Chapter 7

The gym feelscharged with a mix of anticipation and frustration this morning. In the days after my showdown with the head producer, the atmosphere in the house seems to have shifted a lot.

Two new coaches were brought in to work with us. Instead of the loose, self-motivated, training schedule we had, we’re now required to be downstairs by six a.m. and the rest of our day is just as structured. The crew wakes us by banging on our doors and setting off an earsplitting alarm throughout the house. It’s like the producers want us moody, sleep-deprived, and pissed off before we meet downstairs to spar with each other.

It hasn’t been a problem for me—at home I keep a tight gym schedule and work full-time. But for the guys in the house who stay up drinking and fucking around all night, it’s been an issue. Their constant bitching and moaning get old fast.

This morning, Venom and I paired up to work on our grappling skills. We’re both eager to test and improve our moves, not show off for the cameras.

Somehow, I block out all the noise around me and lose track of the lenses constantly encroaching on our space.

We start on the mat, each of us battling for control. I lunge forward. Too soon. The big bastard easily rolls me to my stomach. His arm locks tight around my neck.

“What’s going on? You’ve been…off since the day you got into it with Jordan,” Venom says in a low voice against my ear as if he doesn’t have my head in a brutal choke hold. He wraps his other arm around my ribcage like a fucking python.

“Can’t.” I gotta focus on breaking loose before I pass out.

I squirm and wriggle, enough to get my knees under me. Christ, he’s a heavy fucker. It’s a risk, but I roll him and finally plant my heels, gaining enough leverage to break free.

“Fuck.” I struggle to my knees, gulp some air and tackle him, wrapping my legs around his and pinning him to the mat. “Can’t…talk…about…it.”

I want to tell him what happened. Keeping all the betrayal, despair, and anger locked up is clouding my mind. I want to warn him in some way. But this could be a trap by the show to get me kicked off.

“Garden. Past the pool house. Safe zone.” He breaks free with disturbing ease. I hit the mat with my shoulder and roll to my back.

“Time!” our new coach shouts. Underhill’s a respectable former UFC fighter. A few years into retirement, he remains in top shape. I still haven’t figured out if his appearance was always in the script or if something I did triggered his arrival. Does the show have enough connections to get someone like him as a coach at the last minute?

It doesn’t matter. I need to survive, win, and go home. We still haven’t been matched up according to size and weight. It doesn’t bother me—mostly because I’ve avoided pairing up with Hammer Fists—but some of the smaller guys seem to be struggling. The more embarrassed they get, the more they run their mouths to prove how tough they are. The relentless trash talk seems to be pushing each of us to the edge. Snorting Bull is the worst. What he lacks in height, he’s made up for in bulk. Dude looks like a slab of concrete. He could probably bench press me. But all the bulk makes him slow and his more flexible opponent, Rumbling Thunder, keeps getting the upper hand. Amusing to watch. Annoying to listen to.

“We all have things to work on,” Venom says to Snorting Bull in his usual calm, zen-like tone. “No need to get belligerent.”

The other guys cackle like hyenas. Snorting Bull stomps over the mat, squaring up to Venom, even though his head barely reaches Venom’s neck.

Not wanting to inflame the situation with all the wisecracks I’m dying to let loose, I step back and swallow my jokes.

“Say it again, snake boy.” Snorting Bull bumps his chest into Venom.

I flick my gaze to the ceiling and sigh. I’m starving and want to get lunch, not sit through another man-baby fit. But I need to show everyone that I have Venom’s back. Not that he needs my assistance.

Woolly bumps my arm and plants himself right next to me. “It’s embarrassing for a bunch of grown-ass men to behave this way.”

“And predictable,” I agree.

Even Underhill seems annoyed. He shakes his head and storms out of the gym.

The camera guys swoop closer, pushing most of us out of the way so they can circle Venom and Snorting Bull. How any of this looks “realistic” is beyond me.

“Over here.” Jordan squeezes my shoulders and tries shifting me to the side.

“You touch me again, you’re not gettin’ those hands back,” I warn the producer, stepping to where he’s pointing.

Woolly snickers and moves next to me, shooting Jordan a challenging glare.

Jordan rolls his eyes and moves on to annoying the other contestants. He arranges Deadass and Naptime into a huddle, then the remaining guys into another clump, so we’re all in “teams” watching the drama unfold between Venom and Bull.

Venom shifts his gaze to the cameras and then to me. The corners of his mouth turn down—like this is the last damn thing he wants to deal with. I shake my head slightly and cross my arms over my chest to let him know I’m sticking around and have his back.

That slight moment of distraction is all Bull needs. He charges into Venom, knocking him back a step.

The unprovoked attack seems to flip a switch in Venom. Up until now, I’ve only seen him calm and methodical—even in the cage.

Now, Venom narrows his dark eyes on Bull. “You need to settle the fuck down,” he warns.

Bull postures and puffs up his chest. “The fuck you say, ya big monk?” His left hand flies up as if he’s going to shove or slap Venom.

He’s too slow, though. In a blur, Venom strikes, plucking Bull’s hand out of the air. He grabs Bull’s knuckles, then rotates his hand palm down, trapping Bull’s wrist and bending.

Bull’s knees hit the mat.

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” Bull screams as Venom applies what looks like light pressure but must hurt like a motherfucker.

“Don’t fuckin’ come at me like that again,” Venom warns. He releases Bull, who cradles his arm to his chest and falls flat on his back.

“You still can’t knock me out! Your wussy little hand holds are nothin’!” he screams from the floor. “No one knocks out The Bull!”

I step forward. “Dropping you to the floor wasn’t enough punishment? You’re begging for a KO, too?”

“Fuck off, Stonewall. No one asked you.” Bull kicks out at me, missing my shin by a mile.

The other guys hoot and jump around. The camera guys zoom in on Bull’s pained expression. I shake my head and back away.

“You couldn’t go a little more?” Jordan asks Venom.

Venom snarls. “Would breaking his arm make good television?” He walks off before Jordan comes up with an answer.

Outside the gym, Woolly and I catch up to Venom.

“That was epic.” Woolly thumps Venom on the back. “Been dying to shut that motherfucker up all day.”

“What got into him?” I ask. “Seemed more agitated than usual all morning.”

“Producers probably had a talk with him.” Venom glares at one of the hallway cameras as we pass it.

“They’ll keep pressuring us to get into these petty fights outside of the ring,” Woolly says. “You did good, Venom. Chose the time and place.”

Venom scowls. “I didn’t really choose either one. I wasn’t gonna let him hit me, though. I ended it the quickest way I could think of.”

“You’re going to need to show me that wrist lock.” I bump my elbow into Venom’s arm. “You moved so damn fast, I couldn’t see how you rotated your hand to trap his wrist.”

“It’s a waterfall lock. I wouldn’t try using it in the ring when you’re both moving so fast. You can really hurt someone if you’re not careful. But it can be good in certain situations.”

“Like a bull comin’ at you?” Woolly quips.

“Yeah, like that.”

“Food’s here!” someone shouts, the words echoing through the house.

“I wanna get there before Deadass touches my sushi.” Woolly slaps my shoulder and jogs ahead of us. “I’ll guard your grub!”

Venom stops a few feet from the turn that will lead to the kitchen and dining area. It’s a dead zone where there don’t seem to be any cameras. “Grab our food and meet me out back. Behind the pool house, there’s a table. None of the camera guys are ever out there. Leave your mic inside.”

“That where you go to meditate in the afternoons?” I ask.

“Yeah, so don’t tell anyone about it.”

“Okay.” I glance down the hall. “You want me to bring Woolly?”

He stares in the same direction. “Not yet. You seem like you need to unburden yourself. The fewer people you have observing, the easier it’ll be.”

“Unburden?” I lift my eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

He flicks his gaze to me and tilts his head.

“Yeah. All right.”

I have to trust someone here eventually.

* * *

Twenty minutes later,I slip out of the house, carrying a bag of food. Feeling like a criminal, I walk a wide circle around the pool, hoping to avoid the cameras. I clear a row of low hedges and dip into a garden area with trees and flowering bushes that provide privacy.

Seems like the perfect setup. Make us think we’re safe from the microphones and cameras, then catch us talking strategy.

This place is turning me into a paranoid lunatic.

Venom’s sitting cross-legged in the grass, head tilted toward the sky, eyes closed.

Not sure how the fighter will react to being startled, I clear my throat while I’m still out of striking range.

He slowly opens his eyes and lowers his chin. A faint smile ghosts his face. “Feels good to touch grass after being cooped up all morning.”

“It does.” I wiggle my toes in the thick, cool, green carpet.

He gracefully stands, then plops onto one of the picnic benches. I drop the bags of food on the table and start pulling items out of my bag.

If nothing else, the show feeds us well. We’re able to ask for whatever we want and usually have it by the next mealtime. We still have to prepare it ourselves. No fancy chefs or anything like that. But I’ve been feeding myself since I was eight. Some of the other guys have never seen the inside of a kitchen and it shows.

I hand Venom a round container of salmon, quinoa, and sweet potatoes that he measured and prepared last night. It’s cold but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Thanks.” He rips off the lid and grabs a fork.

I dig into my own container of spinach, chicken, and hard-boiled eggs.

“Kelly makes this for me all the time.” Venom taps his fork against the pink fillet of fish. “She does it much better.”

The mention of his wife brings a stab of unease to my chest. It must show on my face.

“We don’t have long. Tell me what’s going on?” Venom asks.

I take a deep breath. What’s the worst that could happen? They kick me off the show for telling Venom? No, they could kick both of us off the show.

I lean across the table and lower my voice, forcing him to lean in too. “If I tell you, it could get us both sent home.” I stare him dead in the eyes so he understands I’m serious. “Still want to know?”

His eyes narrow slightly. A flicker of concern creases his brow before he masks it with a casual chin lift. “Spill.”

So, I tell him everything I learned from Remy, leaving out the part about Molly destroying her car.

He sits back, takes a sip of coconut water and stares at me. “How’d they let you talk to your friend?”

Fuck, now I have to explain about the car and the cops being called.

Slowly, I unravel the whole story.

“Fuuuck.” Venom’s jaw tightens and he stares at the table. “No wonder Kelly’s been weird on all our calls. I thought she was just anxious because we’re being recorded.”

“She probably doesn’t like you makin’ friends with a lowlife who cheats on his girlfriend.”

He grunts but doesn’t agree or disagree. “Did Remy say if they showed anyone else in the house hooking up with the bunnies?”

“Honestly, I was too fucking pissed to ask.”

“Don’t blame you.” He frowns and doesn’t say anything for a few beats. “I knew this was probably bullshit. Especially after the girls showed up. But I thought that might be a side story, not the main event.”

“Same.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re kinda fucked.”

“Thanks. That hadn’t occurred to me.” I stab my fork into a piece of chicken and shove it in my mouth, chewing viciously.

“I mean, if you do get sent home after the next fight…”

I swallow and take a sip of water. “Everyone back home thinks I’m a cheater and a loser, I know.”

He huffs a silent laugh. “Well, yeah. Who do you think was actually in the video?”

“I don’t know.”

“Gotta be Naptime or Deadass. They’re roughly your size, although Deadass is covered in all those hideous tattoos.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

His lips pinch tight, as if he wants to disagree. But he picks up his fork and finishes eating. I do the same. We can only be out here for so long before someone in the house notices our absence.

“We’ll figure out something,” Venom says as he stuffs his empty container in the bag.

“What’s there to figure out? I’m just gonna keep grinding like I always do. Work hard. Keep my head down.” I throw a few punches in the air. “Fuck shit up in the cage.”

“They want the drama, though. You can’t hide and expect to make it to the final four.”

I glance toward the pool. “I can’t get drunk, run around in my underwear, and piss in the pool like those other jackasses. I’d rather leave with no money, than leave without my dignity.”

He rumbles with laughter. “Fair point.”

“What about you? Gonna strap into a banana hammock and put on a show for us later?”

“Fuck no.” He scowls. “Dropping Bull to the ground should be enough for a few days.”

“Cameras sure got lots of footage,” I agree, collecting my trash and stuffing it into one of the bags.

We walk into the house together. Loud voices and noise from the direction of the kitchen greet us.

“You good?” Venom asks. “I gotta run to my room for a minute.”

“Yeah.” A flicker of unease creeps over me. Is he going to find someone from the show and rat me out?

Too late now.

Gritting my teeth, I head to the kitchen. Woolly’s perched on a stool at the long counter that separates the kitchen area from the rest of the open room. He rocks sideways and almost falls off when he sees me.

“Stonewall!” he shouts. “Where’d ya go?”

A prickle of guilt jabs at me. I should’ve told him to join us. “Just outside for a minute.”

As one of the camera crew members turns in my direction, I quickly skirt by a bunch of guys and toss my bag in the overflowing can. The kitchen’s trashed. Food and garbage scattered everywhere. Fuckin’ slobs.

I grab a water from the fridge and take the stool next to Woolly. “What’d I miss?”

“Not much.” He gestures toward Deadass. “That one whipped out his dick and tried to piss in Thunder’s Mountain Dew bottle.”

“For fuck’s sake.” I scrub my hands over my face. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

Woolly shrugs. “It’s basically piss anyway. He wouldn’t have noticed.”

Naptime must’ve been listening in on our conversation. He grins and points at Deadass. “His dick’s the only one skinny enough to fit in the top of a soda bottle.”

“Wow.” I widen my eyes and stare at him. “That’s information no one needed.”

Venom joins us, slapping both of our shoulders. “Underhill wants us in the living room. We’re going to watch footage of our fights.”

Thank you, Jesus.The way this conversation’s headed, Deadass and Naptime are two seconds away from whipping out their dicks and slapping each other with them.

“Just in time.” I slide off the stool.

“We gotta spend time getting to know our opponents,” Venom encourages.

My gaze narrows on Deadass. I catch him anywhere near my food, I’m gonna kill him. “I already know everything I need to know about these clowns.”

“Let’s go!” the coach shouts, clapping his hands like a deranged drill sergeant.

I hustle the few feet over to the oddly arranged couches so I can get a seat that actually faces the screen.

The first footage shown is mine.

“Of fuckin’ course,” I grumble, sliding down in my seat.

I stare at the screen. Where’d they even get this from? It’s an older fight. Maybe last year? It’s not at The Castle—thank fuck. But it’s fuckin’ creepy that the show went to so much trouble to track it down. My opponent’s some college kid on the wrestling team who thought his grappling skills were better than my boxing technique. Boy fucked around and found out I’m superior in both.

“Bro, what the fuck is that?” Woolly giggles, drums his feet on the floor like a little kid, and points at the screen.

Venom thumps his hand against my back. “I’ve been calling it the Stonewall Slap. Cracks me up every time you do it.”

I wasn’t aware I displayed the slap all that often. But apparently, I do it enough Venom’s given it a name.

Our coach picks up the remote and rewinds the footage, narrowing his eyes on the screen.

Sure, let’s watch it again. I squirm and sink lower into the couch.

Naptime laughs and points at the screen, then me. “You look like a tiger swiping his paw at his next meal.”

“That’s right.” I sit up, raise my hand, and sweep it through the air, stopping an inch from Naptime’s cheek.

“It wasn’t a compliment.” Naptime ducks away, falling into the chair next to me.

“It’s a legit move,” Venom says without taking his eyes off me. “But if you’re within slapping distance, you could probably land a punch…” His voice trails off, not asking the obvious question.

I shrug. “I don’t know.” I slide my gaze toward the other guys, but Naptime and the coach have moved on to studying the rear naked chokehold I used to force the kid to tap out thirty seconds into the second round.

An uncomfortable sensation crawls over my skin. Having people intensely scrutinize my skills isn’t my favorite thing. Especially since the other guys are going to use it against me or copy my style.

Shaking off the unease, I return to Venom’s questioning face. “The slap—it’s more like I do it out of frustration?” Shit, I’ve never admitted that to anyone before. A wicked smile curves my lips to hide what I just revealed. “Or it just pisses off my opponent and makes him do something stupid.”

“See, I knew there was more to it.” Venom snorts with laughter. “It is a bit humbling to be at that level and then get bitch-slapped. Also, unexpected.”

“Exactly.” He gets me.

“Yo, Venom, why you swinging from your boy’s nuts? You got mad skills yourself,” Deadass shouts.

“Now who’s nut-swinging?” Pirate quips.

Venom rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m too old for this horseshit,” he mutters.

“Don’t blame it on age,” I protest with a teasing pat on his shoulder. “You don’t hear me engaging in the petty trash talk.”

“That’s why I like you.”

“Aw, you wanna be alone? Should we leave and give you two the couch?” Pirate pouts at us and tilts his head like a sad toddler who had his Cheerios taken away.

“Low-key homophobic ‘jokes.’” Venom curls his fingers into sarcastic air quotes. “How original and clever.”

I mash my lips together, but harsh chuckles spill out anyway.

“No judgment here. If you’re gay just say so, Pirate,” Thunder says in his low, serious rumble. “All those playground insults are starting to sound like projection.”

Finally.I’m getting tired of being the only one to put these assholes in their place when they say stupid shit. I swear half these guys already have advanced brain damage, even though no one in the house is over thirty.

“Focus,” Coach says. “Let’s move on to Venom and Thunder’s last match.”

Venom’s jaw tightens and he turns toward the screen. Guess he doesn’t love being judged either.