Doomsday Love: An MMA & Second Chance Romance (12 page)

I
t was
hot and sweaty

Thick and ugly.

I hated it here already.

We weren’t even two minutes in and were already getting catcalled.

“Woo-wee! Look at that ass up in that silver dress!”

“Hey, girl, with the red on! You got some nice fucking tits!”

That remark was meant for me. I rolled my eyes. Of course, Kylie loved it. She loved attention. It didn’t matter if the guy was missing teeth or scrubbed toilets for a living. She was okay with it as long as they didn’t touch her.

Kylie pushed through the crowd, my clammy hand gripped in hers. We were on the hunt for her cousin Manny. “Remind me why I agreed to this?” I hollered into her ear, but my voice couldn’t cut through the booming music or cacophony of voices.

God, it was loud. Most of the people around were men. There were a few women, dressed in half-shirts, tight shorts, or leather pants…all with their G-strings showing. All of them scowled at us, and as we passed Kylie gave them a smug look.

They were jealous—most likely because we were headed straight for VIP and were definitely going to get in. Even if Kylie didn’t have Manny securing the section, we could have gotten by with a free flirt and bat of the eyelashes. Maybe a swish of the hips.

Men were ridiculous that way.

“You’re here because you want to see your lover boy,” Kylie said over her shoulder. I guess she did hear me. A tall man bumped my shoulder and Kylie hollered for him to watch it. I sighed, fed up with the shoulder-to shoulder crowd. Kylie took notice of my annoyance and paused for a second. Facing me and gripping my shoulders, she said, “Come on, Jen. Cheer up. Once we get to VIP we’ll be okay.”

I nodded. There was a spark in her eyes. She really wanted to see Oscar. I couldn’t blame her, because I really wanted to see Drake, but I hated that it had to be here. Kylie practically bounced on her toes in her silvery halter-top dress, grabbing my hand and rushing for a tall guy with a thick beard. He had wavy hair that flipped out behind his ears. His glare was dark and kind of scary, but I could tell it was only for show. His arms were folded, but when he spotted Kylie and I rushing in his direction he laughed, opening his arms for his baby cousin.

I’d never met Manny before. Kylie said he worked a lot, day and night. Mostly here at the Dirty Dawg Pit and part-time as a cook at a breakfast restaurant uptown. He had a tired face, but strong features just like Kylie. The Millers’ had really sharp noses, beautifully sculpted lips, bright eyes, and dark hair that gave them a mysterious look.

That’s why no one could keep their eyes off Kylie. She was stunning, and surprisingly she didn’t like to agree. She considered herself the average girl. Psshh. Trust me. She was far from it.

Kylie released my hand to hug Manny. I scuttled behind her, keeping close for fear of losing her. She was quick, and the crowd was thickening. The Dirty Dawg Pit was below ground.

It took three flights of steps just to get down to the dank cellar level. With every flight of steps it kept getting darker and darker, and we ended up practically in blackness. The only light came from the few lights above the distant cage.

Oxygen was very limited. Sweat and grease was thick in the air and it coated my lungs, nearly suffocating me.

“Manny!” Kylie’s voice cut through the uproar.

“Holy shit! What’s up, Ky!?” They hugged, huge smiles on their faces, sparkles in their eyes. I could tell they’d grown up together, but when they got older time was limited. They were close, a knit bond. “Shit, didn’t think you’d actually come!” Manny said.

They let go of each other. “I told you I would come to one of these things.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and took a look towards the cage. “We can get to the front, right?”

“We?” Manny looked over Kylie’s shoulder at me.

“Manny, this is Jenny Roscoe. She’s my best fucking friend. I’ve told you about her before.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows lifted and he smiled. “This is the infamous Jenny Roscoe.” Manny extended his arm, giving me his hand. I stepped around Kylie and took it, shaking swiftly. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.” I grinned.

“Well, any friend of my cousin’s is a friend of mine.” He smiled, dark eyes going soft. Yep, his cold look was definitely for show. He seemed like a big fat softy on the inside. He looked at Kylie. “Come on. I’ll show you up.” Manny stepped back, unclipping the velvet rope to allow us in. When we stepped past him, he latched it back on the hook and shouted over us to a large man by the exit door.

The man nodded, pushing off the door and tapping someone beside him before walking through the crowd.

Once someone had covered Manny’s post, he looked at us and said, “This way, ladies.” He grinned. It was wide and comforting. Manny had to have been at least five years older than us. A matureness surrounded him, one that made me question why he was working in the pit in the first place. Kylie’s family wasn’t filthy rich, but they weren’t poor either.

Manny pushed some people out of the way, shouting at a few of the doped-up or drunk ones to get the hell out of his way. One guy he literally had to snatch up by the shirt and place him by the black wall. “Fucking animals,” he grumbled, shaking his head as he continued towards the cage.

As we got closer, I stared ahead at the black fence. It was tall, the wiring thick, nearly impenetrable. The cage itself was fucking intimidating, if you ask me. A big black mat was laid inside, lifted by a wooden base. The area they fought on. The area
Drake
fought on.

“Grit is gonna rip Doom to fucking shreds!” I heard some drunk guy shout.

“What?!” The person he was talking to shrieked. “Are you out of your fucking mind? Don’t tell me you put your bet on that motherfucker Grit? You might as well get ready to lose your fucking money. Doomsday won’t lose. You’ve seen him! He’s a fucking beast! Grit is going the fuck down tonight! Doom never loses!”

The two drunk guys argued, and I cringed a little inside. How could they talk about him this way, like he was just some caged animal? How could they bet on
this
? On fights? On blood being shed and dignity being tossed in a disposal?

I swallowed thickly as we finally arrived at the front gate. It blocked off the way to get to the cage. A few more security guards stood tall and mighty behind the gate, thick arms folded, baldheads shiny.

“Should be good here,” Manny told us.

Kylie nodded, then asked him something about when ‘Wildcard’ would fight. She remembered his name. She had to use it to make it seem less personal. It seemed Manny was very protective of Kylie. If he caught on to the fact that she was interested in Oscar he most likely would have told her not to even think about it—or him.

While they made small talk, I took a thorough look around. I heard yelling on the opposite side of the cage, deep growls by the back hallway. Someone was angry. Maybe the fighters were already fighting.

Moments later, the music cut off, and two large guys came out, stomping onto the mat. One of them threw his arms in the air. He had a meaty neck and scabs on his head. His beard was thick, tattoos taking over his entire chest and stomach. He smiled like he owned the place.

“IT’S THE FUCKING MOMENT WE’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!” someone hollered into a microphone. His voice came out loud and crackly through the microphone, hurting my ears. It didn’t stop the crowd from getting rowdy. “THIS FIGHT—HELL, ALL THESE FIGHTS THAT ARE ABOUT TO GO DOWN TONIGHT ARE GOING TO BE THE TALK OF THE MOTHERFUCKING CENTURY. ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE THE DIRRTTYYY DAWG PIT’S OWN, ONE OF THE DEADLIEST FUCKERS IN THIS BITCH!!!! GIVE IT UP… FOR DRIPPER!”

The crowd went beyond wild. Girls screamed, men hollered and hooted, chanting Dripper’s name. His opponent glared at him, obviously jealous of the praise he was getting.

His opponent had less muscle mass, but he was tall and had broad shoulders. He had no tattoos, but I could tell he had many piercings from the holes in his face, dotted along his lips, nose, chin, and even his forehead. He was just as ugly.

“Isn’t this great?!” Kylie screamed at me.

She was ecstatic. I guess I could see why. She loved crowds like this, nights like this. She loved fights and football games on Friday nights. If there was a fight at school, she’d be the first one running while dragging me along. To put it simply, she loved being entertained.

“Sure,” I said, pretending to be just as thrilled.

She bounced on her toes. She didn’t care if I was bored or having fun. She’d snuck a bottle of her mom’s wine and drank it on the way here. I was designated driver, and kinda pissed that my friend was having more fun than I was and the fights hadn’t even started yet. I was sure if I’d had at least a glass I would be a little more excited.

“LET’S GET THIS SHIT STARTED!” The voice in the mic shouted. I looked for the voice. I couldn’t find him below, so I looked up at the railing above. It was empty up there too—well, not completely.

Drake’s dad was up there.

He had his arms crossed tightly across his broad chest. His brows were stitched, lips pressed. He looked angry, and, not gonna lie, he reminded me of Flint Lockwood’s dad from
Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs
.

I snickered at the thought, pulling my line of sight away from him and focusing on the cage again. The ref was talking to the fighters, dropping rules.

And then, before I could blink twice, the ref backed away and the fight started. It was so brutal to watch, but worse to hear. The crunch of bones, the grunts and growls. I felt like I was watching a Spartan movie, watching muscular men fight to the death.

I shut my eyes, not wanting to see what Dripper was going to do to his opponent next. He had him by the throat, squeezing tight with one hand, the other crushing his face. I wanted to cry for Repulsive Pierced Face. He had to have been in agony, yet his face was still calm, like he’d gotten this sort of punishment plenty of times before.

Seriously. What the fuck?

“Holy shit!” Kylie screamed, and I popped my eyes open again just as she started cheering for Dripper. She was really enjoying this.

I’d say three minutes passed before RPF got one final punch to the face and then flopped, out cold. The crowd roared for Dripper, and with that same smug grin on his lips, Dripper hopped up, rushing for the cage. His thick fingers curled around the wire, and rattling it, he shouted “Yeah, bitch! I’m the fucking champ! I’m the fucking champ! Fuck all you haters!”

The clink of metal made my ears ring.

The ref finally got Dripper to get off the mat and out of the cage. The people that were there for RPF sullenly helped him off the mat, pep-talking him even though he looked completely immobilized. Blood dripped out of his mouth, his bruised, swollen face almost unrecognizable.

I watched as they carried RPF out, descending a few steps, and it was as they passed that I saw Drake. He stood at the mouth of the gate, shoulders hunched, jaw locked.

He seemed angrier than ever. I saw Oscar grip Drake’s shoulders and say something to him. Oscar was boosting him. Oscar laughed after Drake said something and then he shoved Drake towards the stairs.

Drake came up, way too relaxed for my liking. Then again, who cared what I liked? His large shoulders rolled back, and he took a look at his crowd—I say
his
because everyone knew he owned this place—and then he lifted a fist in the air, encouraging them to keep shouting.

A large guy walked onto the mat. I don’t think Drake noticed him going to the corner. It took several seconds for him to drop his arms and step back, sizing up to his opponent.

He must have been the guy those two drunks were talking about. He had a hammer-shaped head. It was odd. And he was ugly, but he was huge —all muscles and tattoos. He was a nightmare in my eyes, someone that wouldn’t save a soul, let alone save himself.

“SEE, WE DON’T NEED A FUCKING ANNOUNCEMENT FOR THIS! THIS IS WHAT THE FUCK WE’RE HERE FOR! WE ALL KNOW WHO THAT MOTHAFUCKA IS ON THAT STAGE! NO INTRODUCTIONS NECESSARY! LETS GIVE IT UP FOR MOTHERFUCKING DOOOMMMSSDAAAYYY!!!”

If I thought the crowd was crazy before…they were insane now. The crowd behind me had thickened. Before, people were collected in groups, but now they were all up front, trying to get firsthand view. They could take my spot for all I cared.

This was ridiculous.

Drake didn’t flinch. He was proud that the crowd knew his name, still sizing up his opponent.

“Oh my God, look at him!” Kylie squealed, squeezing my arm and giggling. “Holy shit, Jenny. Now I see it. Now I see why you can’t leave this guy alone. He is so fucking hot! You are so lucky.” Lucky? He wasn’t mine. He wanted nothing to do with me.

Though I hated the idea of it, this was where Drake belonged. He exuded more confidence here than I’d ever seen outside of the Dawg Pit. His expression was intense. The way he bounced on his toes, moving back and forth, snarling at his opponent, proved that he’d done this countless times before.

The ref spoke, but quickly moved away seconds later.

And then the fight began.

And I swear to you, not even two minutes passed before it was over. Christ, Drake was taunting Grit. He was playing with him, making circles around him. He had a gleam in his eyes, like he already knew he was going to win and just wanted to waste some time—put on a show for the fans.

Grit got Drake down once, but it didn’t last long. He pulled out and was on top in a flash. He didn’t destroy him, though. He stood back up and circled the cage, giving Grit another chance.

Again he taunted him, as fans hissed and demanded him to whip Grit’s ass. I guess he was tired of messing around, so he did the wise thing. He dropped him to the ground, one arm tightly hooked around his throat. The Grit was suffocating, and I felt sick to witness it.

I don’t think he noticed, but the entire time Drake held Grit and punched repeatedly, he was smiling. He was enjoying watching him squirm, enjoying the torment.

A wave of nausea hit me, but like a deer stuck in headlights, I couldn’t stop watching.