Chapter Eight

AVA

I awoke with a start. The bedroom came into gradual focus as the morning sun streamed in through the blinds. Ryder's bedroom. I guess we made it here somehow after last night's romp on the rug. I glanced over at the empty space beside me, the rumpled sheets still holding a shadow of his body heat.

As I stretched, exhilaration and conflict sparred within me. Last night had been incredible, even more than our first night. I became passionate in a way I'd never experienced before. But it also complicated everything. This assignment, my heart...

I could hear sounds from the kitchen down the hall - cabinets opening, the sizzle of bacon on the stove. My stomach rumbled from the delicious aroma. I wasn't going to solve any of my internal battles with that smell competing for my attention. With a sigh, I dragged myself out of bed and slipped on Ryder's t-shirt from last night. His scent wrapped me in a warm, comforting hug.

Way to make your life harder, Ava.

Ryder stood at the stove when I arrived in the kitchen. His hair was still mussed from sex and sleep. He wore only pajama pants that hung low on his hips. He turned and flashed me a heart-stopping grin.

"Morning, beautiful. Hungry?"

"Starving," I admitted, diverting my eyes from the trail of fine hair on his stomach that led to places that left me ecstatic the night before. "Nice of you to provide breakfast."

"Last night was a workout." He slid a plate loaded with pancakes, eggs, and bacon across the table my way. He reached over, caught me behind the neck and captured my mouth in a kiss. "The fight with O'Connor was just the warmup."

"Serving jokes with the eggs this morning?" I remarked, my mouth smirking and tingling from his kiss.

"Just being honest. We worked up an appetite." His hand cupped my cheek. There was no roughness to his touch, but it was dominant and claiming in its tenderness.

As he talked and looked at me with a warmth in those eyes, I could feel myself falling for him. The tingles also formed in my stomach, replacing hunger with a sweet desire to come around the counter and go into his arms.

I couldn't let it happen. Not again. We already crossed the line twice. What were we going for, a new Olympic record? "We can't let this food get cold. Let's eat." I kept my voice cheerful as I changed the subject. Ryder seemed to see right through me. Despite my effort, the sexual tension remained between us.

I couldn't handle the silence. "This looks amazing." I gestured at the spread of pancakes, bacon, and fresh fruit. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." He smiled. "Eat up. You'll need your energy for the gym today."

At the mention of the gym, reality made its way in. I was here, in Ryder's home. The only reason why I popped back into my old hometown was to interview him for my article. Last night had been a lapse in judgment fueled by attraction and chemistry that couldn't be denied. But I had a job to do.

As he poured coffee, we chatted about neutral topics like his upcoming fight schedule and my article research. His hand brushed against my arm as he moved past me. As I ate, I caught him staring at me with unguarded affection when he thought I wasn't looking.

The domesticity of it all left me conflicted. I couldn't deny how right it felt to be here with him like this. Right now, in this sunny kitchen that smelled of coffee and sizzling bacon, things felt simple. Uncomplicated. All that existed was me and Ryder.

Why keep fooling myself, though? How could I stay involved with someone off-limits professionally and emotionally? As much as it pained me, I knew I had to pull away. I needed to remember why I was here.

"Hey, about last night." I began, slowly.

Ryder's gaze was intent on me, his expression open and earnest. "Yeah?"

I looked down at my half-eaten plate before viewing him again. "It was amazing, but it can't happen again. You have your title to maintain, and I'm here for work, not to get involved."

I caught Ryder's downturned expression, but he quickly composed himself. "Sure, I understand."

I nodded, wishing I felt relief instead of a heaviness on my shoulders. "The sooner we get back to our routine, I'm sure things will feel normal."

He didn't express agreement. "I'll call a car to take you to your place."

An uncomfortable silence descended. The domestic intimacy evaporated like steam from the coffeemaker, leaving behind only stilted manners between us. I mourned its loss, but kept telling myself I made the right decision. My work had to come first.

As for my feelings, well, exactly where did those get me in the past?

"Take your time eating. I should get to the gym." Ryder, voice back to its usual gruffness, stood up from the table.

I half-rose from my seat on the barstool. "But your match ended less than twelve hours ago."

"Today isn't a day off for me. I'm always training for the next round. I'll see you there."

I nodded, unable to meet his eyes. As he left, I steeled myself for maintaining emotional distance, no matter how difficult it would be. My priorities were clear. I hoped my emotions would get the message soon.

I finished breakfast quickly after Ryder left, figuring that putting physical distance between us sooner rather than later would be the best thing. As I rinsed my plate, my eyes landed on his coffee mug in the sink. For a moment, I let myself imagine waking up to this domestic scene every weekend. Shaking my head, I banished the thought. I couldn't let myself get sucked into daydreams.

Through the kitchen window, I saw a car pull up in the driveway for me. I ran to Ryder's bedroom to toss on the clothes I had on the night before.

Less than a half hour later, I was back at my sterile little hotel room. I showered and changed into work clothes before grabbing my laptop bag and heading out to my own vehicle. The check engine light came on as soon as I turned the key.

Crud.

I knew my car was due for an oil change at some point. Maybe I could take it to the shop in the next day or two.

"Hang in there." I spoke to it after backing out of the driveway. Was the pep talk for me or the car? Yeah, I was slowly losing my mind.

The drive to Warrior's Den gave me time to mentally prepare. I had to remain professional, despite my growing personal feelings for Ryder.

This is for the best, I kept telling myself. This was what I wanted, wasn't it? A chance to start over with a new career. Ryder was working on his, too. He had to maintain the heavyweight championship in the league. Did we really have time for a relationship?

A familiar fear crept in. If I let him in, would he just hurt me in the end?

I made an effort to cast the thought aside. This was necessary. I didn't protect myself in the past. I was too trusting. Now I knew better.

My feelings didn't settle easily. When I arrived at the gym, I found him already there, pummeling a punching bag with focused aggression. His muscles flexed with each strike, showcasing the power contained in his frame.

For the next few hours, I observed and took notes as Ryder trained, avoiding direct interaction. During water breaks, I busied myself interviewing other fighters and staff so I could have a thorough description of Warrior's Den for the article. Ryder's eyes followed me around the gym, but he kept his distance as well. The air between us crackled with unspoken words and unresolved tension. Still, we both maintained our stoic roles - him as subject, me as writer.

After the gym session ended, I retreated to my hotel suite. The introverted side of me enjoyed the solitude and welcomed the opportunity to drop the unbothered mask. Letting the door click shut behind me, I leaned against it. My body hummed with pent-up energy, both from watching Ryder's intense training and from holding myself back around him.

I needed to focus, to channel all this restless energy into my work. Sitting at the desk, I opened my laptop and notes. The rhythmic tapping of computer keys soothed me as I dove into writing about the world of MMA, the Fury League, and Ryder's rise to the top.

Facts and figures, training regimens, injury rates - my article slowly took shape. The more I learned about Ryder's sport, the more I understood what drove him. MMA was far more than brute force. It required athleticism, technique, strategy. Ryder hadn't just stumbled into success. He'd earned it through endless hours of honing his skills.

Glancing at the clock, I realized I'd been writing for over two hours. My growling stomach protested being ignored. As I read over the room service menu, my phone dinged with an incoming text. It was from Ryder, asking if I wanted to meet for a late dinner. I hesitated, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. My gut impulse was to say yes, but my brain held me back.

With a sigh, I texted back. Can't tonight. On a roll with the article. Raincheck? I hated turning down the invitation, but I just wasn't crossing the line again.

I took a deep breath and hit send on the text, trying to ignore the pang of regret. This assignment was too important to let myself get distracted, no matter how magnetic the distraction was.

SUNRIDGE AUTO, FIVE days later

The bell above the door jingled as I stepped into the auto shop the following afternoon. I pulled my jacket tighter against the chill breeze blowing in from outside. Grease stained the concrete floor and the air smelled of motor oil and burnt rubber.

Two men in coveralls hunched over a toolbox, their conversation drifting over.

"You going to Carnage tonight?" The taller man asked.

The other snorted. "Wouldn't miss it. I heard the mystery fighter is back. My money's on him to take the championship."

"Whoever he is, the dude's unstoppable. Brutal in the cage."

I casually got closer, eavesdropping to hear. Carnage? A mystery fighter? My reporter instincts came to life. Details on one of Sunridge's underground MMA associations would inspire a future report. More material meant more longevity in this biz.

The mechanics noticed me then, conversation halting. I gave them a small smile.

"Hi. I'm here for an oil change." I took seat on one of the waiting room chairs.

They exchanged a look but said nothing more. My fingers twitched with the urge to grab my phone and kick up the search engine while peppering them with questions. But I held back, feigning nonchalance.

There was a story here. And I was going to find it.

I sat in the auto shop determined, mind racing with possibilities. Who was this mystery fighter that had the mechanics in such awe? And what all could I find at Carnage? The name alone set off my adrenaline and left me curious.

With all the patience of a squirrel, I pulled out my phone. It wasn't long before my fingers flew across the screen as I searched for any info I could find on Carnage and underground fighting in the city. The search turned up little, just vague whispers on forums and social media. I guess Carnage and its fans were keeping things under wraps. A secretive, underground event was no surprise.

Still, I had to know more. A good reporter never shied away from a story. And my gut said this could add more hot sauce to my existing work or be big enough to keep my career headed uphill.

THE CAR MECHANICS NEVER said another word about Carnage. I left Sunridge Auto after getting my car serviced and returned to my hotel to work on my article.

Night fell as I paced my hotel suite, debating what to do now. I could show up at Carnage tonight, yet it could be dangerous without knowing what I was walking into.

In the end, my curiosity won out. I changed into dark jeans and a grey shirt, clothes that wouldn't stand out in a crowd. I put on a ball cap and my hair in a low bun. Nondescript and anonymous.

The moon was out while I drove downtown towards the area hinted at in the forums. This was the seedier side of Sunridge. These overlooked corners of the pleasant Midwestern town revealed a different world of crumbling, older buildings and litter-strewn sidewalks. Turning the corner, I thought about how these paths were frequented by those who preferred to stay out of sight, conducting their business away from the eyes of the town's more respectable citizens.

The further I drove, the streets grew emptier, buildings more derelict. I killed the headlights, moving slowly through the shadows until I came upon it. The building housing the Carnage Brawl was unassuming, with weathered bricks and faded graffiti.

As I approached the building, the atmosphere grew more charged, as if the very walls held echoes of the MMA fights that had taken place within. The entrance was dimly lit, with a flickering neon sign casting an eerie glow that barely illuminated the spot. My car windows were rolled up, but a low rumble of music seeped inside.

Cars were parked in a nearby lot. This was it. Carnage. I drove over to the lot and found a space. The thumping music from the building reached my chest and feet as I got out and walked closer. Each step felt heavy as I moved towards the door leading to a basement.

No chickening out now. I held my breath for seconds before I slipped inside.

Upon entering, the interior was a stark contrast to the glamour of official sports arenas. The space was dominated by exposed brick walls, rusted metal beams, and the scent of sweat and adrenaline. String lights were haphazardly strung across the ceiling for cheap lighting, casting a moody ambiance.

I approached the burly guy near the door. "Just you?" he asked.

I wasn't sure about answering the question whether I came alone. "My date's joining me later. Just here to see the fight."

He held out his hand. "It'll be eighty for you, one sixty if you want two."

Eighty bucks to see a fight in this dingy crawlspace? I almost balked. Then I remembered that people weren't coming to Carnage for the sleek amenities. This was where the knock down drag-out brawls occurred. People were out here to see the real blood spill.

Before the guy got impatient, I slipped him a hundred-dollar bill. "One for now."

He pocketed the Benjamin like it was lunch money. "No change."

Of course he didn't have change. I hid my annoyance. "Where's the fight?"

He nodded behind him. "Straight shot down the hall to the basement. Just follow the noise." He swigged something from a brown paper bag before speaking again. "Your date's a POS to be running this late."

Apparently, everyone in Sunridge was entitled to an opinion on my love life, the real and imagined. "When he gets here, make sure you tell him."

I left down the hall before he could ask me to describe my fake boyfriend who was running late.

I passed several men and women on their way to the fight. Some looked like they could hold day jobs as accountants or store managers. Even so, their presence didn't make me more comfortable. This place was still dicey. I kept up a steady pace as the floor dipped towards the lower part of the building.

The dim basement was dank and dingy, with exposed pipes running along the low ceiling. A cage sat at the center. It had a chain link fencing with a dirt floor, stained dark in places. Around it, a mixed crowd jostled and shouted. My nostrils burned from the musty, damp smell in the air.

Makeshift bleachers lined the walls, filled with men clutching beers, yelling encouragement at the two masked fighters currently circling in the cage. I wrinkled my nose at the stale beer stench as I wedged into a spot on the end, trying not to touch anyone or notice how the soles of my boots stuck to the floor.

A bell clanged and the fighters rushed together, exchanging blows with animal ferocity. The crowd's cheers and jeers echoed, harsh, off the concrete walls. I scanned the sea of faces, not recognizing anyone. Until one of the masked fighters stepped out from the shadows in the cage. Broad shoulders, muscular build. A familiar gait. No, it couldn't be...

But when the man turned, and the light overhead hit the front of his mask, I saw the blazing hazel gold eyes that had been branded into my memory for weeks.

Ryder was here. At Carnage.