The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2) (5 page)

He had actually ended up killing for him.

Not that Wyatt Conner would ever know Chuito had done it.

Like so many other sins, he planned to take that knowledge to the grave with him.

Chapter Four

Garnet County

November 2009

“No belts. No professional training.” Sheriff Wyatt Conner stood there looking down at Chuito as he sat in a plastic chair in a hollowed-out room with construction blaring all around them. “I don’t fucking get it, Clay. Why did you invite him here?”

“You ain’t seen him fight yet,” Clay argued. “This boy—”

“What does that mean?” Wyatt gestured to Chuito’s
Los Corredores
ink on his forearm. “Those look like gang tattoos.”

Chuito smacked Wyatt’s arm away before he could actually touch him. “
No me toques
.”

Wyatt pulled back and looked to his friend. “What’d he say to me?”

Clay Powers, current reigning UFC Heavyweight champion, shrugged at his best friend, who, as far as Chuito could see, was an enormous asshole along with being a cop. Two huge strikes against him in Chuito’s world. He was just sitting there trying to keep his cool, because he really didn’t need to get locked up in Garnet.

If he was going to go down, he’d prefer to be in Miami.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Clay gestured to Chuito. “Ask him what it means.”

“Does he speak English? Is he a citizen?”

“
¡Vete pa’l carajo!
” Chuito cursed at him when he lost his temper and dropped the act. “Puerto Rico is a US territory!”

“I didn’t know that,” Wyatt said and turned back to Clay. “Did you know that?”

“I’m gonna go with yes.” Clay nodded as he looked back to Chuito. “Sure.”

“Are you pandering to him?”

“I’ve seen him fight.” A genuine smile spread across Clay’s face. “I’m inclined to agree with whatever facts this boy gives me.”

“He’s twenty years old and ain’t had a lick of training,” Wyatt said in disbelief. “Are you nervous ’bout getting in the cage with him?”

“I don’t think I’d want to get in there after insulting his heritage,” Clay amended. “He’s the most powerful sprawl-and-brawl fighter I’ve ever seen in my life. He takes this shit
very
seriously.”

“I’m a sprawl-and-brawl fighter.” Wyatt gestured to himself as he looked at Clay in horror. “Are you saying he’s better than me?”

“I’m saying that whatever he had to use sprawl and brawl for was much more intense than what you’ve used it for,” Clay argued in a calm, even voice. “His fighter name is the Slayer ’cause he gets in that ring to kill motherfuckers. I watched him fight for three days before I made him the offer to come up here. He ended every match in less than thirty seconds.”

Wyatt narrowed his eyes at his friend, before he looked back to Chuito and tilted his head. “You think you can beat me, boy?”

Chuito held up his hands and looked away rather than answer. “Whatever, bro.”

He
really
didn’t want to go down in this backward state. The only reason he was here in the first place was because he needed a distraction, any distraction, from his life right now.

An offer from a reigning UFC champion to audition for a fighter spot at this gym he was building was a little too compelling to pass up, even if Chuito had to deal with an asshole like Wyatt Conner. He knew Wyatt used to be a UFC fighter too, but what the fuck did that matter to him? He was a pig now. That meant Chuito had to toe the line whether he wanted to or not.

“Are you clean?”

Chuito wanted to flip him off, but instead he just nodded and said, “
Sí
.”

Wyatt turned back to Clay. “Did you get him cleared?”

“No, I invited him to drive all the way up here from Miami without getting him cleared first. He’s clean.” Clay gestured to Chuito. “You want to fight him? Go for it.”

Chuito snapped his head around and looked at Clay. “
¿Que?
”

“You want to fight him?” Clay looked positively thrilled now as he gave Chuito a knowing smile. “Take a crack at the sheriff?”

“I thought he was your friend,” Chuito said to Clay, before he looked back to the sheriff. “You said you grew up together. Like brothers.”

“Yeah, we did.” Clay nodded. “We actually still live in the same place.”

“Then why would you put him in the cage with me?” Chuito asked incredulously. “If he’s your brother, why would you want him to get hurt?”

“He’s a big boy. He can take a beating.”

He looked away and shook his head before mumbling, “
Estos gringos están locos
.”

“What’d he say?”

“I said you’re both crazy,” Chuito repeated in English. “I would never put my family in the cage with someone like me just for the fun of it. Money, yes. Survival, yes. For fun, no.”

“Wow, he is really impressed with himself.” Wyatt laughed. “Listen, boy, I am a fourth-degree black belt in karate, and that’s just one of many black belts I have earned. You honestly think you can take me?”

“Have you ever used your black belts against someone trying to kill you? Ever had to fight with your bare hands to keep from dying?”

“No.” Wyatt pulled back as if thinking about it. “I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, I can take you.” Chuito nodded. “Fuck your black belts.”

Wyatt tilted his head and rubbed at the back of his neck as he looked at Clay again. There was a wild gleam in his eyes. A grin tugged at his lips before he said, “I’m doing it.”

“Do it, asshole.” Clay pointed to the cage in the middle of the rec center, one of the only things in the room. “Let’s see you take him.”

“Okay.” Wyatt gestured to the changing room. “Did you bring fighting supplies? Gloves? Shorts?”

“I got shorts.” Chuito tilted his head toward the door. “In my truck. No gloves. They’re somewhere at home in Miami. I don’t usually fight with gloves.”

“Okay, we got some gloves for you,” the sheriff said. “We’ll get changed, and then we’ll see if you’re really as badass as my buddy seems to think you are. Clay, call Jules. Have her come over. This involves her too.”

“You just fight me. Not for money,” Chuito said. “You just do it because you’re bored.”

“It is about money,” Wyatt assured him. “It’s about the money I have invested in this gym. Clay cannot be the only fighter we have if we want to make this profitable. I can’t fight anymore now that I’m sheriff. That leaves a Light-Heavyweight spot open, and you are not my first choice, boy. Not by a long shot. You have gang tattoos and a chip on your shoulder—”

Chuito laughed. “You think this is a chip on my shoulder? I’ve been on good behavior.”

“Look, here are the facts. I don’t want you in my gym. I don’t want you in my town either.” Wyatt shrugged. “But maybe,
just maybe
, if you can prove to me that you’re worth the risk, I might agree to sponsoring you because I would like to get my investment back. So I guess that means you’re fighting for your life, doesn’t it? Unless you’d like to go back to Miami and do whatever you were doing before.”

“I’ll fight you,” Chuito said as he stood and looked at the sheriff, who had at least three inches on him. “But I’m not doing it for the fighter spot. I’m doing it because any pendejo who thinks he can beat me when I’m fighting to survive deserves to have his ass handed to him on principle. You have
no idea
what it means to fight for your life.”

Wyatt snorted. “And you’re gonna show me?”

Chuito nodded. “Sí, cabrón, I am.”

Chapter Five

The rest of the building might be in shambles, but the fighting cage they had was state of the art. A metal octagon just like the ones he’d seen in the UFC fights on pay-per-view.

Chuito studied the high walls, feeling trapped like an animal. There was something truly barbaric about this cage, blocking the outside world, leaving the two opponents in there until one either quit or was too beaten to defend himself anymore.

In the fights Chuito participated in at home, there was always a place for someone to run. If they got too scared, they could jump past the ropes and get out, but there was no escaping this.

It was like a fight to the death.

Muscle and anger pitted against each other.

Until the meanest motherfucker won.

Chuito ran a hand against the cage, looking past it, thinking just how much he loved it. The finality of it. That once he got in, he couldn’t get out. He would have to fight to survive.

It was a language he understood…
the only
language he understood.

Steal or starve.

Beat or be beaten.

Kill or be killed.

This wasn’t like the streets. He probably wasn’t going to die in this cage, but he could appreciate the possibility of it. The harsh symbolism of only the strongest surviving.

And he was stuck in this cage with a cop.

Not just a cop.

A sheriff.

Like this cage, Wyatt Conner symbolized so much to Chuito. This sheriff was all his enemies wrapped into one very large, very blond-haired and blue-eyed package.

The men who judged him before he deserved to be judged.

The ones who hounded him after he turned into what they made him just by expecting it of him.

The men who killed his mentor Victor, forcing Chuito to take over the gang when he was only seventeen and bringing the wrath of their rivals to his door.

Wyatt was the bullets that killed Chuito’s brother and tía.

He was the man who put handcuffs on his cousin and tossed him in prison.

Now Chuito was in the cage with him, just the two of them.

He felt like he’d just won the gangster lottery, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“I think I’m gonna ref.” Clay Powers stood up from his seat next to his other business partner, a very intense, very tall woman named Jules, who looked like she could hold her own against just about anyone.

“It’s practice.” Jules held up her hand to the cage. “You said this was practice.”

“He doesn’t need you to babysit him,” Wyatt said as he stretched his arms. “He’s so big and badass. He’s got this.”

“I’m gonna ref.” Clay opened the cage door with intent and gave Chuito a harsh look, making it obvious Chuito wasn’t the one he was babysitting. “Do you know the rules?”

Chuito arched an eyebrow. “Last muchacho standing wins.”

“No low hits. No kidney hits. No fishhooking. And if he taps…” Clay suddenly seemed deadly serious. “You stop.”

“I’m not gonna tap,” Wyatt assured him and then put in his mouth guard, which was something Chuito thought Wyatt could use as a permanent accessory.

Wyatt gestured with his hands and then stretched his arms once more.

Chuito didn’t like the mouth guard when he put it in. He wasn’t used to it. He thought it was for pussies, but if it was part of the rules, he could play along. He sure wasn’t going to stand there, bouncing around and stretching. Instead he savored the adrenaline rush that surged into his bloodstream, making his muscles tight.

When they walked to the center of the cage, Clay stood between Wyatt and Chuito, giving Chuito one more harsh look. “You got the rules?”

Chuito nodded but remained otherwise motionless, letting a lifetime of anger build, while Wyatt tried to loosen himself up by hopping around like a fool. It wasn’t necessarily part of a greater attack plan on Chuito’s part, but by default the sheer lack of movement seemed to throw Wyatt off, because Chuito didn’t take any sort of fighter stance when Clay stepped back.

Chuito and Wyatt bumped fists for one brief moment. Then Chuito let all that fury spring free, jumping forward and lashing out with a left hook rather than bouncing back like Wyatt had. Chuito caught him a second time with an uppercut before Wyatt could regain his footing. Chuito mourned the fingerless gloves he was wearing as he watched Wyatt fall. He would’ve liked to feel the punches in his hand, to make his knuckles bleed with the effort of hurting this motherfucker.

Chuito had to give Wyatt and his black belts some credit. When Wyatt hit the mat, he recovered so fast it was impressive. Chuito never had someone knock his feet out from under him like that before, with one powerful sweep of his leg against Chuito’s ankle.

Then Chuito was on his back on the mat that wasn’t as hard as cement but still knocked the air out of him in an agonizing gush. Before his lungs could start working again, Wyatt’s foot connected with his jaw, making Chuito very glad he was wearing the mouth guard.

The pain fucked him up, putting him into survivor mode rather than just fighting in a little revenge match against a cop, because damn if those black belts didn’t have some benefit. This pendejo was so damn quick and recovered faster than any other man Chuito had fought before. Wyatt had Chuito pinned to the mat before he could really start breathing clearly.

What the hell did they put in the water in Garnet? Steroids?

The pain faded under the wild rush to protect himself. When Wyatt punched him, Chuito didn’t feel it. He just saw a huge gringo cop over him, trying to force his last breath out of him like they had taken everything else.

Chuito slammed his fist into Wyatt’s nose, because the dumbass had lifted his hold on Chuito’s left arm to hit him. Like every other fighter, Wyatt wasn’t able to compensate for the awkwardness fighting with Chuito caused. They were all preprogrammed whether they realized it or not. The harder they had trained, the worse they suffered for it.

Chuito used it to his full advantage. He flipped their positions and laid into Wyatt like they were in a street fight instead of an MMA match. Wyatt tried to use some sort of wrestling move to switch their positions once more, but Chuito blocked him at every turn, and it was easy because he had been fighting right-handed gangsters his entire life.

Wyatt clearly hadn’t fought very many left-handed MMA motherfuckers.

“Clay!” Jules screamed from somewhere.

Clay forced him off Wyatt, which pissed Chuito off.

He fell back on his haunches and jerked the mouth guard out, throwing it on the mat in a pool of spit and blood. “He didn’t tap! You said if he tapped!”

“You’re done!” Clay pushed Chuito’s shoulder, forcing him back with a scowl of warning, and then leaned over and smacked Wyatt’s face. “You all right?”