Chapter 51

Fight camp has been a grind.Everything is structured down to the minute. Unlike my time in the Supreme Fighter house, everyone at camp is serious about learning and preparing for battle. Nothing is dramatized for television ratings. There’s a strict nutritional program we have to stick to. Thankfully, I don’t have to cut weight like some of the other fighters.

My reward for all the hard work is finally seeing Molly when she arrives tonight.

For the couple days leading up to the fight, we’ve moved to the hotel next to the arena where the fight’s being held. Training time’s been reduced but not eliminated. It’s supposed to give us time to recover and rest before the big day. But I have a long list of media events I’m supposed to attend. That shit stresses me out way more than the training. Underhill wants me to focus on meditation—sitting still, the one thing I’m not good at.

I’m in the hotel gym, finishing thirty minutes on the treadmill, when I sense someone standing to my left. Guys I trained with at the fight camp are spread throughout the gym. We usually try not to bother each other. Whoever this is on my side feels like an intruder.

I punch the speed down, grab my towel and jump off the machine.

A hotel employee scurries over and wipes down the treadmill and I step back to get out of her way. I haven’t gotten used to that, yet.

I swipe my water bottle off the floor and take a deep sip.

A guy with blond hair and a way too eager expression sticks his hand out. “Sorry to interrupt your training.”

I screw the cap back on my bottle and shake his hand. “You didn’t.”

“Jeb from Skirmish Skeptic.” He introduces himself. Another guy stands behind him with a camera, but Jeb doesn’t give him an introduction.

I recognize the name as one of the smaller YouTube channels. They spend more time roasting fighters than discussing anything meaningful.

Suspicious now, I raise an eyebrow and stare at him. “Who let you in here?”

“Uh, your coach said I could have a minute of your time. You mind if I film it?” He gestures to his buddy standing behind him.

I shrug and hold out my arms. “Yeah, whatever.”

Underhill warned me that in the days leading up to the fight, I’d have to answer more and more questions. The hotel is crawling with bloggers, reporters, podcasters, YouTubers, photographers, and regular fight fans. No one’s given me any training on talking to the media other than Underhill’s warning not to insult any of the money guys paying for all of this. Since I don’t know all the players involved, I’ve kept any complaints to myself and focused on only speaking about the fight and my training. I’m running out of creative ways to say I want to punch Magic’s face into oblivion, though.

I stare at Jeb, waiting for whatever he wants to ask. “Well?”

“Oh! I wanted to know if you had any comment about what Magic said about you this morning on The Warrior Force podcast.”

“I don’t have time to keep up with all the stuff he says. I’m busy training for a fight.” I shrug. “Maybe that’s what he should be doing too.”

Jeb holds out his phone and plays a clip of Magic’s ugly face taking up half the screen. Some guy I don’t recognize fills the other half. “I want to change the arrangement of his actual fucking face.” Magic twists his hands in front of him like he’s unscrewing a jar of pickles. “Just rearrange that pretty boy smirk of his and give him a matching scar over his other eye. His little teenage girlfriend won’t even recognize him when I’m finished.”

A hot flare of rage sparks in my chest. I don’t give a fuck about what Magic wants to do to my face. Referencing Molly, even if he never uses her name, crosses a line. Keenly aware of the guy filming me, I grind my teeth and will my face to stay calm. Give him nothing. Otherwise Magic will know Molly’s a soft spot he can poke whenever he wants a reaction.

“I’m busy prepping for war here.” I roll my shoulders forward and back. “I’ll be disappointed if after all this work, the only thing Magic brings to the cage is plastic surgery tips.” Okay, not my finest comeback but fuck, I’m better at quick punches, not quippy lines.

Jeb snickers and pulls his phone away. “Nice one.”

At least Jeb thinks I’m clever.

“Good luck, Griff.”

“Thanks.”

My watch buzzes and I check the incoming text. Underhill makes us lock up our phones when we’re training but he didn’t say anything about smart watches—a birthday gift from Molly that’s made it easier to keep in touch with her.

Molly: We’re here.

My skin tingles, knowing she’s close. It can’t be healthy to miss someone as much as I’ve missed her. The strict training schedule has been a blessing in more ways than one.

I’d given Molly our room number last night. And the front desk should have key cards for Remy, Eraser, and Jigsaw to get into the four-bedroom suite we’re sharing.

Under the coach’s watchful eye, I slip into the locker room and grab my phone out of my locker.

Me: In the hotel gym. I’ll be here a lil’ longer. You can come visit.

If Underhill is going to let random reporters in to ask me stupid questions, he damn well better let my girlfriend in.

Molly

“I’m ready.” I step out of the bedroom I’ll share with Griff and into the common area of our suite.

Remy’s waiting on a long white couch, scowling at his phone.

“Everything okay?” I ask when he doesn’t lift his head.

“Yeah.” He stands and slips the phone into his pocket. “That fuckweasel Magic was talking more shit this morning,” he growls.

“Oh, you mean the one where he said he wants to rearrange Griff’s face, so his ‘teenage girlfriend’ won’t recognize him? I heard.”

“Stop looking at that stuff. I fucking hate them bringing you into it at all. That’s just not cool.”

“No, but like you said, he’s a fuckweasel.”

Remy snort-laughs.

“Whatever.” I shrug it off like the comment didn’t embarrass the hell out of me. “It’s not a lie. I am nineteen.”

He runs his gaze over my outfit. “Please put something over that.”

“Duh.” I roll my eyes.

“Are you planning to work out down there?” he asks. “Or are you just going to say hi?”

“I don’t know. But I wanted to be prepared.” I slip a cropped zip-up hoodie over my workout top. “Are you?” I nod to his shorts and tee.

“Griff asked if I’d help him work on some moves.”

“Oh no. You two can’t get into it?—”

“Molly, we’ve worked together for years. Who do you think he was training with before he left?”

“Yeah, well. The last time you two stepped in a cage together?—”

“That was different.” He waves an impatient hand at me. “Let’s go.”

Eager to see Griff, I follow Remy into the hallway. The hotel is huge and has more than one gym. Of course, Griff’s is the farthest away.

We navigate the long hallways and elevators down to a lower floor and finally find the gym. Outside the door, we’re stopped by a security guy in a navy blue polo shirt with the hotel’s logo stitched on the front.

“We’re with Team Royal,” Remy says. “Coach Underhill knows we’re coming.”

The guard runs his slow gaze over each of us. When his gaze lingers on my chest for too long, I’m grateful Remy reminded me to put on the jacket. Remy steps in front of me, shielding me from the guard’s leering eyes. “Can we go in or not?”

“Yeah.” He opens the glass door and a rush of cool air washes over us. “Go ahead.”

Remy puts himself between the guard and me as we enter. The sleek, modern space sprawls in front of us, larger than I expected. A row of treadmills and ellipticals line the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Vegas Strip. Several fighters pound away on the treadmills, their expressions focused and intense. None of them are Griff, though.

At the leg press, one guy lifts a heavy stack. Men and a few women are using free weights and kettlebells. Except for the hum of the machines, occasional grunts and the clanging of metal, it’s quiet. The air is charged with focus and determination, not chatter.

Remy and I keep walking. To our right, there’s another room off the main gym. The rapid, rhythmic beat of someone using a speed bag reaches us. Remy and I stop in the doorway. Griff’s standing in front of the bag, his fists moving in small, precise circles. The movement’s so fast it looks like he’s barely making contact. That’s what’s creating the steady, hypnotic rhythm. Griff holds his shoulders and arms loose and relaxed, making it seem effortless.

As much as I want to run and hug Griff, to kiss him and have him hold me, I’m mesmerized by his skill and don’t want to do anything to break his concentration.

“If I tried that, I’d probably get bopped in the face, wouldn’t I?” I whisper to Remy.

His lips quirk, but he doesn’t confirm my suspicion.

“How long can he do that for?” I ask.

“A while.”

It’s hot, almost humid in this part of the gym. I unzip my jacket and shrug it off. I recognize one of Griff’s shirts draped over the bench next to us, so I drop my jacket there.

“Take ten,” Underhill shouts.

Griff’s shiny-headed coach nods to us.

The serious, focused expression on Griff’s face morphs into happiness as he turns away from the speed bag and spots us.

“Go on.” Remy nudges me forward. “Say hi first.”

I sprint the short distance and jump into Griff’s outstretched arms, not caring that he’s hot and sweaty. “I’m so happy you’re here,” he says against my hair. “I missed you, Muffin.”

“I missed you too.”

Behind us, Remy’s now talking to Underhill.

Griff still hasn’t set me down. “You look really hot,” I whisper into his ear. “Don’t wear yourself out too much. Because I’m going to fuck you so hard later.”

He pulls back, surprise sparkling in his eyes. “That a promise?”

“Oh yeah.” I run my fingers over his sweaty chest and hesitate. “Sorry, was that too much?”

“Nope.” He sets me on my feet and walks us to the bench. “I’m into this conversation.” He drops down on the bench and pulls me onto his lap. “Tell me more.”

I loop my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. “I’m glad you told me to meet you here.”

“Why’s that?”

“So I could see you all sweaty and working hard.” I ruffle my fingers through his hair. “Watching you drum that bag into submission did things to me.”

He places his mouth against my ear and wraps my ponytail in his hand, gently tugging. “I’ve missed you terribly. I’m going to work you over hard tonight. I hope you’re ready for me.”

A rush of desire pulses through my veins. “I’m ready right now.”

He glances down at my sage-green workout top that zips in front. His gaze travels lower to the matching high-waisted leggings.

“I like this color on you.” He tugs lightly on my ponytail. “It looks pretty with your hair.”

It’s such a sweet, unexpected compliment from the man who’d been steadily pummeling a speed bag speed five minutes ago.

My cheeks warm with pleasure. I pepper kisses along his jaw. “Thank you.”

“No, no, no,” a deep voice announces behind us. “This is workout time. Make out on your own time.”

Griff groans and nudges me out of his lap. We both stand straight as army recruits. “Coach, you remember Molly.”

He gives me a dismissive once-over. “Yes. Hello. Training isn’t over yet today.”

“I know,” I say quickly. “We just got in and I wanted to say hi.”

“Five more minutes,” he warns Griff, then walks into the other room.

Remy steps up and Griff embraces him like they’re long-lost brothers.

“How was your flight?” Griff asks.

“Well, Molly didn’t drool on me.” Remy’s lips quirk. “So that was good.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Ha, ha.”

Griff shakes his head and shifts his attention to me. “I’m so sorry. I won’t be finished for a couple more hours.”

“That’s okay. I knew that might be the case. Shelby asked me if I wanted to go shopping with her this afternoon.” I didn’t want to let Remy know how much Magic’s dig at Griff about his “teenage girlfriend” bothered me. Finding something more mature to wear to the fight is my new number-one priority.

I run my gaze over Griff again. No, getting him alone in that giant king-sized bed in our room is my first priority, but finding a new dress is still high on the list.

Griff pulls me aside. “My wallet’s in the safe in our room. Take my card and buy whatever you want.”

I stand back and stare at him. “I have money.”

He frowns in confusion. “Yeah, but you’re out here because of me.”

“Today, I’m just looking around. If I see anything I want, I’ll go back and get it tomorrow.”

He still seems conflicted. “Okay.”

Griff

Remy returns to the gym with Eraser about half an hour later. After being surrounded by so many strangers the last few weeks, they’re a welcome sight.

Eraser pulls me in for a big bear hug. “Jesus, you’re huge.”

“You say that every time you see me.” I squeeze him extra hard. “How was the flight? Where’s Ella?”

“She went shopping with Shelby and Molly.”

I shift my gaze to Remy who holds up one hand. “Jigsaw and Rooster are with them,” he explains.

My eyebrows shoot up. “Jigsaw went shopping with them?”

“I think he saw it as an opportunity to terrorize anyone who gives the girls a hard time.” Remy shrugs. “So, really it’s entertainment for him too.”

Can’t argue with that logic.

Underhill’s thrilled to have not one, but two new people to put to work, helping me perfect some grappling skills. And since Remy knows my style, strengths, and weaknesses probably better than I do, we end up working on strategy together.

A couple hours later someone from the fight organization runs in and informs me I need to be downstairs in Conference Room Afor a press meeting in fifteen minutes.

“Just go like this.” He circles his hand in front of my face. “We want to show everyone how hard you’re grinding in here.”

As if I was going to run upstairs and change into a fucking suit.

“This wasn’t on the schedule,” Underhill snaps. “We have training to finish. And he needs to rest.”

The guy gives Underhill a tough shit shrug and leaves.

“Assholes.” Underhill pulls out his phone and starts checking his messages. “Go clean up and get ready,” he mutters.

“We’re going with you, right?” Remy asks.

“It’ll probably be boring. They ask the same dumb questions over and over.”

“Not this time,” Underhill says, waving his phone in the air. “That pixie dick opponent of yours is finally coming off his high horse to do a joint Q A.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Eraser asks. “He’s been doing all his interviews from whatever house he’s staying at, right?”

“We’ll see,” Underhill grumbles. “He’s gonna trash-talk your buddy, though. So behave.”

“Whatever.” I shake my head. “Let’s see if he has the balls to say to my face all the shit he’s been talking online.”

* * *

Mike “Magic”Everson is every bit the asshole Diane warned me he would be. I already knew that from the videos I’ve watched but seeing it in person is a whole new experience.

I sit at a table next to Underhill on a stage. Someone handed me a microphone when we arrived, but I set it down. Magic never shuts the fuck up, so I haven’t needed to use it much. He’s on the other side of the stage at a different table answering questions about some shitty sneakers he’s endorsing. A moderator stands at a podium between us. Several bouncers dressed in black standing shoulder-to-shoulder behind us in case Magic and I want to start the fight early.

“Next.” The moderator recognizes a man in the third row with his hand in the air. The first five or six rows are only half full of press waiting to ask questions. The rest of the giant conference room is empty.

“Will from Warrior Force podcast. My question is for Magic. You lost to Captain Biscuit in your last fight. Griff is the same age. Similar skill set. Same wingspan. He put on an impressive performance week after week on Supreme Underground Fighter.”

Why, thank you. About time some recognize that.

“So, after your recent loss, are you concerned at all?” Will asks.

“I’m eleven wins and one loss,” Magic growls into the mic. “I ain’t worried about no one.” He waves his hand vaguely in my direction. “He’s a nobody. Didn’t even win that shit contest. I’m not even sure how we got here.”

Oh, fuck that.I snatch the microphone off the table and switch it on. “You sure seemed to know who I was when your people were begging me to come out to Vegas and fight you. I didn’t even know who the fuck you were.”

Magic cackles into his mic. “You didn’t know who I was? You didn’t know? Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious. But it doesn’t matter. I’m here. I’m ready. I’ve got the skills and heart to win.”

“Yeah. You’re skilled all right. Skilled at bleeding,” he grumbles.

I let out a loud yawn. “Please stop. I’m too young to die of boredom.”

“You are young. I been at this fight game for years. You been here a minute.”

I cock my head and shrug at the audience. “Imagine doing this for years and still acting this childish.”

A low murmur of chuckles ripples through the room.

“You need to show some respect!” he shouts.

I slowly turn my head and stare at him. “Respect is earned, not given. I don’t care who you are.”

“Hard to respect someone who goes trolling for dates at the local high school,” he mutters into the microphone.

Fury shoots through my chest. Don’t react. I loosen my grip on the microphone and force out a harsh laugh. “You sure are obsessed with my love life. You tryin’ to fight me or date me?”

“All right!” The moderator interrupts. “Let’s take more questions.”

“Griff!” A man in the first row raises his hand.

I point my microphone at him.

“Jeb from Skirmish Skeptic, we spoke earlier.”

I nod quickly to acknowledge that I remember him.

“Speaking of your girlfriend. Will she be here for the fight?”

I open my mouth to answer but he continues. “After all, high school doesn’t let out until mid-June in New York, right? Will she need a permission slip to fly to Las Vegas?” He smirks like he’s really fucking proud of that one.

This prick.“What was your name again?” I ask.

The cocky tilt slips from his lips. “Jeb. Skirmish Skeptic. We met earlier,” he repeats.

“Jeb with the blond hair and green shirt.” I raise my hand and point to him. “Yo, Ruthless, that’s him. Front row. Jeb with the goofy green polo.”

Jeb’s eyes widen and he turns around. “What?—”

“You asked about my girlfriend. That was dumb, Jeb.” I explain slowly enough for his little brain to process it. “My whole crew’s here watching, including her brother. Don’t worry. I’m sure he just wants to have a word with you, Jeb.”

Laughter ripples through the room.

“We just want to talk, Jeb!” one of the guys screams from the back of the room. “Don’t be scared!”

More laughter.

Two of the hotel security guys jump off the stage and storm through the aisles.

“All right. I think that wraps things up,” the moderator says. “Thank you both.”

I slam the mic on the table and push my chair out. Underhill follows me off the stage.

“Fuck this shit. I’m not doing this again,” I say to him in a harsh whisper. “It’s fucking pointless. I’d be better off spending the extra time in the gym.”

“I know.” He rests his hand on my shoulder. “Relax. You handled it fine. Kept it about the fight. Talked some shit but didn’t cross any lines.”

“No, he did by bringing up my girlfriend. Again. You don’t see me talking trash about his wife’s Only Fans account.” I almost considered saying it, but it seemed like such a cheap shot. Poor woman’s life is probably hard enough being married to such an asshole.

“That shit’s beneath you, Griff,” he says calmly. “That’s why people like you.” He shrugs. “It’s also why some people will hate you.”

Obviously.

“Look. You’re done for the day. Take that ice bath. Rest. Meditate?—”

“I told you, I can’t.”

He sighs. “You’re making it more complicated than it needs to be. Just try.”

I nod quickly.

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

When he turns away, the last person I expect to see is standing in front of us.

“Diane!” Underhill smiles wide and sweeps the much smaller woman into an embrace.

“How’s my favorite fighter doing?” she asks him.

“I’m standing right here,” I say.

She chuckles but then looks to Underhill for an answer.

“Good. He’s having a hard time with the slowdown in training this week.”

I open my mouth to protest, then shut it.

“The rest and recovery time is important,” Diane scolds, in the same tone you’d ask a kid to eat his veggies.

Underhill pats her arm and jogs up the aisle toward the exit. “Let’s do dinner later,” he calls over his shoulder.

She nods quickly, then moves in closer to me. “I warned you Magic was an asshole.”

“You did.” I shove my hands in my pockets and look her straight in the eye. “Why’s he suddenly acting like he has no idea who I am?”

“Mind games. He’s trying to make you feel like you don’t belong here.” She gestures toward the stage where Magic’s still standing, surrounded by a bunch of reporters. “Trust me. He knows who you are. He’s watched every piece of footage he could find on you. How else do you think he knew to poke you about Molly?”

I glare at her.

She points a finger at my face. “You did a better job concealing how much that bugs you up on stage.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“I know.” She grins. “Calling on your homies to ‘talk’ to the reporter was brilliant. There will be dozens of that clip all over the place by the end of the night.” She squeezes her fists together like she’s trying to contain her excitement. “Damn, that was clever. I knew you were a natural.”

“A natural at what? I have no fucking idea what I’m doing in all these interviews. I keep making an ass out of myself.”

“No you don’t.” She frowns as if she’s surprised that’s how I see things. “You’re well spoken. Polite but not afraid to trade a few barbs. Your dry sense of humor’s very endearing. I haven’t seen a bad video yet, kid.”

I blow out a breath, annoyed her opinion actually matters to me. “Thanks.”

I shift my gaze to the exit. I’m so tired of playing mind games with people. I just want to see Molly and relax tonight.

As if he read my mind, Eraser marches down the aisle to my rescue.

“Ready to go?” he asks without acknowledging Diane.

She shifts toward him. “You’re not the brother, are you?”

“No.” He drills her with a murderous stare. “But if you’re who I think you are, I’m not a fan of what you did to Molly, either.”

The corners of Diane’s mouth turn down. “But I spoke to Molly at the reunion. I thought we were good.”

“Molly forgives. I don’t,” Eraser says without so much as a twitch of his lips to indicate he’s kidding. He’s not.

I bite the inside of my cheek to hold in my laughter.

“Well.” Diane squeezes my arm briefly. “You’re doing good. And I have no doubt that you’re going to win Saturday.”

“Will you be there?” I ask.

“I’ll be around all week.”

Great.

Eraser’s eyes narrow to slits as he watches her hurry away from us. “What’s she doing here?”

“Honestly, I have no fucking idea. She said she’s a fan of combat sports.” I shrug. “Ready to go?”

He runs his hand over the back of his neck, suddenly seeming unsure of himself. “You looked good up there. Handled it well. I wanted to throw a chair at that punk.”

“Same.”

More neck rubbing.

“Bro, I love you, but I really want to get upstairs and see Molly,” I say. “What’s on your mind?”

“She’s still with the girls.” He runs his hand over his beard a few times. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

That’s a shift in conversation I didn’t expect. “For?”

He cocks his head like he’s annoyed he has to spell it out for me. “For giving you a hard time when you first came home.”

“I remember you checking to make sure I wasn’t dead several times.”

He huffs. “Yeah, but you know what I mean.”

“Ohhh,” I draw out the sound to a dickish extreme. “You mean the part where you believed a bunch of lies and bullshit about me cheating on my girlfriend? Or where you were mad at me about the way they portrayed her when I had no control over it? Or, or, wait a minute, is it because you never warned me that your orange-haired troll doll of a cousin was taking advantage of the situation by trying to date my girlfriend?”

Now he plows both hands through his hair and gives me a sheepish look. “All of the above?” He holds his arms out wide. “I know you and Remy already had your come-to-Jesus match back home so if you need a sparring buddy this week, I’ll volunteer.”

I bark out a laugh. I had way more anger stored up for Remy. “Tell me the truth, were you mad because you care about Molly?”

“Yeah, she’s my little McMuffin,” he says, showing off the teddy bear living under his gruff exterior. “She tried being all brave and shit when the show said all that crap about her, but we all knew how much it was messing with her head.” He closes his eyes. “And then that night. Holy shit. I hated seeing her so heartbroken. Then she fucked up her car.” His lips twitch. “Although, I was a little proud of her for that one, honestly.”

“Asshole. She could’ve gotten hurt.”

“As for my cousin,” he continues, “I had nothing to do with that. I didn’t like it either, honestly. And I made that really clear to him and Remy when I found out about their arrangement.”

“You should’ve told her.”

He tilts his head. “Come on. I didn’t want to be the one to tell her that. And I know you don’t want to hear it, but he does like her.”

“He’s a fuckin’ creep,” I grumble.

“Anyway. When I watched that reunion show, Griff.” He shakes his head in disgust. “Jesus Christ. I think it finally hit me how much lying and absolute bullshit you went through and I’m sorry if I made it worse by giving you a hard time.”

I swallow hard, completely unprepared for this today. “Why you tryin’ to get me all emotional during fight week?”

His head snaps up and his eyes widen. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“I’m just messing with you.” I open my arms and pull him in for a tight hug, thumping him on the back a few times. “Thanks.”

“I’m really fuckin’ proud of you, Griff.” He holds out his hands. “And you gave me all that shit for manifesting when we were locked up.”

I snort, remembering his nightly ritual of wanting us to visualize our ideal lives or some shit. “No I didn’t. I manifested the shit out of my Chevelle.”

He snorts with laughter. “True. Did you think when we were fighting for our lives at Castle Correctional you’d end up here?”

“No, I figured I’d end up buried in a ditch in the woods.”

“I think we all did.” He cocks his head. “You ever think of looking up Ollie or any of those detention officers and paying them a visit?”

“Sometimes.”

“Karma’s been too slow for my taste.”

We’re wandering down a dark path I can’t afford to travel this week. “So you’re volunteering to spar with me, huh? Underwood’s gonna love you.”

His solemn eyes meet mine. “Whatever you need, brother.”