Authors: Sienna Valentine
Kellan
The first indication I had that
something was wrong was when I saw the crowd.
Never had I ever
drawn a following this large. I’d never seen anyone else on my level do it,
either. Shit, even my last fight, which was supposed to be good odds for Vlad,
hadn’t had this many people watching. Something was going on here. Even if it
was my last fight, there was no justification for the hundreds of people
gathered here.
I wasn’t
especially familiar with this venue, either. It wasn’t my usual place, and it
was a hell of a lot bigger, too. The facilities here were a little nicer, a
little more permanent. Whoever had set this up sure as hell wasn’t worried
about getting busted. There was no way they’d be able to bug out on short
notice.
I stuffed my
clothes and my cell phone in one of the lockers as I listened to the chatter
coming from the ringside. Jesus, I could hear them all the way from in here. A
low beat was thrumming from a wicked sound system I’d caught a glimpse of on my
way in, a bassline I could feel in my chest. It only made me more uneasy. I
didn’t like all this flashiness. I felt a little too much like I was on
display.
“What’s the
occasion?” I said to Vic when I heard him come in. I was doing my best to
follow Parker’s advice and be civil, but I knew if I looked at him, I’d bash
his stupid rat-fink face in, so I kept my eyes on the inside of my locker and
busied myself with making everything fit in there.
“Gotta do it big
for your last fight, don’t we, Killer?” Vic replied a little more coolly than I
was used to. I was pretty sure he was mocking me, and I got the impression that
there was something sinister lurking in his tone. “You’re gettin’ your fifteen
minutes of fame and fortune tonight, so do me a favor and don’t look a gift
horse in the mouth, huh?”
“If you’d said
that a few weeks ago, Vic, I would’ve happily obliged,” I said, closing my
locker. I turned to face him. Yup, there it was—the unmistakable urge to put my
fist through Vic’s skull. I was practically seeing red. But I had a lot riding
on tonight, and I couldn’t afford to compromise it with assault and battery
charges. Parker was right. I needed to keep my head in the game.
I swallowed my
rage and added, “But I think we both know now that everything you do comes with
a price. Usually one nobody knows they’re paying.”
Vic blinked at me,
barely suppressing a smile. “Oh, did I forget to mention?” I stared, and he
grinned. “Oh, man. I guess I did! No wonder you’re so confused.” He walked over
and reached up, placing his sweaty palm on my shoulder. “Tonight’s a big night
for you and me both, Killer. You’re goin’ up against Johnny Tutera. What a rare
opportunity, huh?”
Johnny Tutera.
Johnny fucking Tutera? Vic couldn’t be serious. Johnny Tutera was a legit MMA
fighter. A fucking professional. I’d watched his fights on TV a couple of
times, spent whole nights in awe of the guy’s skill and prowess. What the fuck
was he doing here? And how the hell had Vic snagged him?
More importantly,
how the fuck was I supposed to beat him?
Slowly, I realized
that was the point. I wasn’t supposed to win this fight. This was Vic’s way of
making sure of that. Once again, he’d set me up for a fall. Vic
always
had to get the last word in, and this was one hell of a “fuck you.”
I swatted his hand
off my shoulder and grabbed him by the throat, shoving him back into the set of
lockers opposite mine. Vic slapped at my wrist and I hoisted him up, pushing
him hard against the metal until his feet left the ground.
“You fat bastard,”
I hissed, squeezing hard. Vic wheezed and his face purpled. “You dumb fuck. You
think you’re pullin’ all the strings here, don’t you, Vic? You think all your
little pit bulls are just too loyal to bite the hand that feeds them, huh?
Except we never knew that you were feeding us scraps while you feasted on the
food
we fucking brought you.
”
“Killer,” Vic
managed to choke out, and I squeezed tighter.
“Shut up, Vic. For
once, I’m gonna get the last word in.”
I looked deep into
Vic’s eyes as I strangled the life out of him. His eyes were bulging and his
tongue was pushing past his teeth. I could see the veins in his neck and head
straining, pushing through his skin as they begged for the blood I was denying
him. He kicked frantically, scoring a couple of weak blows against my thighs,
gagging hard against my fingers wrapped around his throat.
When he began to
struggle a little less and his body started to go limp, I let him go. Vic
crashed to the ground and sucked in a long, painful breath, followed by the
worst coughing fit I’d ever heard. I thought he was going to throw up.
I squatted down
beside him and said, “No matter which way this goes tonight, Vic, I’m walking
out of here with what you owe me. I’m not playing your stupid fucking games
anymore. You fuck with me again, and the next time we meet, I won’t stop
squeezing until you’re dead. It wouldn’t be the first time I looked into a
man’s eyes while his life ran out. That’s why they call me ‘Killer,’ Vic. Or
did I forget to mention that?”
Vic was too busy
trying to get a breath in to answer me. Good. I hoped I’d crushed his larynx
and that dick face would never be able to talk again.
I knew I’d done
exactly what Parker had warned me not to do, but fuck Vic, and fuck this fight.
Johnny Tutera was a monster in silver boxing shorts, a champion among
champions. He was a couple years younger than me, too, and in a heavier weight
class for sure. He was at the top of his fucking game, and I was on my way out.
Not to mention I’d
fucked before the fight. I knew that was superstition, but it didn’t exactly
put me at ease. This was turning out to be a big fucking mess, and I was once
again caught in the middle.
Everything
you touch turns to shit,
a little voice in the
back of my head sneered. That voice had been softer ever since I’d gotten back
together with Parker, but even at a whisper, it made my stomach tie itself into
knots.
There’s
no backing down now,
I thought in reply.
The
only way to go is forward. Whatever happens tonight, at least I’ll have Parker,
and a new lease on life, too. As long as she’s proud of me, that’s enough.
But was it? What
if I went out undefeated? What if I could keep the reputation I’d spent so long
building in the underground fighting world? What if I could have my cake and
eat it too—go out on top, and end up with Parker and my money all the same?
Was that greed, or
pride? I wasn’t sure, but I knew damn well it was foolish to even consider
going out there against Johnny Tutera.
I was going to do
it anyway. I had to. A man’s not a man if he isn’t willing to stand up and
fight when it counts. And as far as I was concerned, this counted a whole damn
lot. Even losing was preferable to bowing out. I was going to leave this ring
as Killer Kellan, not Kellan the Coward. I’d never backed down from a fight in
all my life, and I wasn’t about to start now.
I forsook my robe
and threw open the door to the long hall that would take me to the ring. I was
taped up and ready to go, still a little sore from all the beatings I’d taken
lately, but driven just the same. Sometimes, determination was enough to make
the difference. Sometimes, if you just wanted it more than the other guy, that
went a long damn way.
I didn’t know if
that was true for me and Tutera, but it was all I had. That, and a girl worth
putting up a fight for.
I was immediately
overwhelmed by the crowd. I’d seen their numbers in passing earlier, but now
they were on all sides of me, screaming, roaring, a sea of dark faces amid the
lightning strikes of camera flashes. I tried to ignore them, tried to focus
only on getting onto the mat, but their collective cries shook my bones. This
was unreal. I felt like I didn’t belong.
As soon as I’d
made it past the ropes, I stared right into Johnny Tutera’s eyes. This kid was
all muscle, and although he was a few inches shorter than me, he more than made
up for it in bulk. Johnny was the full package—both quick, and a brick house.
He could take a hit like nobody I’d ever seen, and he could dish it out just as
hard, if not harder.
He was the kind of
fighter I’d expect if Muhammad Ali and Ronda Rousey had a baby. I was good, but
I wasn’t good enough to take a Rousey-Ali mashup.
I stalked over to
him after giving a reassuring nod to the ref. And I held out my hand. “Honor to
fight you, man. You’re one of the best.”
Tutera gripped my
palm. “Thanks, man. Can’t say I’ve ever heard of you, though.”
“Slummin’ it,
huh?” I said, letting go.
“Just gettin’ a
taste of the other side,” Tutera replied. Then he sniffed conspicuously and
touched the side of his nose. “Startin’ to get a taste for it, if you know what
I mean.”
Great. So Tutera
was hopped up on coke, on top of everything else. He was a maniac sober. I
could only imagine what he was like amped up. This was going to go badly for
me. I just knew it.
At
least it’s not one of Vic’s crazy death matches,
I thought.
The ref came over
to let me know it was time to start, and I backed away from Tutera and into my
own corner. I did a quick scan of the crowd, but with so many faces, it was
near impossible to make out Parker’s. I tried looking for her goody two-shoes
getup with those sexy librarian glasses of hers, but I couldn’t find those,
either. I didn’t have more than a few seconds to spare, though. Maybe she was
just too far back for me to see her.
Tutera and I came
to the center of the mat to hear out the rules. They were the same every time;
I knew them by heart. I focused my attention on Tutera instead, on the wild
look in his eyes—the controlled chaos brewing in his gaze.
Be
cool, Kellan. Be cool.
I took a deep breath
through my nose and looked to the ref for permission to start.
And just like
that, Tutera was on me.
I’d barely managed
to get my hands up before I was blocking multiple blows. Tutera came in fast
and hard, wasting no time in probing for a weak spot. I kept my hands up and
danced backward, leading him around the ring. The strikes I couldn’t dodge
hurt, but Tutera was being impulsive. It must’ve been the cocaine, or maybe his
ego. Either way, maybe that was something I could use to my advantage once he
got tired.
If
he got tired. Coked up the way he was, I
wasn’t sure he would.
As I pivoted to
try to get in a body blow, Tutera raised up and hit me right in the side of the
head. I knew the crowd was cheering, but I was momentarily deafened by the
force of his fist. I stumbled to the side and Tutera kicked me hard in the
thigh, sending me down to the mat. I rolled just in time to avoid a stomp that
would’ve cracked my ribs, and was back up on my feet within seconds, though my
hearing was still fuzzy.
My heart hammered
in my chest.
Fuck, that was close.
I didn’t give
Tutera the opportunity to get the drop on me again. I went after him this time,
swinging for his face, backing him up toward the ropes. I got him once in the
cheek, but at the expense of taking a knee to the stomach. I guarded just
before the blow and was able to keep most of the air in my lungs, but I still
had to back up and give up ground to Tutera, who seemed only too thrilled to
take it from me again.
As I tried to push
him back, he raised his knee again and I dropped a hand to block him, but that
was a mistake—he was only feinting. I knew the second my palm made contact with
his thigh. There was no force behind it. The punch that came hurtling at my
face, however…
I took one hard in
the jaw, my teeth clanging together painfully. Before I could even raise my
hand again, Tutera had hit me with a left hook that sent me reeling, then a
right cross that nearly knocked me off my feet. I put both my hands up again,
but Tutera was a demon, forcing me back so fast I almost tripped over my own
feet. I ducked a particularly powerful swing, only to end up meeting his knee
again, this time straight in the chest.
Fuck.
Instinctively, I doubled over. It felt like he’d cracked my sternum with that
one. It was a stupid move, but sometimes your body betrays you. It wants to
curl in on itself, to protect you from any more pain. Your body doesn’t know
the rules of MMA or professional fighting. It just knows it doesn’t want to get
killed.
Folding forward
put me almost eye-level with Tutera, and he smashed me right on the bridge of
my nose with a head-butt. Stars exploded in front of my eyes in all the colors
of the rainbow and I toppled back against the ropes, sinking to the ground.
Fuck!
Nose injuries were
weird. I could feel the blood coursing down my face, knew the wound was
swelling, but it didn’t really hurt. It just felt like nothing was holding my
face together anymore. It was disorienting as hell.