Doomsday Love: An MMA & Second Chance Romance (28 page)

They get closer to us.

And closer.

And then Drake walks by, and I go absolutely still.

My blood freezes in my veins. My breath sticks in my lungs. He’s not far away at all. If I walked six steps from my seat, I could touch him.

But I won’t let him know I’m here.

Well, that is the plan anyway, until Kylie screams for Oscar’s attention.

Oscar looks back when he hears his name and her voice, and when he sees her in her revealing black dress, her hair pinned up, her makeup flawless, he runs his eyes all over her frame, and then a smile appears on his lips.

He winks at her, but then his eyes slide to the left, and he spots me.

His face straightens immediately. His brown irises stretch. He doesn’t blink for a while. I’m guessing he’s surprised to see me. Kylie must have told him I said no earlier.

Due to Kylie’s screaming, Oscar isn’t the only one to look back. You’d think Drake would be accustomed to ignoring the screams and calling of his name and the people around him.

But he knows her voice.

And he knows who her closest friend is.

Drake throws his hood back and gazes over his shoulder.

First he searches the crowd, searching for the voice, and then he’s looking at the front row on his side of the cage. He sees her… and then he sees
me
.

My heart plummets.

My throat thickens with unwanted emotion.

I feel hot and flushed… everywhere.

My chest constricts with emotions I haven’t felt in years. My eyes lock with his, and his narrow. He stops walking for just a brief moment, his hand clutched around the guardrail beside the entrance of the cage.

His mouth twitches. His eyes are harder. Angrier. He snatches his hands away from the rail, as well as his gaze from mine, and storms up the rest of the steps, entering the cage.

He walks around the inside of it, his hands in the air, a smirk on his lips. He’s gloating. He’s happy about tonight’s event. Either that, or he’s showboating because he knows I’m here.

I can’t deny that he’s glorious as he makes his rounds, glaring down his opponent at every opportunity.

The Slayer glares back, growling in his corner.

Drake’s nostrils flare as he makes way for his recovery corner, which happens to be only a few feet away from where we sit.

Oh, come on! Are all the forces of the world against me tonight?

Oscar helps Drake with the half-gloves around his hands. Drake bounces on his toes, shaking out his arms, rolling his neck, and clenching his jaw. His eyes are hard on his opponent.

But then he turns his head, looking at me. He points right at me, and both Kylie and I gasp.

“You,” he mouths. “See me.”

Me? What about me? What is that even supposed to mean? See him? I see him as clear as fucking day right now.

He turns away, walking to the middle of the mat. The referee declares a clean, even fight. Once the only three people left in the cage are the fighters and the referee, that’s when it begins.

It becomes a showdown, almost nose-to-nose, snarling as they shout silent threats to one another.

A bell rings.

The referee backs away.

It’s time.

The Slayer immediately swings for Drake. Drake ducks. I flinch. He came so close.

Drake puts on a smug grin, waving a finger in a
no-no
fashion. He’s taunting him.

The Slayer growls and then charges forward, grunting as he swings. Drake catches a hit to the shoulder instead of the face when he moves aside. He’s quick—as fast as lightning.

Drake saunters around The Slayer, and I can hear him shouting at him, laughing and toying with him. He runs around him, building up tension as the Slayer waits for a good time to strike.

But, for the Slayer, it is never a good time.

Drake stops, but only to connect a fist to The Slayer’s nose. The Slayer stumbles back, but recovers quickly.

The Slayer starts to throw hooks as well. Some catch on Drake’s body. They sound heavy and painful. He doesn’t seem bothered by them at all.

That is—until a blow catches him in the jaw.

Some of the audience gasps while a few others shout with joy. Shane returns just as Drake pulls himself together again.

“How much have I missed?” he asks, handing me the worthless martini.

“It just started.” I accept the drink anyway.

Drake walks around the cage again. I’m sure he’s trying to run the giant ragged. He’s a big man. He’s not as quick, but he has heavy, solid blows.

The bell rings minutes later and the first round is over. Drake guzzles down some water from a blue bottle Oscar hands him.

As I sip my drink, I watch his throat work to swallow. That strong, square jaw and perfect pink mouth. It glistens with water from the screen above.

Kylie nudges me in the elbow.

I sigh. I don’t have to look at her to know what she’s thinking. I’m staring. I have to stop staring.

The bell rings again and the second round begins. Drake doesn’t hesitate to kick The Slayer so hard on the thigh that the noise sounds like splashing water.

The Slayer stumbles and Drake throws his hands in the air, smirking behind his fists. The Slayer runs in his direction, slamming him down to the mats. The crowd gasps and awes, and I flinch inside, unable to blink.

I want to look away, but I can’t do that either. Otto and Oscar are shouting at Drake, demanding him to get up. To
“fuck him up”,
in their words.

So much hostility fills the air, but I get what Drake likes about this. Why he loves fighting so much. When someone is telling you to handle a situation, why not handle it?

That’s the Doomsday mindset apparently, because the roles immediately reverse.

He slides his elbow out, planting an arm on the mat and ending up on top of The Slayer. He punches him repeatedly, and The Slayer’s head bobs, hitting the mat back-to-back.

I hear Oscar shouting something like “Let up!” and Drake’s eyes flicker up before he lets his opponent go. He shoots up to a stand.

Drake rounds the cage, stopping in a spot that is directly across from where I sit.

He looks over The Slayer’s shoulder when he finally rises, but it’s when he sees Shane sitting beside me, about to whisper something in my ear, he freezes for a split second.

We lock eyes again.

My lips part.

His jaw pulses, eyebrows fusing together.

I don’t blink. Not once, while we’re like this.

Shane says, “I don’t know why this Doomsday guy has his face plastered all over the fucking city. He isn’t even all that. He isn’t doing jack shit!”

I ignore his remark because, frankly, he has no idea. There is a reason Drake’s face is all over this city of sin. Because he
is
sin. He is a death wish waiting to happen if you push him the wrong way.

He is hardcore and dangerous and from what I remember, if you tempt him in the slightest, he could quite possibly shatter every single bone in your body.

Drake watches me with furious green eyes, and then he looks away, over at Oscar. Oscar is already looking at me, giving me the same look he did when he first saw me.

As if he knew I would be a distraction, he drops his head and shakes it with disapproval. And then I see him disappointedly mouth the word, “Fuck.”

A bell rings moments later and the second match is over.

“What in the hell was that?” Kylie hisses at me.

I pick my drink up and guzzle down every last sip. I relax in my seat, keeping my eyes away from where Drake sits.

I can feel eyes on me. Lots of eyes, and I’m not sure who they belong to.

The bell rings and the third match begins. It’s as soon as that bell rings when Drake hops up like his ass has been set on fire and rushes for The Slayer. He throws jabs, hooks, and heavy blows without much time for anyone to process what the hell is happening.

Blood flies all over the mats, grunts fill the stadium.

He kicks Slayer once, knocking his massive body against the cage and causing a loud rattling noise.

That’s it right there.

He is going for the kill. He didn’t even give The Slayer time to move during this third round. It all happens so damn fast. It’s like a complete blur.

Blow after blow. Kick after kick. Jab after jab. It all happens before my very own eyes.

Drake growls and roars like some raging animal. The Slayer can’t do a damn thing. He’s pinned to the cage.

And then it comes.

Drake grips the back of The Slayer’s head and with one swift knee to the center of his face, he knocks that monster out cold.

The opponent sluggishly crumbles to his knees. And just as I expected, the crowd goes mad. Women scream to the top of their lungs as men who were rooting for The Slayer shout raging obscenities.

My pulse pounds slowly in my ears, my hands clammy, as I place my empty glass in the cup holder beside me.

“Oh my goodness,” Kylie laughs. “Did he just—did he just get jealous and take it out in the cage?”

The truth is, I don’t know. I don’t even know what the hell just happened.

“Holy shit! He ended that fight in, like, thirty fucking seconds!” Shane laughs, boastful.

I don’t say a single word. I can’t even react. I mean I want to—but I can’t.

And what’s worse? As soon as the referee calls the knockout, Drake storms for the exit of the cage. He comes down the steps, looking directly at me—no, wait. He’s looking at Shane.

Shane is completely oblivious to it all. He has no idea what the hell is going on, he’s just pretending he does. He probably thinks this is all for show. He has no fucking idea what that fighter meant to me.

Oscar and Otto jump in Drake’s way just in the nick of time, holding him back with their large hands to his chest, most likely telling him to calm down.

Drake is livid, his green eyes hot like emeralds in a fire, his hands balled into tight fists. His upper lip peels back, his body vibrating with an amount of fury I’ve never seen before.

Blood is on his shoulder and chest.

He. Is. A. Beast.

He is wild.

And… oh my goodness. I can’t believe I’m even admitting this, but he is so damn sexy. Sexier than I ever imagined him to be.

“Maybe we should go to the bar.” Kylie grabs my arm as she glances at Oscar. He’s giving her a blatant, agitated look. A
“get her the hell out of here”
kind of look.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I think that’s a good idea.”

Kylie leads the way, peering over her shoulder at Drake and Oscar along the way. I tell Shane I’m going to the bar, but he completely ignores me. He’s too busy watching to see if The Slayer will recover. He won’t. I know he won’t.

Doomsday never loses. Not even to giants.

To our luck, the announcer calls the fight. They claim Drake the winner, but even as we get down the aisle and closer to the exit, I can still feel his eyes on me. I can feel the formidable heat of them.

I take a glimpse over my shoulder, up at the screen, and I see those hard, bright green eyes. He takes the thick winner’s belt with the gold plate, but it’s the last thing on his mind, I bet.

Actually, I know because he’s focused on one thing outside of that cage.

Me.

M
y fingers wrap
around the half empty glass.

The coolness of it on my fingertips comforts me, the three drinks I’ve just downed relieving small ounces of stress.

“Drake has gotten crazy, huh?” Kylie says, looking at me. “I didn’t think he’d get all wild about your presence, but whoa. Maybe he’s on steroids or something now.”

I roll my eyes. “I think it would have been a better idea for me to just stay away from the fight, like I already had planned.”

“Well, you were there, so that plan has long flown out the window—or the cage, I should say.” She snorts as she picks up her shot glass of tequila. She chugs it down, sucks on a lime, and then gasps loudly.

I focus on her with narrowed eyes. “Why are you doing tequila shots? And how have I just noticed that you ordered tequila without me?”

She shrugs. “Ordered it when you went potty. Your glass was still full.”

“I could use a shot after what just went down in that stadium.”

Kylie looks at me, pressing her lips. She starts to speak, but then something appears on the TV screen, catching her attention. I look with her, instantly frowning when I see what has caught her tongue.

“Oh, God,” I groan.

“Oh my God. Look at him!”

Yeah. Look at him.

Drake is on the TV screen, now wearing a black hat with the Kings Crown logo on it. The hat shields most of his face. He’s holding his belt, jaw locked. He’s not smiling. That does not surprise me at all.

The cameras are flashing. He’s been cleaned up a bit, no more blood from another man on his chest.

“Hey, bartender! Can you turn that up?!” Kylie shouts over the counter. The bartender cranks up the volume loud enough for us to hear over the gambling guests. As I look around, I realize every section of the bar has it turned to this very interview.

The people in the crowd where Drake is are shouting to have their questions answered.

He sits down at a table, drops the belt, and then points at one of the journalist. “You,” he mumbles.

“Hey, Doomsday. What was all of that about at the end of the fight? You know, running out of that cage and staring at the crowd. Were you making a statement or something?”

Drake presses his lips, eyes hard on the journalist. “No statement. Just business. Next,” he mumbles. And then he looks at someone else with his or her hand up.

Kylie giggles at my side. I can tell the drinks are hitting her now. She’s all bubbly. I wish I felt as good as she does right now.

“Yeah, he was making a statement all right,” Kylie snickers, nudging me in the ribs.

I force a smile.

The next interviewer asks a similar question, and Drake’s nostrils flare beneath his cap. He tilts his head up, peering around the crowd before speaking up.

“Look, if none of you are going to ask me about the fight itself, then this interview is pointless.” He pushes out of his chair and holds the belt up again. When they all cheer for him, (and I don’t know why they do since he’s being a complete jackass), he walks away from the tables, and disappears off screen.

I sigh, dropping my gaze and focusing on the granite countertop. “Well, there’s that.”

“Hey.” Kylie turns in her stool. “Babe, come on. Cheer up. It’s done. It’s over with. I don’t think anyone even noticed he was focused solely on Shane but us… and Oscar.”

“What’s that about Oscar?” A deep, familiar voice rises behind Kylie and she gasps loudly as she looks back.

Oscar meets behind her stool with a smooth smile on his sculpted lips. Kylie practically jumps out of her seat when she sees him, and I don’t blame her.

Oscar looks great.

His red hair has been trimmed much shorter, cropped, messy, and curly at the crown. He’s kept himself in great shape, still slender and toned in all the right places like how I remember him. He’s grown out a little fuzz on his chin that I didn’t notice at the fight, and it seems the little freckles he used to have aren’t even there anymore.

Look at Oscar. All grown up now.

As they hug, I sip on my drink. It’s when they pull away that I look—but wait. They aren’t done. Kylie obviously hasn’t told me the whole truth. Because now they are kissing like they used to when we were eighteen.

“Oh—oomph!” Kylie giggles as she pulls away from her lover. I quirk a brow, fighting a laugh. “Sorry, Jen.”

“Yeah.” Oscar swipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “Sorry about that, Jenny.”

Kylie sits on her stool again. “Come on, sit,” she begs of Oscar, but he simply shakes his head.

“Can’t. Gotta get back. Wanted to come see you really quick.”

She smiles.

I kinda wanna gag.

“And also to tell Jenny that Drake is waiting for her.” His eyes move over to mine and I frown instantly.

“See me? For what?”

“What kind of question is that?” He folds his arms.

“I’m not going to see him.” I turn in my stool and look up at the flat screen, so relieved to see they are talking about golf now.

“Oh, Jen, come on. He wants to see you. He’s waiting!” Kylie pleads.

“Nah—it’s cool,” Oscar murmurs. “It’s all good. I told him you would react this way. But he figured if you saw
this
, you’d change your mind.” Oscar’s arm extends beside me and his hand is palm-down on the countertop, balled in a fist.

When he opens it and releases the object, my heart nearly stops beating.

The cross.

Mitchell’s vending machine cross.

My eyes dart up to his and he simply presses his lips with a light shrug.

“How did he get that?” I demand.

“I have no idea what it even means. I guess you’ll have to see him to figure out your question.”

I stare down at the cross, unblinking, heart slamming. I can’t believe this. I left this in Fox River, in my bedroom, tucked in one of my empty shoeboxes in the closet. How did he find it? How would he have known where it was? And how the hell could he have gotten it if I wasn’t even home? I was in college.

“I’m guessing that blank stare is you changing your mind?” Oscar steps back.

I look up at him. “What does he want?”

“Just to talk.” He holds his hands out. “Won’t hurt to share a few words.” He steps back. “Come now or forever hold your peace,” he teases.

But this is not a joke.

This is serious… and weird.

I have no idea how he could have gotten this cross without getting caught.

I grab the cross and then my glass, downing the rest of my whiskey. Once the fire has settled in my veins, I step off the stool, adjust my dress, and then look into Oscar’s eyes.

I hold up a hand, spreading my fingers. “Five minutes and no longer.”

Oscar grins as if he’s the one getting the talk, and I instantly regret what I’m about to do. “That’s all he needs. Follow me, ladies.”

* * *

I
t takes
some time to get to wherever Drake is. I’m surprised we are making our way back towards the arena.

It is now crowded backstage. Getting through is a hassle until we come across the ropes.

One of the security guards sees Oscar and immediately goes for the chain, opening it for us. He bobs his head at Oscar and Oscar returns the gesture.

When we are clear, I loosen my grip on the cross in my palm.

Kylie catches up to Oscar’s side. He slings his arm over her shoulders and smiles down at her. It’s a warm smile. Comforting.

He’s always been this way with her. Affectionate. Compassionate. Sweet.

Weird. I’m not sure what to expect from Drake.

Oscar peers over his shoulder at me and slows his pace. Before I know it, he’s stopping and stepping aside with his arm still wrapped around Kylie. She clings to the hand on her shoulder, entangling their fingers.

“All right, Jenny,” Oscar says. “His room is straight down there. Tell the security guard who you are. They’ll know to let you in.”

I focus on the door that is a few yards away. There is a tall, muscular man standing there, his arms folded as he chomps on his gum.

“I don’t want to just walk in,” I state.

Oscar looks me over before meeting Kylie’s eyes again. Kylie bobs her head, silently demanding him to guide me.

“Okay. All right. Fine.” He reluctantly pulls away. “You stay right here. I’ll be right back.”

Kylie nods as he strokes her chin.

Oscar then looks at me, wiggling his brows. “Come on, Jenny Roscoe.”

“Just Jenny,” I laugh.

“I know.” He’s quiet for a moment as he leads the way. I try my best to catch up with him but he’s tall, and his strides are much longer than mine. It’s somewhat difficult. “You nervous?”

I give him a bland look.

“Shit, of course you are. Especially after that stupid fucking stunt he pulled out there for the whole world to see. Fucking dumbass.”

“What was he thinking anyway?” I snap, suddenly angry about Drake’s recent behavior.

Oscar shrugs. “I guess it just caught him off guard to see the first girl he’s ever loved with another guy. Kind of a hard thing to witness.”

I start to speak but immediately clamp my mouth shut. There is so much I could go on about—like how it’s his fault I even ended up with someone else, or how he left me without much reason—but I don’t, because Drake’s door is only a few feet away and I should hash things out at him. Not Oscar.

I won’t ruin his mood for Kylie.

Unlike my and Drake’s situation, they are happy to see one another after so long. I’ll let him go back with the same chipper mood he came to see me with. After all, it’s not his fault his cousin is an idiot.

Oscar bobs his head at the security guard. I guess this is their thing. Bobbing and nodding. Nodding and bobbing.

The guard steps aside, and Oscar gestures towards the door. “Want me to walk you in, or do you have it from here?”

I sigh. I need a minute. “No, it’s okay. Hey, where’s Otto?”

“I’m sure he’s running around the city somewhere. Probably at a damn strip club, knowing him.”

I giggle. “That sounds like the Otto I knew.”

Oscar laughs. “Yeah.” Looking me over briefly, he steps back, and then sighs. “He won’t… hurt you or anything… if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I know he won’t.” I focus on the cross in my hand. “I guess I can handle it from here.”

He nods, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Okay, then. I’ll be with Kylie at the bar. You need us, call her.”

“Thanks, Oscar.”

“No problem, Jenny Roscoe.”

I watch him walk away and when he’s long gone, I point my gaze up at the guard. He side-eyes me but then puts his focus ahead again.

Swallowing hard, I step forward and grip the doorknob. My eyes shut for a brief moment. I listen to the pounding of my heart, how it throbs with panic.

I can’t see him. I shouldn’t see him. What about Shane?

He’s probably wondering where I am… then again, he may not be, considering he’s an egotistical jackass.

I look up at the guard again.

“I’m Jenny Roscoe,” I murmur in true idiot fashion.

To my surprise, he reveals a lopsided grin. “I know. Heard ‘em say it.”

“Heard who say it?”

“Wildcard and Raptor.”

My eyebrows stitch. “Who is Wildcard and Raptor?”

He frowns a little. “Oscar and Otto. Their fighting names.”

“They still fight?”

“Not professionally… but yeah.”

“Oh.” I nod. “Well… that’s cool, I guess.”

That’s enough of that. I have to go in now. I mean, I could stay out in this hallway and talk to this unknown guard all night long, but I won’t. Plus, I’m sure the guard wouldn’t be a fan.

I have too many questions running rampant in my mind, and if facing Drake is the way to get those answers, then so be it.

I twist the doorknob and walk in, peering around the edge of the door. I’m shocked that it’s not an actual room. It’s filled with sleek, silver lockers and several benches built into the ground in front of them.

It’s identical to the gyms that were in my private high school, only bigger, cleaner, and manlier.

I hear music playing, a song by Imagine Dragons and Kendrick Lamar. I don’t see him, so I shut the door behind me and follow the tune.

My eyes dart over to the gym bag in the right corner with the name
Doomsday
monogrammed on it.

He’s around. I can feel his presence.

Suddenly the air feels thick and heavy.

The music grows louder as I walk down the hallway to my left. At first it’s dark, but then there is light. I hold the cross tighter in my hand, as if Mitchell will appear and swoop me up out of here in angelic form. Spare me from the impending heartache again.

What was I thinking? Coming in here? I’m sure Kylie and Oscar are gone by now. That means I can easily escape. I can go up to my hotel room and stay there during the rest of my trip, so they won’t bother me again. And then I’ll be gone, out of Vegas and far away from Drake Davenport.

I turn around with haste, my feet scuffling louder than ever as I make way for the exit. I hear a
thunk
behind me, water splashes, and then I hear his voice.

And I freeze.

“Jenny.”

My heart is pounding chaotically, my hands squeezed tight around the cross. I stare down at the tile floor, hoping to mold into it, blend in with the gray and white pieces.