PUSH: Ultra Alpha MMA Badboy Mafia Romance (Southside Brotherhood Book 2) (47 page)

“Give me your hand.” He sounded disgusted.

Flynn’s breath was already coming too fast.

Where the Jesus fuck is she?

His face twisted with tension, his lower lip between his teeth as Roger tucked the blood red wrap between his fingers. The hard angles of every muscle looked like carved stone; there was no softness to him today. Only fury and a kind of absolute resolve soldiers get when they know they are going into a battle to kill or be killed.

His eyes turned dead, flat, and just when he thought he’d gained a second of control, there stood Gideon in the doorway of the small locker room.

“Hello there, gentlemen.” His tone was mockingly playful.

Roger’s head spun around.
“Get the fuck out of here!”
He waved his cane in the air.

Flynn didn’t move. His eyes stared straight at the tall, dark figure that shared half his blood. Gideon’s jet black hair was buzzed short, his face clean and a smile crested his lips.

“
You’re dead.
” He silently mouthed the words to Flynn, then waved apologetically to Roger. “Sorry, old man. Just wanted to wish him well. Right, brother?”

“Get out!”

Flynn felt his heart press in slow, thick beats against his chest. Everything in the room slowed, and his fingers twitched cold.

“Brother? Are you kidding me? You left that little nugget out.”

“He’s not my brother. He’s nothing to me.”

“Well, I don’t give a shit right now. We have fifteen minutes. Get your head right or this will be your last damn fight.”

***

There was a carnival atmosphere in the stinking, crumbling building.

Spectators howled for blood, and it only excited the fury of the fighters. The cult of energy that pulsed from this kind of crowd was not the same as a brightly lit, clean, televised fight.

This was a pit, a stinking coliseum of bravado and raw primal urges.

Flynn’s body was a machine. When he needed, he could channel a vengeful predator in his fist and his feet. He cared not for his pain; he only cared about the destruction of the dark-haired inhuman staring him down next to the official who barked out orders into Flynn’s near deaf ears.

He awaited the signal. The words that would free him, allow him to save her, save him and destroy them.

The responsibility for her life lay on him and what he could do in the next few minutes.

“Listen, you gotta knock him out. You understand.” Roger was on his knees, rubbing Flynn’s face with gel. The old man looked more concerned than Flynn would’ve preferred, but he knew what he meant. “You can’t keep up defense, you don’t got the stamina right now. I know I’ve been preaching defense to you since you stepped in my gym, but tonight, boy, you gotta let the creature you keep inside you
out.
The same damn one I keep telling you to rein in. You gotta kill him or he’s gonna kill you. And fast.”

Flynn’s lower jaw cranked back and forth as Gideon bounced in his corner — no coach, no trainer, just dead eyes and a cocky ass smile.

Roger limped out of the ring, swearing all the way, and Flynn took his place on his feet, waiting for the clap of the boards.

The last thing Flynn heard was Roger’s voice from outside the chain link. “You don’t knock him out; you don’t have a life. You don’t knock him out; you lose her. You lose everything.”

The air felt hot, moving in and out of Flynn’s lungs. He couldn’t connect his brain with his body for a long moment. His left eye twitched along with his fingers.

“You ready?” The ref pointed to Gideon.

“You ready?” Then Flynn.

“GO TO WAR!”
The boards clapped together, freeing the trained dogs from their corners.

Gideon was a rocket. One frantic fist bump and he swung a leg that hit Flynn pin point on the left side, driving searing pain dancing white in front of his eyes as he stumbled to fill his lungs.

“Knock him out! Quit fucking around!” Roger screamed.

It’s been like three seconds! Let me fucking blink first—

Flynn spun in orbit. Gideon’s next kick missed his mark, his roundhouse throwing Gideon off to his left and out of focus for a split second.

Flynn roared, lurching forward with fists that smacked and thunked into his brother’s ear and found his nose. One more drive from below exploded Gideon’s face in a spray of slick crimson as Flynn crushed his nose.

“Fuck!”
Gideon’s muffled voice came from behind his yellow and red streaked mouth guard.

Flynn took a second to try to draw a half breath, the exquisite pain in his side sending blinding stars in his eyes.

He knew his legs would be useless for kicks, at least on his left side. His ribs, cracked before, were now fully broken and pressing on his lung after Gideon’s blow. His muscles refused to do their full duty as his body desperately tried to protect itself from fatal harm.

Gideon came at him, head down, arms out slipping past — missing getting Flynn in his grasp. All Flynn had were his fists. He couldn’t take him on the mat; his body would not be able to leverage the other 240 pounds.

The sounds of grunts and flesh on flesh, the fist into the meat of the gut and the crash of bodies against the chain link fence, surrounded them for the rest of the round until the clap of the boards sent both panting, frothing dogs back from one another.

“You wonder where she is?” Gideon spat out his mouth guard before Flynn moved away.

Flynn growled back, shaking the sweat from his hair.

“Dad will never let you have her; you can’t keep her safe. You’re a half-breed piece of shit.”

“Fuck off.” Flynn rumbled back.

“Get the fuck over here!” Roger yelled a

s he limped in the cage toward Flynn’s corner. “You aren’t going to last another round. Don’t fuck around. Find your sac, kid. This is it. I know you’re hurt, but you wanted to be here. I’ll call this fight right now, just nod and I'll do it. But, if you want to be here, you got about two minutes to do your job in there and knock his fucking head off.”

Flynn sucked in air through his teeth, every breath full of arrows and knife blades as his head buzzed and her face danced in his fire seared brain.

“You don’t knock him out, you’ve got nothing. You don’t knock him out, you’ll be dead.” Roger poured some water into Flynn’s open mouth. It ran right back out over his parted lips.

The old man retreated out the chain link door, leaving Flynn staring at nothing in the corner.

Another clap and Flynn could smell his own fury. Gideon danced, Flynn swam in the pain, trying to draw strength from it, lunging forward. He felt the vibration of his fist as it caught Gideon’s gut, then up and the crack of his jaw sending him back on his heels.

He needed to take his fucking head off; that was the only way he was going to take him down. He didn’t have the stamina for a fist fight or grappling. Flynn channeled pain, reared back and spun with his right leg as high as he could. It was his one shot, the deal maul, perfectly centered to send Gideon’s head to his shoulder and his detached body to the floor.

Only, Gideon was faster. Sharp, unhurt.

He caught Flynn’s foot mid-air, sending his brother crashing into the mat, shaking the floor. Gideon slipped his arm around his neck, the choke hold solid. Flynn flexed and twisted, but his body would not acquiesce. His muscles refused his orders to keep him alive as his broken ribs pressed and cut into the precious organs inside.

“You’re going to die tonight, little brother. Daddy’s orders.” Gideon growled into Flynn’s ear as he tightened his choke, cutting off his breath.

Don’t you fucking tap. Not against him, not fucking tonight. Don’t fucking do it. You can’t leave her. You can’t let her down. Find it, dig fucking deep—

Flynn struggled, every muscle fiber gushing acid into his body as he tried to pull Gideon’s rock solid lock from around his neck. His lungs were exploding with lack of oxygen, the pain in his side turning his vision on and off like a strobe light in a black room.

Jesus, Lilly, I’m sorry — I failed you.

“Don’t tap, brother, ‘cause I’m ending your second-rate life right fucking now— Oh, one more thing before you die.” Gideon spit out his mouthguard onto Flynn’s chest, his words becoming very clear in his ear. “She’s with Dad now, and he’s going to fuck her like the ripe Irish whore she is. Good night, brother. See you in hell.”

The last thing Flynn felt was Gideon letting go of his neck, his hands coming to pull one direction on his chin, and the other direction on the opposite side of his head. A loud ‘crack’ that sounded like it came from inside his brain, then a lightning bolt of pain and then absolute silence.

Chapter Thirty-seven

The tearing sound of the Velcro around the neck brace was the only thing Flynn heard.

He’d laid out two paramedics who’d tried to hold him down and take him to the hospital. Everyone in the place was sure his neck was snapped. But, when Flynn came up swinging at the two medics, there was a wave of disbelief that rushed through the crowd.

“Dude. Calm down. I don’t know how you managed to get out of that without being dead from the neck down, but you still need medical care. You could still have a broken bone in your neck.” The one paramedic was still trying to do his job as Flynn rubbed his hands on his shoulders trying himself to figure out how he’d survived.

Nine lives? Right again, old man.

Inside his bag he’d brought a clean t-shirt, and a pair of jeans. He ditched his fighting shorts, then tried to clothe his torso. Getting the t-shirt over his head was the worst. Every way he tried to raise an arm to tilt his head shot reminders of just how much damage his body had endured over the last days.

The inside of his head knocked around like a rubber ball in a jar. The sound of Roger yelling and the crowd still thumping and roaring made him feel woozy.

He put together bits and pieces.

What he did remember included the venom Gideon had dripped into his ear, wrenching fears from his black depths to turn his heart back into stone. He’d known that the sweet, innocent angel who’d dropped from heaven to save him was too good for him. Yet, he refused to believe without proof. Gideon was a liar, a fucking liar. But if it were true, Flynn would finish what Gideon had started, himself.

***

As Flynn took the turn down to the Royal Park Hotel, the low buzz in his head matched the tension in his gut.

He could only focus on her. He knew it couldn’t be true. No way she was there with him, no way.

Still, a gnawing doubt scratched at the back of his eyes only because she still wasn’t answering calls or texts. Something was wrong.

He felt compelled to come, to see for himself before heading to Ana’s to find her cell phone dead and both of them hunkered down with ice cream or pizza, wide-eyed when he walked in.

His body felt like it was turning inside out. His lungs burned, head pounded, his fingers turning cold and tingling. There were no movements he could make that didn’t bring more pain.

He looked like a felon, a guy who’d just gotten his ass handed to him about four times, but Flynn didn’t care. All that mattered was putting eyes on her and getting her the hell out of there.

But, she wouldn’t be here; Flynn kept telling himself that.

Where they would go, he didn’t care. He’d cover her with his protective fortress until he’d figured out what would be next. Clearly, his doubt about his father’s offer was spot on, so it was onward with plan B, or C or D or whatever it would take.

He should have known Colin was full of shit, that he’d never let them go.

Still, there couldn’t be truth in everything Gideon whispered.

She would never betray him.

Lie to him.

That was the one solemn promise he’d asked of her.

And she would not break that vow.

When he spun his tires and came to a stop in front of the five-star hotel, the valets scrambled around and within a few seconds, security showed up.

“Sir, you can’t leave that here.”

“Get the fuck out of my way,” Flynn spat.

He could still taste fresh blood on his tongue. The burning in his lungs allowed only a short gasp of air with each heave of his chest. The paramedics had taped his ribs, but it didn’t stop the sharp jolts of pain with almost every move.

“Sir.” The valet tried to keep his tone even, looking at the piece of hamburger that got out of the Bronco with death in his eyes.

A gathering of black-vested valets, two-gunned security guards and several tuxedoed and gowned guests were all staring at him like he was a bomb about to detonate.

“Where’s the SPIN party?”

“Sir, do you have an invitation?” A suited manager type suddenly stepped forward with both the 300-pound guards bringing up the rear.

“Fuck this.” Flynn spun and threw himself back in the Bronco, hitting his ribs and sending another bolt of gasping pain into his body.