Chapter 42

The nightthe reunion show airs is also the official announcement that I’ll be fighting Magic in Vegas. My phone starts blowing up almost immediately. Texts from everyone I’ve squared up with in a cage in the last five years flash over my screen. Notifications from every social media app blink or chirp.

I return the texts to the people I give a shit about and silence the notifications.

Days later, I’m still getting bombarded with questions and tags about the fight.

“It’s gonna be like this for the next couple of months,” Remy says to me after breakfast. “Surprised you don’t have to do a press tour to promote the fight.”

If I thought he’d been furious when I told him about what happened at the reunion show, it was nothing compared to when we watched it. They sensationalized the big “fight” between Molly and Kiki, including several slow-motion replays of Molly’s fist flying through the air.

He’s been a bit sharp with me since then.

I set my phone on the table. “I have to go down to the city for something mid-week,” I admit. “But nothing else out of town is on the schedule until I leave for Vegas. The company hosting it is going to send out a camera crew at some point to film me training.”

“That’ll be fun.” He rolls his eyes. “I hope you told Jerry before the announcement was made.”

I nod once. “I did. He was cool with it.”

“Good.” He lifts his chin. “Why don’t you come up to The Castle with me later?”

“You’re not hosting anything this weekend, are you?”

“No. But you keep saying you want to fix things up there. Let’s go. Start making a list of what needs to be done.”

“Molly’s going to be here in a few hours.” I pick up my phone and check for a text from her.

He groans. “Then let’s go now before you two disappear into your lair of love all weekend.”

“Lair of love?” I snort. “I guess it could be worse. There’s no disappearing. We’ve got that thing at the bar tomorrow night.”

Finally free of the show’s restraints, Remy, Vapor, and Eraser insisted on throwing a party to officially “welcome” me home.

“That’ll be a couple of hours max.” He walks out of the dining room. “Let’s go. And maybe bring your sparring gloves too,” he says over his shoulder.

Immediately suspicious, I clear my plates from the table and jog downstairs to find my gloves.

* * *

The Castle needs morework than I realized. I have a notebook with half the pages dedicated to lists of supplies we’ll need by the time we finish our walk-through.

“Told you it would be expensive,” Remy says. “We might be better off leveling the place and starting over.” He walks over to the duffel bag he brought with him and dropped off near the octagon-shaped cage in the center of the main room. “Now, what we really need to do is evaluate the cage.”

“Evaluate how?” Wary of the shift in Remy’s mood, I circle to the other side of the cage and grab my backpack off the steps.

“I think you know how.” Remy strips off his shirt, dropping it on top of the bag.

Ahhh, I should’ve known this was coming.Still, I can’t help fucking with him. “How? You planning to give me a lap dance or something?”

He slips on his gloves and stares at me.

All right. I’ve been getting back to the gym. Slowly starting training again. I might not be quite where I was before my fight with Naptime, but I’ve got this.

I find my gloves and wriggle my fingers into them.

Remy’s feral smile raises the hairs on the back of my neck. He really thinks he’s gonna win here, huh?

I lift my shirt over my head and hop up the stairs into the cage.

“Let’s do it, bro.” I tap my gloves together. They’re made for sparring, with more padding than what we’d wear in an actual match. Still won’t feel good to get smashed with one. I bounce on my toes in the center of the cage, trying to pump myself up.

I didn’t expect this today. But that’s always been part of training. You never know when you might encounter a fight. Always be ready.

Remy enters the cage with his hands up, already guarding his face.

“No ground rules?” I ask.

“Nope.”

I take a deep breath and knock my gloves together again. “All right then. Come and get it, fucker.”

He slowly slides to my right, circling me. The same first move he always makes. His sharp blue eyes bore into me. I stare him down just as hard.

He steps forward.

Whoosh.His fist breezes by my face. Not an actual punch. More like he’s testing me.

“You seem to have some big feelings you need to get out, Remy. Let’s hear it,” I taunt.

My mocking tone drops a match to the gasoline that seems to be flowing in his veins.

“Fuck you for dragging my sister into that snake pit.” He lands a solid fist to my gut.

I wheeze a pained breath and back up. That punch unlocks all the fury I’ve been holding in and trying to forget for months.

“Fuck you for not believing me.” I smash my fist into Remy’s jaw—harder than I’d normally hit him, but fuck it, he started this.

His eyes widen in shock, then narrow. “You’re going to regret that.”

He sends his fist through the air. Even though it’s been a while since we’ve faced off, I know Remy too well. His moves are predictable. He practically announces his intentions.

I easily duck the blow, then pop back up and punch his side.

“Regret what?” I reach out and tap his face with the underside of my glove—a padded version of the Stonewall Slap—just to fuck with him.

“This?” I taunt and tap him again. “Or this?” Another tap on the opposite cheek.

“You watched it,” he grunts and sweeps my hand away. “Saw how bad it was.” Punch.

Weave.

“It doesn’t matter.” I hit his shoulder. “You should’ve believed in me.”

“I warned you not to do the show.” Blam! His fist hits my cheek.

It smarts but I shake it off and back away.

“So what? You wanted to teach me a lesson?” I throw a few jabs and he counters. “You let Molly go all that time thinking I’d do that to her?”

“You should’ve found a way to talk to her yourself.” He drives his fist into my gut.

Air whooshes from my lungs in another painful wheeze.

I blink, then laugh in his face. “That’s all you’ve got for me?” I hit his side again.

He growls a curse and hooks a kick, popping me behind my bad knee. The shot almost takes me down.

I glare at him and return the kick. There isn’t enough power behind my foot. He grabs my ankle and yanks hard. I hop and wobble. We both tumble to the mat.

The fall’s hard enough to jar my bones but I recover faster than Remy. “Been waiting for this, huh?” I easily wrap my legs around his midsection and squeeze.

Remy’s always been a slightly better grappler than me, but my time at the house taught me a few new moves.

And I’m about to give Remy an education he won’t forget.

He twists and struggles to free his legs, but I’m motherfucking concrete ready to drag him to the bottom of an ocean. Slowly, I twist and unwind, rolling us until I get my arm under his chin in a guillotine choke.

“You like that?” I say against his ear, flexing my arm enough for him to feel it but not completely cut off his oxygen. “Ready to tap out?”

“No,” he grunts through clenched teeth.

He presses his palms into the mat, trying to throw me off but I stay on his back like a monkey. He’s always been a strong son of a bitch. But I’m stronger.

“Remy, I’ll choke you out.” I tighten my arm a fraction more.

He launches himself backward, throwing my shoulder into the cage wall. The fence is sturdy but not exactly up to safety standards. It buckles and rattles. I release him from the hold, brace my palms against his shoulders and shove him away from me.

He coughs and sucks in a huge breath, but whips around faster than I expected and fires off a kick to my midsection. I dodge the worst of it but his heel glances off my side and I stumble against the cage again.

I hurry to put distance between us. Regroup. New attack plan.

We circle each other slowly.

Remy runs a lot. He’s got endurance. I won’t tire him out easily. As furious as I am, I don’t want to hurt him more than I have to. But he’s obviously not giving up.

Fuck it. I move in, letting him think he has an easy shot at my face. As soon as he cocks his arm I duck and take him down.

“Fucker,” he breathes out.

I’m an octopus, wrapping my limbs around him. Locking my legs around his hips and my arm around his neck. A python, squeezing my prey.

He freezes for a second, then lets his body go limp.

“I’m not falling for that.” I squeeze him harder. We’re ending this now.

“I. Warned. You. Not. To. Hurt. Her.” He reaches up and behind, knocking his glove against my temple. Not enough to hurt. More like the annoying tap of a cat’s paw.

“I didn’t know…” The protest dies on my tongue. I’m tired of saying it. Tired of defending my actions. I’ve apologized to Molly and she forgave me. But I hurt Remy too and my pride wouldn’t allow me to admit it. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I never wanted any of that.”

He taps my arm three times.

Finally.

I release him so fast, his chin hits the floor. He rolls to his back, panting and staring up at the ceiling. I fall down on the mat an arm’s length away.

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

He rolls his head my way. “You’re right. I should have known it was bullshit. I’m sorry too.”

My eyes widen and I flick my gaze to the ceiling. “Holy shit. Did you manage to knock me out after all? Am I hallucinating? The great Remington Holt didn’t just apologize, did he?”

“Christ, you came home a better grappler and a supreme asshole. Fantastic.”

“Hah. You admit I’m better than you. Finally.”

“That’s not what I said.” He groans and rolls to a sitting position, then glances over at me. “But yeah, you’re damn good.”

I sit up and stretch. “Thank you.”

“I hate that you’re doing the Vegas fight.”

“Why?”

He runs his hand over the top of his head and winces, then shakes out his arm. “I’m worried it’s another setup. I don’t trust anything that comes as a result of that damn show.”

He’s not saying anything I haven’t already considered. “It’s not the same company. But yeah, the way they got Underhill to agree to coach me, means they’re probably involved.” I stop and consider the bigger picture. “We both know I have a small window of opportunity, though. Once the second season airs, everyone will lose interest in me. Life will return to normal.”

He scoffs. “I think you’re kidding yourself. But okay.”

“I’d like your support.”

“You’ve already got it. You know that.” He hesitates. “I’m not thrilled Molly’s going with you to Vegas, though.”

“I can’t do this again without her. It’s not fair. It won’t interfere with her classes?—”

“I’m not worried about that. She’ll be done with finals, by then.”

“You worried she’ll get upset during the fight?” If things get as bad as they did in my fight with Naptime, I don’t know if Molly can handle seeing me bleed that much.

“Yeah.” He stretches out his arm and waves his hand near my face. “For some reason she likes your ugly mug arranged as it is.” He pauses, then adds, “I also don’t want any of the fight bros that’ll be hanging around the event bothering her. They’ll do it just to fuck with your head.”

A slow grin slides over my face. “Then come with us, and be my fight bro, bro.”

He flicks his gaze to the ceiling. “Yeah, I probably should be there to chaperon. I don’t want you two getting any ideas while you’re in Vegas.”

It takes a second for his meaning to sink in. “Molly wants to get married in a rose garden, not Vegas.”

He groans and shakes his head.

“We’re not ready for that anyway.” I cock my head. “You don’t need to make up reasons. It’s okay to want to be there to watch me win. Just say you’ll be my emotional support fight bro.”

He cracks up and kicks his foot at me. “Fine, fucker. Yeah, I wanna be there to see you hand that guy his ass. And to make sure no one in his crew tries to mess with you outside the ring.”

“There.” I roll my head to the side and grin at him. “Was that so hard, big buddy?”

“I don’t know if I like this new, cocky Griffin Royal.”

“Same guy I’ve always been.”

“Nah, you used to fear me more.”

“You want a friendship based on fear?”

He can’t seem to come up with an answer to that one. While he’s working out a comeback, I peel myself off the floor and hold out my hand to him.

Reluctantly, he allows me to help him up.

“You got me good, fucker.” He curls his arm around his side.

Thisis the real reason we stopped sparring with each other. I hate hurting my best friend. And there isn’t really a “nice” way to trade blows with someone. “You asked for it.”

“I did.” He nods once.

“You went low with that kick to my bad knee.”

He grimaces. “That was shitty. Sorry.”

As much as I try to hide it, I end up limping out of the cage. It’s not even the pain as much as my knee just doesn’t want to function. I don’t want to make Remy feel worse, though, so I do what I always do and power through the pain.