PULSE: A Stepbrother Romance (15 page)

I could hear
that the opponents hadn’t started fighting yet. In fact, they seemed to be
having a
conversation.
But this
wasn’t the usual, theatrical mockery that seemed to go on before these
fights…it was something deeper.

I just
couldn’t understand a word of it over the crowd.

As we poked
through the very front, the referee looked exasperated, calling out in a
startlingly loud voice. “Now that
sharing
time
is over, maybe we can get this shit-show back on the fucking road!” He
waved over to Sawyer. “I’m proud to announce the return of the legend, a man
who has shed blood in this very cage time and time again…
Boooonesaaaaw!”

The crowd
roared, but the doorman immediate grabbed the attention of two guys nearby. One
was clearly a stacked bodybuilder, and the other was this thin, spindly Rasta
dude.

“Hey! This
girl’s the last one in! She’s never going to get a seat! Can she hang out up
here?”

“Jeremy, for
the last freaking time,” the bodybuilder grumbled loudly. “You’re always soft
on the chicks! She should have showed up earlier! Send her to the back! We’re
not running–”

“Wait,
Darren!” The doorman cut him off. “She says that she’s his sister!”

The two of
them turned to stare at me, and I heard the referee shout out: “A vicious cage
fighter, hailing from the seediest depths of Phoenix, Arizona…I give you the
lightning, the wise-cracker, the
Jaabbeeerjaaaw!”

Darren the
bodybuilder was at my side in an instant, his ear next to my face. “Look!
Nobody knows Bonesaw’s real name! If you’re really his sister, whisper it in my
ear!”

“Sawyer.
Sawyer Samuels,” I told him.

He paused,
staring at me with wide eyes, and then a wider grin.

“She’s good,
Jeremy! Leave her here!”

“Sure thing!”

The crowd was
thrashing, and he pulled me aside to shield me as the referee continued.

“As a special
treat tonight, all restrictions are lifted. No tap-outs, no guild rules. This
is an unregulated bout with anything-goes rules until knockout!”

I looked over
at the two of them – the bodybuilder and the other guy. I pieced together
that he was probably the owner of the joint, as Darren turned and shouted at
him, barely audibly over the crowd: “What the
fuck
did you do?”

“Look, man!”
Luke sheepishly responded, holding up his hands. “It was just business, man!
It’s a business transaction! Bonesaw told me to keep the money and keep this
place going, and I got offered a–”

Darren
grabbed him by the collar, just as the doorman pushed me towards the two of
them. The crowd roared, and I swept myself over to Darren’s side, suddenly
fearful of what was going on in the cage. I didn’t quite understand what this
meant…but it didn’t sound good.

I could hear
the referee continuing, but my attention was completely centered on the two of
them. What they were saying sounded
way
more
important…and it terrified me. They both paused as the referee ducked out of
the cage and hesitated – before locking it and turning regretfully
towards Sawyer.

“You have
got
to be kidding me,” Darren continued,
his rage only building higher. “If
this
guy
is anywhere near Bonesaw’s level…” he pointed towards the ring,
glowering down at Luke, “then you just signed Bonesaw’s fucking death
certificate.”

The buzzer
rang out, and the referee boomed: “FIGHT!”

SAWYER

Chapter 18

PENSACOLA

PRESENT DAY

T
he buzzer
kicked us into gear, and we began to circle one another. Instead of launching
into an immediate brawl, we watched for any weaknesses – any openings to
exploit or missteps to use to our advantage.

This wasn’t
going to be a good, clean fight.

It was a
duel, and it was going to get ugly.

“Gotta
admit,” Jabberjaw chuckled aloud, “
Bonesaw’s
a real clever name. Wish I’d thought of it, myself. Sure as shit know
you
didn’t come up with that. Who did?”

“The fans,” I
answered as we continued to circle one another, hovering a few feet away from
the fence walls. “First cage-fighting match I was in, someone in the crowd
drunkenly called it out. It caught on. Then they started chanting my name.”

“Heh, what a story,”
Jabberjaw grinned wickedly. “Wonder how high those beautiful
fans
of yours will carry you when you’re
asleep on the mat? How much blood will I spill before you give up,
Fucker?
”

“HEY!” We
both turned, staring into the dark throng of spectators all around. “You two
bitches
gonna fight, or are you gonna
just dance around?”

Jabberjaw
grinned like a madman. “Suck my cock, you piece of shit! You’re starin’ at
history in the making, motherfucka!
This
fucker’s an old friend of mine, see? We go WAY
back!”

“I don’t give
a flying fuck!” Another voice rang out.

“This ain’t
about
you, you piece of shit! This is
about HIM and ME!” true to his new name, Jabberjaw was basking in the moment.

I wondered
how long he’d waited for this. Who knows how he found me. When he figured
things out, he must have followed me for ages, and my stupid Twitter account
had kept him up to date on how active I was staying, who I was fighting, and
crucially
where
I was.

If he’d been
jumping for the chance to strike me in an unsanctioned bout, then I’d been a
complete fool. I had handed him the perfect opportunity on a silver platter.
Announcing my presence would have tipped him, and he would have understood that
was the first time in years that I was fighting in a back-end cage. Somewhere
that might have malleable rules.

Everything my
opponent had needed would have fallen into place with admirable precision.

It wouldn’t
have taken him much to track down Luke and sweeten the deal for him. Everything
from volunteering as the opponent and throwing out the rulebook would have been
on the table, given Luke’s equal penchant for capitalizing on opportunities.
And if Jabberjaw had been winning fights for years and played it smart…it would
have been within his means to hop a same-week flight straight here.

He had
already been training in the shadows for years, hoping for a crack at me in the
cage. My enemy came prepared.

Yep. Definitely fucked.

The crowd was
starting to boo harder as we watched each other, constantly moving but never
taking the first step. Whoever broke first was going to lose – but I had
a reputation to uphold. This guy came out of nowhere, as far as the spectators
were concerned. If I didn’t make a move soon, it was going to look like I was
just scared of the stranger.

And the smirk
on his face told me that he knew it.

Fuck it.

I closed the
distance with a powerful swing.

As expected,
he easily dodged the blow, weaving away instead of trying to counterattack. I
held my forearms up, and he bounced lightly back and forth in his stance, fists
at the ready but unwilling to launch a jab.

I threw
another punch, holding back in strength. He ducked to the side, pulling
backwards with the step. Again, he refused to throw an attack.

Gonna be like, huh?
I thought to
myself.
He’s going to tire me out
first…draw out my humiliation.

I needed to
get him to the ground. It was the only way I’d be able to keep him from darting
away like a skittish, impish scamp with every moment. But the cage wouldn’t let
me pin him into a corner, and he wasn’t about to lose the advantage of space
anytime soon.

Jabberjaw was
completely focused, eyes locked onto mine. He’d read my movements and expertly
flow around my thrusts. When fatigue finally forced me to make subtle, tired
mistakes, the viper would rise with its fangs at the ready.

I launched
another blow, effortlessly dodged.

One good strike,
I thought to
myself. I need to surprise him.
But how?

It dawned on
me – matched in its simplicity only by its stupidity. I’d been busy
analyzing him, studying his motions and looking for an opening…and it was true
that I might spot something. There might be a desperate, subtle flaw in his
fighting style, something to give me the higher ground. More likely, though,
was that I was right – he was going to tire me out while I paced around,
struggling to spot a crucial weakness, and then he was going to destroy me. I’d
been going about it all wrong, trying to figure him out. All I needed had been
obvious to me before the match even started – I’d assessed him and
figured out every detail I required to come out on top and win the match.

Because
that’s not how I lived my life.

I acted on
instinct.

It was the
way I’d always been, and the only reason I’d made it this far. Everything from
motorcycling to escaping the police raid had been by watching and simply
reacting.
It was my strength –
never overthinking, only letting my body do the work.

That’s all
that I had to do.

I lost myself
in the flow, letting go of all my biting frustration and desperate analysis. A
wave of calm overcame me, tempered by anger. I was an efficient, oiled fighting
machine once more, stripped of any brain processes beyond understanding my
current limitations and focusing on the slippery jackass who faced me.

“That’s
right,” he smiled with wide eyes, relishing in whatever he saw in my
emotionless gaze. “
That’s
what I
wanted to see. I know
exactly
what
fighting you looks like – I’ve seen you flatten motherfuckers like
nothing
. I want you fighting me at your
fucking
peak
, man…and when I
annihilate you, Sawyer, I want you to understand that I didn’t need any tricks
to do it.”

“Stop
talking,” I commanded. “Fight me.”

“You betcha,
shit-stain,” Jabberjaw grinned, bouncing forward with a strong jab.

I moved out
of the way – but it was a clumsy move, weakening my position. It wasn’t
as natural as it should have been, and it left me wide open. Still…

Jabberjaw
landed a fierce fist to my gut, but I was ready to take the blow. While he came
in close, I tried to bop him in the ear with the side of my fist. He wove out
of the way just in time, slipping around to thrust another jab.

I took that
blow too, using my shifting body weight to half step backwards. Planting my
foot with the momentum, I shifted gears forward, feinting a thrust but
bear-hugging his neck instead.

Jabberjaw was
caught off-guard. Expecting a blow, he’d been surprised by my grapple, and
began to pummel his fists into my ribs. I braced myself against the blows and
forced him backwards against the cage wall, when he suddenly sank his teeth
into my shoulder, jerking them from side-to-side.

“FUCK!” I
snarled, halfway expecting Vinnie to jump to attention. That’s when I
remembered:
no rules.

I slammed him
against the cage wall, dislodging his bite. That was going to sting with every
punch, but he’d attacked my lesser shoulder – leaving my dominant
punching hand unhindered during the rest of the bout. I managed a weak punch to
his stomach before he could escape, which was strong enough to slightly wind
him.

Still, the
sly little bastard slipped out of my striking range, wiping the stray blood
from his mouth.

“You’re going
to resort to
biting?
” I felt the
shoulder with my fingers – it was a little messy, but I could withstand
it.

“I fight
practical-like, Fucker.”

“No, you
fight
dirty.
”

“Call it what
you want.”

The game has changed
, I reminded
myself coolly. With that acknowledgement, I immediately slipped back into my
emotionless persona of the mindless street-fighting machine.

Launching
forward with a powerful blow, I watched him sidestep before landing another
strong jab. I took the blow and used the momentum to hurl a spinning backfist,
a move easily dodged as well.

“If I’d known
that’s all it took to rile you up,” Jabberjaw laughed, “I’d have bitten you
from the start!”

He skated
behind me, and instead of turning, I launched backwards, tackling him with my
back. He dodged out of the way, but not before I grabbed his shin.

“The fuck you
don’t
,” he snarled, trying to slip
the sweaty limb free, but I dug my fingertips in and
yanked
, drawing him down onto me. As he toppled down on top of me,
I let go of his shin, bracing myself and taking his weight as he landed across
my chest.

The window
was brief. For the first time in the match, he was off his game. I grabbed him
around the neck, rolling and dragging his scrambling body with me. Within
seconds, I had him beneath me, my knee in his back, and I delivered a solid
blow straight down to the side of his head.

Unfortunately,
it was my weaker arm – the one with a chomp mark in the shoulder. Not
enough to knock him out, but enough to briefly daze him.

He managed to
dislodge me, shakily jumping to his feet, and I dove across the padding for the
shin again. Jabberjaw was focused enough to weave a step backwards, but I had
anticipated that. Instead of falling flat on my face, I shoved my palm downward
and propelled myself forward, thrusting my other hand out and –
barely – clasping around his leg again. With a fierce tug, I yanked him
backwards, his head and shoulders slamming into forgiving fence of the cage
wall – but I wasn’t done yet.

I pulled
myself up as he kicked his feet along the padding. He was desperate to catch
his sweaty heel against something and force himself back up. I took the
opportunity from him, grasping his sole with another flailing kick and yanking
him towards me.

My opponent
landed on the floor at my feet, striking upward between my legs. But I’d
already slipped out of the way, avoiding the game-ending low blow that would
have left me at his mercy. Instead, I swiped my heel into his ribs with a quick
thrust, and he rolled with the momentum. It was enough to cause him a little
pain – just enough to keep him from whipping back up and dominating.

His eyes were
off of me for a moment, and I struck my heel down into his abdomen as his roll
finished. The blow caught him completely off-guard and winded him, and I dropped
onto his head with a powerful elbow bash. He barely slipped out of the way, but
that was fine
 
– I was on the
floor with him now, and he expected me to be thrown off by the miss.

Instead, I
instinctively knew how he’d move, and I whipped up my arm to clothesline him as
he attempted to struggle up from the floor. My arm shot down, carrying him
straight down onto his back again, and I pushed up from above him and kneed him
in the abs again. I stayed there, holding him pinned beneath me, and swung a
powerful blow that struck the side of his head. He spat blood across the mat,
reacting just quickly enough with a well-timed fist to capitalize on the
moment.

With a
precision strike, he punched me straight in the dick, missing my balls but
still temporarily crippling me. The opening was just enough for my knee to
weaken, and he pulled back, scrambling up to his feet. I shakily reached my
own, and we faced each other down with our fresh injuries.