Chapter 54

Energy coursesthrough me like I’m attached to a live wire. Every one of the twenty-thousand seats in the arena have been sold.

The bright lights disorient me, but I keep following the purple hood of Remy’s sweatshirt.

Griff punches his fists in the air and bounces down the walkway, pumping himself up for the fight.

A few people scream “Stonewall!” as we pass.

Someone yells, “Fuck Naptime!” and I laugh.

A man pushes his way to the edge of the entourage but Remy’s quick to shove him back.

He screams, “Marry me, Molly!” almost in my face.

Startled, I turn to see who he is, but Wrath’s already at my side, blocking the crowd from even seeing me as we pass.

But as we draw closer to the center, fans hurl curses and insults at Griff. Most of them are the same trite, homophobic slurs that knuckle-draggers always seem to favor.

Griff’s either too keyed up to hear what’s being said or he’s able to block out the noise.

Iwant to punch every single one of them.

We finally reach the mat outside the cage where Griff’s supposed to stop for inspection. For a moment or two no one seems to know where to stand. No one seems to be in charge or offer any direction. Everything’s so much more chaotic than what gets shown on television.

The circle of people around us grows wider, but Wrath, Remy, Eraser, Dawson, and Remy’s coach form a ring around Griff, the officials, and me.

Once he’s on the mat, he has to strip down quickly. In front of twenty thousand people and probably as many cameras, he has zero privacy. He toes off his shoes and kicks them toward Eraser, then shimmies out of his track pants, unzips his hoodie and shrugs it off. Eraser ducks and collects the clothes, leaving Griff in nothing but his tight-fitting athletic shorts.

“Off.” The official touches Griff’s sunglasses.

He slips them off and passes them to me and I tuck them back in my purse.

While the official smears Vaseline on Griff’s face, he stands with his eyes closed but his fingers keep restlessly wiggling.

Underhill hands Griff his mouth guard and he pops it in, working his jaw from side to side to put it in place.

In front of the entire arena, the official practically performs a full-body cavity search, running his rubber-gloved hands all over Griff’s body. Griff stands straight, staring ahead, unfazed by the thorough pat down. Where on earth would he be able to hide a weapon—in between his toes?

I glance inside the cage. It’s full of people. A ref, an announcer, camera crews, and a lot of other guys hanging out, like the canvas floor hasn’t been soaked in blood all day long from the earlier matches. And might be again in the next few minutes.

My stomach churns. Maybe I should’ve watched from the locker room.

Then my gaze lands on Magic. That arrogant dickwad, with more muscles than brain cells, who’s been taunting Griff with trashy insults all week. And poking fun at Griff for dating me. After he all but begged Griff to fight him. Jackass. I hope Griff really does punch a hole through his skull. He runs back and forth on his side of the cage, reminding me of a lion in a zoo. Nah, that’s insulting to lions.

“All right.” The official pats Griff’s shoulder and steps aside. “You’re all set.”

“Show him how New York does it,” Remy says, tapping his fist against Griff’s glove.

“Get in there and crush him, bro!” Eraser pounds his fists together.

Griff turns toward me and tilts his head, silently asking for a kiss for luck. I reach up and brush my lips against his cheek. “Skull punch that wankhammer into next Tuesday,” I say against his ear.

His eyes widen with amusement and surprise.

“I wuf ooo.” The mouth guard gets in his way, but I get the message.

“I love you too.”

My stomach ripples with unease as he skips up the steps like he’s not stepping into a death cage.

“Come on.” Remy presses his hand between my shoulder blades. “There’ll be ten more minutes of yammering before it starts. Let’s grab our seats. Show our support.”

Eraser’s staying with Griff’s coaches in the corner. He stops and taps his knuckles against mine as we pass him.

Dawson flanks my left side as we cross the short distance from the cage to our front row seats. “I had the opportunity to watch some of his training earlier this week,” he drawls. “You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, darlin’.”

I peer up at him and he gives me a friendly smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I know.” I press my hand to my chest, my diamond necklace cool against my skin. “It’s still a lot.”

“That it is.” He dips his chin in agreement.

Shelby stands and hugs me as I approach our seats. “You sit here next to me, Molly. Logan’s gonna sit with Dawson.”

It doesn’t matter. We’re right in the front row.

In a daze, I give Ella a quick hug and say hi to Trinity. Wrath squeezes into the seat at the end of our row.

Backstage, I’d been freezing. Out here, it’s hotter than a frying pan. I unzip the hoodie and shrug it off, a little self-conscious in the short, showy dress now. Why had this seemed like a good idea?

“Hot damn, that looks flockin’ fabulous on you.” Shelby smooths down pieces of sequins that were flipped the wrong way from my sweatshirt.

“Thanks.” I lower myself into the short, uncomfortable metal seat. I nod to her sparkling purple jumpsuit. “I think fancy pants like yours would’ve been a smarter option, though.”

She presses her hand to her stomach. “Already had some weasel ask me if I’m pregnant, so I’m thinkin’ I chose poorly.”

She’s sitting so it’s hard to tell what would’ve prompted someone to ask in the first place. She looks stunning, like she should be on a red carpet, not in the splatter zone of a cage fight. “You look beautiful. People are dumb.”

“Thank ya.” A wicked grin lights her eyes. “Logan scared the piss outta the guy, he won’t be askin’ me that again.”

I bet he did.

“Hey, Molly,” someone says from behind me, touching my shoulder.

I whip around and find Venom and Woolly in the seats behind us. “Oh my God!” I twist to say hi. “Does Griff know you’re here?”

Venom pulls out his phone and nods. “I sent him a text earlier this week.”

I introduce them to Remy, and we promise to catch up after Griff wins.

A man with a large professional video camera stops in front of us. Shelby leans in close and whispers in my ear, “Smile and look pretty for these little worms or they’re gonna drag ya all over the Internet tomorrow.”

Grateful for the reminder, I force a bright smile and tilt my head toward her. We both wave at the camera. Shelby adds an endearing shoulder wiggle. Another man, following the camera guy, shouts, “Who are you rooting for, Shelby?”

“Stonewall! Who else?”

“You think your boyfriend’s going to win this fight, Molly?” he asks me.

Startled he knows my name, I blink a few times before answering, “Of course he will.”

Satisfied, they move down the row and stop at Dawson. He stands to talk to them longer. I take a second to glance around the arena. I recognize a few people in the front sections. Actors, musicians, a whole row of broad-shouldered guys who could be football players, men in suits who could be politicians. Cameras are being shoved in all of their faces as well.

This is…so much bigger than I thought. All of these people are here to see Griff in his first professional match against a seasoned fighter.

“Molly? You all right?” Remy taps my arm.

I nod quickly. “It’s…a lot.”

“We’re not in Johnsonville anymore, huh?” His voice holds a hint of amusement.

“Exactly.”

He puts his arm around my shoulders. “Can you handle this? Be honest. I’ll walk backstage with you right now. Griff won’t be upset. If things get rough…he’s worried about you.”

Indignant anger sparks in my chest but fizzles fast. Remy’s not trying to baby me or shut me out. He’s genuinely concerned. He and Griff probably discussed this last night.

My gaze flits around the arena again. Several spectators have phones aimed at us. Anyone who watched that retched reunion show probably knows who I am. How will that look for Griff, if I walk out before the fight even starts?

“No, I’ll be okay. I watched some other fights online. I know what to expect.” Bloodshed, broken bones, unconsciousness.

Remy stares at me for a few seconds longer. “Okay. If you change your mind, just give me a tap.” He pops his finger on my arm a few times to demonstrate.

“Are you asking me to literally tap out of watching?” I tease.

He snorts with laughter. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

All the extra people file out of the cage. Griff and his opponent stop their restless warmups and stand in their respective corners.

Griff still seems to have extra energy buzzing through him. He keeps bouncing on his toes and shaking his arms. Underhill speaks to him through the fence and Griff nods every now and then.

The announcer’s voice booms over the arena. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the main event tonight! Reigning champion Mike ‘Magic’ Everson out of ME Army Gym right here in Las Vegas with an impressive record of eleven wins and one loss, versus the up-and-coming Supreme Underground Fighter Griffin ‘Stonewall’ Royal out of Furious Fitness all the way in Empire, New York! You’re here to witness history as Stonewall steps into the cage for his first professional fight tonight.”

Griff raises his arms over his head and turns to face all sides of the arena.

A low, unfavorable-sounding roar moves through the crowd. We’re on Magic’s home turf. Good. A spiteful thrill runs through me. I can’t wait for Griff to whoop this guy’s ass in front of all his fans. But as he turns this way, our section bursts with chants in Griff’s favor.

Unable to stop myself, I jump out of my seat. A scream rips out of my throat, and I clap wildly. Griff’s eyes land on me and his cheeks push up. He points at me and tilts his chin.

The announcer keeps talking but it’s impossible to hear him over the deafening roar of the crowd. I lower myself into my seat again.

My stomach flips as the announcer hurries out of the cage and the ref calls the fighters to the middle.

“Breathe.” Shelby squeezes my hand. “He’s got this.”

“I know.”

I take a breath and block out the noise from the audience and focus on Griff.

Magic seems calm, almost bored, as if he thinks this will be an easy fight.

Griff seems to have redirected all of his extra energy inward. He’s impossibly stoic as he stands and stares Magic down. Magic bares his teeth and jerks his head forward, but Griff doesn’t flinch.

Next to me, Remy’s coiled tight, eyes fixed on the inside of the cage. Does he wish he was in there instead of Griff? Or does he want to pummel Magic the way I wish I could?

The ref says a few more words to the fighters. They tap their gloves together. The ref raises his hand and backs away quickly.

Griff crouches and puts his fists up. Magic tests him with a few probing jabs that Griff bats away. Griff responds with a low kick. Magic grunts and backs away.

“Shit,” Remy mutters.

I turn and find him grinning.

“Slap him, Stonewall!” someone screams.

Magic throws a powerful right hook that Griff ducks. The missed punch throws Magic off-balance, giving Griff time to move in close and whack Magic across the face with an open palm. He grins as Magic’s head snaps sideways and follows with a punch to Magic’s chin.

Magic rocks backward, catching himself against the cage wall. He returns with a flying kick to Griff’s midsection.

My heart hiccups with fear as Griff staggers backward. But he recovers fast and comes at Magic with several quick punches. Magic manages to pin him to the cage wall and they grapple, fighting to take each other down. Griff throws a sharp knee to Magic’s midsection and they separate.

“Shit, Magic’s already out of breath,” Remy says. “Griff’s still looking as fresh as a daisy.”

I don’t know about a daisy. Griff looks more like a highly trained K-9 focused on taking down a criminal with an anal cavity full of heroin.

Magic spins and lashes out with a wicked kick, aiming for Griff’s temple. Griff dodges the foot and responds with a combination of punches.

“Jesus Christ.” Remy shifts to the edge of his seat. “Magic’s just standing there like a fuckin’ zombie eating shot after shot.”

Magic ducks and covers his head, but Griff’s relentless, pouring on the punches.

The ref calls time. Griff calmly walks to his corner, hands on his hips, while Magic staggers over to his stool and falls onto it.

While I can’t hear what Underhill and Eraser are saying to Griff in his corner, their animated gestures seem positive.

As the second round starts, Griff’s confidence must be soaring. He’s lighter on his feet, almost taunting Magic.

“Don’t get cocky, bonehead,” Remy mutters.

Magic lowers himself and rushes Griff, flipping him onto the mat. My stomach jumps as the hard thud of their bodies hitting the canvas reverberates.

“That was a mistake,” Remy says. “Griff will finish him.”

“Now who’s cocky?”

Remy chuckles and hugs me to his side.

Our whole row’s screaming as Griff and Magic grapple on the floor. The crowd starts chanting “Stonewall!” and I think it’s almost over when the ref sends them to their corners again.

Heart pounding wildly, I jump to my feet, trying to see Griff better. The coaches and another person surround him in his corner. Did he get hurt?

The third round starts. Griff’s just as bouncy and eager as he was in round one, while Magic seems to drag himself over the canvas.

Please finish this soon.

Magic ducks, like he’s preparing to take Griff to the mat, at the same time Griff lifts his knee. Face and knee collide. Blood sprays from Magic’s mouth and he staggers backward.

“Yikes, he gonna knock his own ass out!” Shelby yells.

The knee to the face was an accident, I think, but Griff uses Magic’s disorientation to his advantage. He lands several body shots, steps back, then throws a punch straight to Magic’s jaw.

Magic’s arms fly out to his sides, he staggers backward, then crumples to the canvas.

“Done!” Remy jumps to his feet.

“Yes!” Shelby squeezes my hand. Everyone in our row explodes out of our seats.

I run over and hug Ella. “He did it! He did it!” she squeals in my ear.

Trinity gives me a big hug. “I couldn’t breathe through the first half of that!”

Wrath’s standing so close to his wife that I move from hugging Trinity to giving him a hug too. He freezes for a second, then pats my shoulder. “He did good,” he bellows.

“He did! He did! Oh my God.”

Remy’s big hands curl over my shoulders and he steers me toward the cage. “He wants you in there!” he shouts.

I can’t even see Griff with all the people blocking our path. “Get behind me.” Remy takes my hand, pulling me along behind him while he muscles his way through the wall of people.

I scream at the top of my lungs with pure joy.

Rooster and Jigsaw meet us near the cage steps. Together with my brother, they form a protective semi-circle around me.

“You proud?” Jigsaw asks me.

“Damn right!”

Finally, I can actually see Griff. His dazed expression squeezes my heart. I raise my hand and wave wildly.

“Winner by knockout in the third round,” the announcer shouts, “Griffin ‘Stonewall’ Royal!”

Griff raises his hands high.

Underhill’s clapping and grinning like a proud papa.

The arena security guards who walked us down earlier notice me at the bottom of the steps and push some guys out of the way. “Let her through.”

I run up the stairs but step carefully onto the canvas, so I don’t trip. Griff’s looking toward our seats. I open my mouth to shout his name, but I break into a run and end up squealing a bunch of nonsense. Underhill steps out of my way and I crash into Griff.

“There you are!” He grins down at me. “How’d I do?”

“Amazing.” I study his face. He’s red around his right eye but not bleeding at least.

“I feel like I could’ve gone ten more rounds with him.”

“You looked like it.”

He bends down and kisses my forehead. “Were you okay?”

“Yes.”

Someone taps his shoulder and he swivels away but still keeps his arm loosely around my waist.

A man wearing a blue polo shirt, carrying a microphone, stops in front of me. Behind him another man holding a camera aims it at me. Nerves flutter in my stomach but I lift my chin and smile.

“You and Griffin have been together for a while, correct?” The man with the notepad asks. “This was a big fight for him. His debut. Now that he won, are you hoping for a marriage proposal this weekend?” The reporter shoves his microphone in my face.

Griff’s still distracted with questions from a different reporter.

I rest my hand on his sweaty chest to capture Griff’s attention, then answer the reporter. “Do you just assume every woman is waiting for a marriage proposal? Or am I special?”

“Well…” The guy works his jaw up and down but can’t seem to answer.

“This is Griff’s weekend.” I glare at the reporter. “His victory. He trained hard for this fight. Everyone said he was the underdog this weekend, but he dominated this cage. Why don’t you talk about that? I want him to enjoy every second of his win. That’s the only thing I’m ‘hoping for’ this weekend.”

He pulls his microphone back, ducks his head and scribbles something on a notepad, then turns and mutters something to his cameraman.

“Thank you, Miss Holt.”

“Sure.”

Griff wraps himself around me and lifts me so we’re eye to eye. “Thank you, Muffin,” he says in a low tone meant for my ears only. “You know I definitely plan to ask you that one day.”

I tighten my arms around his neck and dust my lips against his sweaty cheek. “And I plan to say yes,” I whisper in his ear.

Someone brushes a hand against my back and Griff carefully lowers me to the ground. I tug my dress into place.

Remy’s standing behind me, glowering at Griff. “You lift her up any higher, she was gonna be flashing all these cameras.”

“Good thing you were here to block them, then.” I slap my brother’s chest.

“Get over here.” Remy pulls Griff in for a hug. “Fuckin’ proud of you, brother. That was…incredible. You owned the ring.”

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

Eraser joins us and pats Griff’s back. “Team Royal for life.”

“Castle Crew for life,” Griff corrects, opening his arms wide and pulling them in.

Even though I’m sure dozens of cameras will capture the moment, I scoot back, pull out my phone and take a few pictures of my own.