get to the bottom of it."

His determination made her smile and gave him a few minutes of silence to sort out his rage. Luiz would receive the brunt of it

In silence they cut through Rio de Janeiro's traffic, with Nicole rubbing his arm in sympathy. Soon he'd break the habit.

It felt like an eternity before they arrived at the domed center. Before the car came to a full stop, Kade undid his buckle and opened the door

"I have ringside seats. Let them know you're with me, and someone will bring you to them. I'm sorry I’ve got to run, but I’m sure you understand."

Before she could reply, he sprang from the car. Spectators were already loitering, smoking and laughing. Kade pushed his way through the doors despite the ushers who called after him in sharp Portuguese.

"Kade Holland," he barked, unwilling to deal with any shit right now. As soon as his name rang through the foyer, they backed off. The staff knew the big names, and Kade's name was at the top of that list.

Without further disruption from the staff, he punched in the access code on the staff door to enter the restricted areas. Luiz would be in one of the back offices.

"Luiz," he called. Several of the venue's staff turned to look at him, but Kade didn’t care. "Luiz, where are you? We need to talk." No matter the language spoken, the poison in his words spoke a universal language.
No one stood in his way or opposed him.

One of the back doors opened, and Luiz poked his head out from inside the room. Typically tanned skin looked pale and sallow, and there was a haunted look in his dark eyes. The man's outward uncertainty boosted Kade's confidence, and his eyes narrowed.

"Step into your office, Mr. Torres. I imagine there is a lot to discuss if you can't stop blowing up my phone."

Luiz bowed his head and scurried back into the office as Kade approached. The room was tiny and barren. Venues offered the UFL temporary offices when fights were scheduled, and the temporary was plainly visible. Kade slammed the door closed behind him.

"What. Is. It?"

"Mr. Holland, sir," Luiz mumbled, words muddied by his accent, "it's about Rico."

Kade lifted a hand to his temple and breathed in deep to even himself out.
Of course the problem was about one of the boxers scheduled to fight.
Of-fucking-course no one would notify him until the fight was a mere forty minutes away.

"What is it about Rico?" Kade spat. Eyes closed, two fingers pressed against his temple, the rage he'd suppressed earlier began to rear its head. Soon there would be no holding it back.

"Well, that's the thing, he doesn't really know. He's not well. He says he's light headed, can't think straight. He has a, um, a fever."

"Can he stand?" There was more to what Luiz had to say, but Kade didn't want to hear it.

"Well, yes—"

"Then he can fight."

The look on Luiz' face suggested otherwise. "It won’t be a good fight. The people, they are expecting quality. It won’t be what they want. Why don't we postpone it?”

"Unacceptable," Kade hissed. The hand dropped from his temple and he squared his shoulders. Riding Nicole into the morning hours had done nothing to quell the beast that raged inside. "The fight has been set for less than an hour from now. There's no time to cancel. These things take notice."

"If not, then let’s send in another man. We have a replacement. It is not fair to Rico—"

"And it's not fair to the audience to not give them the fight they paid for, is it?" Kade snarled. "What are you struggling with here? There is no time. We are not canceling the event, and we are not changing the roster. Rico will go on tonight, and he will give it his fucking all. Do you understand?"

"I... Perhaps you could just speak with him?" Luiz asked, hopeful for reconsideration. "Just see him. See how out of sorts he is.”

Kade grit his teeth, staring Luiz down until the man lowered his gaze and dropped his shoulders in defeat.
Was it a language issue?
Kade felt as though he'd made himself crystal clear.

"You tell Rico he'd better get warmed up and prepped for the fight. I want to see a show. I want to see him perform and bring his fucking A-Game. And so help me, Luiz, if I sit down ringside and see you’ve made a change behind my back, you'll be out on the streets. Do you understand?"

With a tiny nod of his head, Luiz folded. Smug about getting his way, yet still wound with agitation, Kade turned so his back was on the man.

"If you disappoint me like this again," he warned, "if you bother me with your non-issues like this, I won’t be this kind. Remember that I own you, Mr. Torres. Without me, you have no job, no income, and no connections in America. I can get you a work visa if you impress me, and this is far from impressive. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Holland, sir," Luiz mumbled, speaking quickly. Kade took his first steps towards the door, riding high on victory. Some men got adrenaline from throwing punches in the ring, but they didn’t understand how good it felt to twist a man into submission with nothing more than words. Rising to the top was a rush unlike any other. No drug, no hormone, no other experience could compare.

"Good. I look forward to watching the fight. Give Rico my regards. Tell him that if he does his fucking job right, he can knock that rookie out and be done with it."

The audience would get what they paid for, and those watching the fight on pay-per-view wouldn’t be disappointed. The UFL wouldn’t ruin its reputation with last second replacements. Rico would get in the ring, and he'd knock the fuck out of... Kade couldn't remember his name.
Whoever it was.

Kade cut back through the private offices and into the venue. The audience swarmed the halls, the smell of stale beer thick on the air. Sweat and body odor mingled with the smell of food to create a foul scent. Kade found his private seats, desperate to put space between him and the hillbillies who came out to watch the fight.

Nicole's luscious black locks were a beacon of light against the greasy, unwashed masses. When Kade sat beside her, she turned and smiled with great affection. From one problem to another. The thought that he'd ever settle for a girl like Nicole was ridiculous. She was deluding herself if she thought he was interested in more than just how easy she was.

"You're just in time," she told him. "How do you think this fight is going to go?"

The ring was still empty, but the seats around it were filling up quick. Kade released the tension in his jaw, allowed his posture to loosen, and turned to face her.

"Like any UFL fight, the better fighter will come out on top. We'll have to wait to find out who that will be."

Let the fools dance, every one of them.
Rico, Luiz, Nicole, all of them. It didn’t matter who won or lost tonight, the only true champion was Kade — and his was a title not up to be disputed.

I
t was too hot
. Jax sat upon the bench, feet planted on either side of him so his thighs were spread wide. One of his legs shook with adrenaline, every inch of him wound tight. Way too hot. Jax pulled at the front of his hoodie to air himself, trying to get comfortable.

"Stop," his coach commanded, and Jax dropped his hand right away. As green as he was to fighting, Jax knew better. The heat he trapped within his hoodie and sweatpants helped make sure his body was ready to go the second he got into the ring. The warm up had been intense, and he still felt the sweat cling to his hairline.

"Hands out, time to get taped up."

In front of him lurked the camera crew. Jax did his best to ignore them. The thought that hundreds of thousands of people would see him fight always made him nervous, and he tried his best to forget about the exposure. It didn't matter who sat out there ringside, it didn't matter who watched from their couches at home, all that mattered was the man he’d fight.
The man he'd take down.

Jax lifted his hands and the coach wrapped them one by one. The knuckle padding pressed tight against his skin, and Jax closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation. There was nothing like a winning punch connecting. The pain of his knuckles impacting against someone, mixed with the euphoria of winning. He couldn’t wait to get in the ring. If he could just get over the stage fright, if he could just get over the fear of failure, nothing would stand between him and his goal. Nothing.

Local sensation Rico "The Razor" Martine, Jax's opponent, was known to draw blood. Quick on his feet, the trick would be to get a punch to connect rather than to knock him out. If he could find a pattern, if he could get him to slow down, the match would be his.

"Jax," his coach barked. His voice sounded distant, as though a wall separated them. When Jax opened his eyes, he discovered the lights had all dimmed. Little pinpricks of light, flashbulbs and cellphones showed the way to the stage. The coach crouched in front of him, expression hard. "What are you here to do?"

"Win."

It was so hot. Jax shifted again, breathing deep.
When would he be able to take off his sweats? When would the fight begin?

"I can't fucking hear you," coach snarled back.

"I'm here to win!" Jax rumbled.

"You going to knock Rico the fuck out?"

"Yeah, coach!"

During his knuckle taping, the camera crew surrounded him. Unfamiliar faces and intrusive machines circled him, capturing him from every angle. There may have been hundreds of thousands watching worldwide, but he’d show every one of them what he was made of, what he could do. Jax the Ax wasn't some rookie. Jax the Ax would chop down the competition and climb his way straight to the top.

"Then get out there, kid, and do me proud!"

It was time. As though he was a marionette rather than a man, Jax's body lifted from the bench and he jumped from foot to foot. The energy that had been locked down inside flowed free now, uninhibited. With a throaty cry he ripped his hoodie from his torso to expose his bare, sweaty chest to the cooler air of the arena. The crowd went wild at his display, roaring for more — the cameras were broadcasting to large overhead screens, and they could see every second of his walk to the cage.

Jax pulled off his sweats to reveal the emerald green shorts beneath, the color his trademark. The dim lights left everything blurred and indistinguishable. Movement from the masses melted together until they were a sea of energy, each bobbing head its own wave breaking the surface. Flashes of light. Cries of joy. From head to toe, Jax felt alive and yet separate from his body. It was the rush before the fight, the division of mind from matter. A hit landed against him wouldn't matter, because his body was just the vehicle for his conscious, and now that floated far above. There was no way he was going down.
It was win, or die trying.

An announcement happened as he took off down the aisle from his small prep area to the ring. Audience members reached over the guard rails to touch him, high five him, flip him the bird. All of their actions were inconsequential. Jax was on autopilot now. With ease he climbed over the ring's barriers and stepped down onto the mat. Across the ring in the opposite corner, Rico the Razor was doing the same.

With a slender body, but developed calves and arms, Rico would be his hardest fight yet. Jax jumped on the spot, unable to stand still. When Rico looked across at him, there was ugly hate in his eyes beyond what Jax had seen in previous opponents. There was something more than just the fight under Rico's skin, and the man would work it out through his fists. Rico's hateful glare only made him want to hit harder and win faster. If he took care of the problem before it became a problem, there would be nothing to worry about.

All of it happened so fast. The announcer finished his spiel, rousing the audience's tireless enthusiasm. Screams and hoots and shrieks awoke the air with vibration, and Jax could feel it rattle through his chest and into his gut. He grit his jaw against his mouth guard. Every breath of air froze the inside of his nostrils and sank down into his lungs with crisp impact. Primal. Wild. Savage. There was a singular purpose on his mind, and Jax would go after it no matter the cost.

The bell rang. Rico sprang forward, but he was ready. As Rico closed the distance between them to get the first slicing punch in, Jax's arm was already back. Seconds before his opponent struck, Jax's fist swung through the air and connected with the side of Rico's face. The man stumbled back, and Jax followed, wailing on him mercilessly. Hook after hook, jab after jab, Rico tried to block them, but the power behind Jax's fists left him disoriented and delayed. He slammed his knee into Rico's stomach, and when the man bent over, winded, a final hook to the side of his head saw him drop down to the mat. A knock out. Jax's chest heaved, sweat glistened on his chest and dripped from his brow. The bright overhead lights were hot. The reality of the situation didn't hit him, not at first.

Crazed screams drowned out what the announcer said. When Rico didn't get up, he lifted his chin and looked out into the void. The lights made it impossible to see the gathered crowd, but he could feel their energy, feel their excitement. That same excitement rooted into his soul and sprouted, twisting and creeping through him until it had consumed everything it could. As two medics rushed into the ring to tend to Rico, a referee stepped forward and lifted his right hand into the air in victory. Jax looked to him, looked out into the crowd, and let out a roar of victory.

A ten second KO.
The dream was real. One step closer to the championship match, one step closer to the belt. Brazil was only the first stop; soon the world would be his.