“Alright, son, are you ready?” Don came up beside them and looked down at Jami with a wide, fatherly smile.
Giving her hip a squeeze, Jami lifted Alyson to her feet and stood. Alyson tended to forget that he towered over her. Taking a step back so she wouldn’t strain her neck too hard, she watched as Jami embraced Don. As much as she disliked the man’s treatment of her, she couldn’t deny the bond he and Jami shared. That was the only thing that kept her from sneering when they pulled away and she caught Don’s derisive look.
Anchoring her to his side with a heavy arm, Jami stood talking to Don as they waited to hear the music that would cue his arrival. Alyson held onto him tight, committing his every line to memory, as if he might vanish if she let him go. Terror was eating at her, for him, for what was to come. The whole thing was a giant nightmare.
Rapping on the door, Spencer stepped in wearing a blinding grin. Alyson was instantly suspicious of where he’d been, but her anger and irritation with him was set aside when he opened his mouth and he announced, “It’s make it or break it time, boys and girls.”
Releasing her, Jami turned, grabbed her face in his hands, and lifted her face to his. He kissed her fiercely, crushing his mouth to hers until she felt the electricity heating every cell in her body. He left her scrambling to catch her breath as he turned to take something from Don.
“Help me put this on?” he asked, turning back to her.
Alyson took his walkout shirt—the same design as the one Miles wore on his slender frame—and gathered the end. Bending down so she could reach, Alyson stretched her arms up and fit the shirt over his head. She held it open, helping him work his bandaged hands through the sleeves, then peeled the cotton material down until all those delicious muscles were hidden from view.
She smoothed her hands over the front, sorrow gripping her in its fist. “Hey.” Hooking a finger under her chin, Jami lifted her face to his. “You know I got this, right?” She nodded, fighting back tears. “Who are you rooting for?”
“You.”
“That’s right.” Kissing her one last time, Jami walked toward the door, guards in tow. As Drowning Pool began to play, Alyson moved off to the side, standing with Liv and Victoria.
“Are you ready to see your man kick some ass?” Liv asked, grinning. The air around her buzzed with energy, fueled by her excitement.
Alyson drew in a breath and released it. “Nope.”
Hooking her arm through hers, Liv led the three of them through the doors, down the darkened hallway. Where the entrance split off, Jami looked over his shoulder, gave her a blinding smile, and headed toward the mouth where music blasted and his fans awaited.
Alyson’s stomach clenched at the same time her heart soared. God, she loved that man. Please don’t let him get hurt.
THIRTY
Jami weighed in at a whopping two-hundred and thirty-seven pounds tonight, putting him five pounds shy of Bret’s top weight. It was the biggest Jami had ever been, according to what she’d overheard Don proudly tell Spencer. In her opinion, he looked it, too. Jami was beefed up, every muscle moving and flexing beneath his skin in a tantalizing dance that forced her to cross her legs to tamp down her growing need for him. She’d had her hands wrapped around all that muscle just a few short hours ago, and she knew exactly what it felt like in motion, swollen and heated from exertion. Lord, she would never get enough of him. Ever.
Unfortunately, the venue wasn’t much of an aphrodisiac. Each time a barely dressed ring girl twisted and turned in her direction, flashing her pearly whites and a rack big enough to serve as a floatation device, a cringe of irritation sent her emotions in a new direction. Worse, every time she heard the whap of skin and bone, she experienced cringes and clenches of a different variety.
At this rate, Alyson wouldn’t have any nails left to chew.
Jami had successfully survived the first round. He hadn’t died. He’d been punched in the face once, kicked in the shin, and delivered a bloody nose to the ‘“Iron Fist.’” So far, so good. Only four rounds to go, and then she could take him home and tuck him into bed.
Seated in a corner, Jami was nodding his head as Don and Spencer loomed over him, hanging over the side of the cage, delivering words of encouragement and advice. Spencer sprayed water into Jami’s open mouth. He nodded as he swished, turned his head, and spit.
Looking to the opposite corner, Alyson studied Bret, also known as the ‘“Iron Fist.”’ Covered in sweat, he glared in Jami’s direction, entirely focused as his coach and another advisor shouted directions in his ear.
The bell rang and the coaches and assistants cleared out. Jami and Bret returned to the center of the octagon and faced off again. Even as she chewed her nails in apprehension, Alyson couldn’t help taking a moment to admire Jami’s physique. Covered in a layer of sweat, his muscles, heated from exertion, glistened under the bright lights. His face was a hard mask of determination. His stance wide, causing the muscles in his legs to bulge.
Her mouth watered. If he walked away from this relatively intact, she had a few things in mind for how she would like to spend their time together later.
When Jami threw the first punch, Alyson bit off the corner of her pinkie nail. Her hand was slapped from her mouth.
“Cut that out,” Liv scolded her.
“I can’t help it,” Alyson whined. “My nerves are raw. I have anxiety, okay?”
Taking both of her hands, Liv forcefully shoved them between Alyson’s thighs. “Those don’t move from there. Got it? Eyes up there. Your man is kicking some serious ass. He’s going to win this thing and when he walks out of that ring, I’m thinking he’s going to want a girlfriend with all her fingernails. Men don’t like stubby sausages, they like claws. Long, sharp claws, understand?”
Alyson made a sour face and returned her attention to the fight. She had to admit, Liv was right, Jami was kicking ass. Alyson tensed as she watched Bret bend to grab Jami’s thigh. Lifting his leg, Jami hopped on one foot, driving his elbow into Bret’s shoulder and back as he tried to keep his one remaining foot beneath him.
Bret carried Jami back, shoving him into the cage walls. Jami fought hard, but she could tell by the way the two pushed at each other, neither gaining much headway, that they were both tired, their strength waning.
Bret held Jami in that position. Sporadically, Bret would punch the inside of Jami’s thigh, trying to collapse his leg. Each time he did, Jami returned an elbow to his back or his side.
The audience began to grow restless the longer the two stood immobile. Alyson couldn’t care less. She’d rather Jami ride it out right where he was, but that hope was blown to bits when Bret grabbed the fence and the referee stepped in, forcing them to break apart.
Apparently, that was a no-no.
Jami danced away, ready to go again. Sweat ran down his temples, beads of it clung to his chest, his arms. Alyson licked her lips. He was so hot. She could look at him all day.
Bouncing on his toes, Bret advanced. Jami kept his guard up, and after watching him train for so many weeks, she was beginning to be able to recognize some of the moves and the signals that came with them.
Bret’s head lowered a fraction and his shoulders bunched, and she knew that he was about to strike. A second later, he launched himself at Jami. With equally quick reflexes, Jami feigned left. Bret flew past him, catching himself a few steps later. Whirling around, he repeated the action, quicker this time. Jami feigned right, and Bret missed the mark again.
Alyson almost laughed at the furious look on his face. Jami was toying with him, letting him wear himself out, while he travelled around the cage, giving his body time to recover. She had been too busy cringing at the past fights to see the skill with which he fought, the thought he put into every move he made. Jami knew what he was doing. He was careful, selective. He didn’t strike until he had to, and he made each hit count.
A spark of pride and a ribbon of excitement began to bubble within her as she watched the showdow
n through new eyes. Bret and Jami closed the gap they’d made, searching for the next opening, and when he found it, Jami burst into motion. His fists connected with brutal accuracy, exploding against Bret’s cheekbone, knocking his head to the left. Jami followed with a blow to the temple, knocking Bret’s head in the opposite direction. Bret staggered back, lost his footing, and fell.
Alyson jumped to her feet with the rest of the crowd, whooping and cheering for Jami. When she expected him to pounce, Jami held back. He backed off, and Alyson held her breath, watching along with everyone as he let Bret roll to his feet.
Shaking his head, Bret sent Jami a glare that promised retribution. It was a threat that was not to be taken lightly. Bret had earned this nickname, and he had fought his way to where he was now, just as Jami had. He would not let go of that without putting up one hell of a fight.
With his shoulders puffed up, Bret stalked toward Jami. Alyson gulped, fearing what would happen. That’s when the bell rang. She breathed a sigh of relief when the men dropped their guards and took their corners.
Jami’s head tilted back and his eyes found hers as Don and Spencer hovered over him once more. He nodded, answering whatever they had asked him. Spencer rubbed him down with a towel, drying some of the sweat that had collected on his skin. Still Jami held her eyes.
She smiled, sending him nothing but good thoughts of how proud she was of him, letting him know that she was watching every moment, supporting him...loving him.
A slow smile crept across his face revealing his black mouth guard. Jesus, he was sexy. Coupled with the heavy rise and fall of his chest, his heavy-lidded eyes, and the pure masculinity he presented, she felt her body stir to life. Her knees locked together, her thighs tightening around her pinned hands. Jami’s eyes heated as he watched her, and his smile turned knowing.
Her face heated, but she refused to look away. Own it, Blake.
“Damn, is it hot in here or is it just me?” Liv asked from her right. “He’s practically undressing you right here in front of everyone.”
He was, wasn’t he? Alyson’s face split into a wide smile. Pursing her lips, she blew him a kiss. Her stomach fluttered at Jami’s response: the rise of one promising brow. It was on. Later, she would be under him and he would be inside of her. She could hardly wait.
“Miles is having a great time,” Victoria said from her left. “After everything with Tony, I thought the best thing for him was to keep him away from all of this, but I can’t remember the last time I saw him this happy.”
Alyson broke eye contact with Jami long enough to locate Miles. He was standing on the floor, passing towels, water, and whatever else Spencer required, to him. And he wore the biggest smile on his face.
“I don’t know how to begin to thank you for everything you have done for us. Both of you.”
Bumping her shoulder against Victoria’s, Alyson told her, “You just did.”
Victoria lifted her arm and wrapped Alyson up in a tight hug. “You’re the best. I’m glad we’re friends.”
“Me, too.” And she was. Alyson had never come by friends easily. Until Victoria, she only had one: Olivia. Now she felt confident in claiming that she had two. Between her and Jami, she’d gained so much in such a short period of time. It was hard not to be grateful.
The bell rang, signaling the start of the third round. This time, the men didn’t hold back any punches. Literally. Jami and Bret locked together in a battle of fists, exchanging blows so heavy, that she feared that one or both would come away with severe brain damage. Jami hit Bret so hard, that his knuckles split open on impact. Ignoring the resulting gash in his cheekbone, Bret punched Jami so hard in the mouth, blood poured from behind his lips.
She couldn’t help it. Alyson was back to chewing her fingernails to the quick. Liv slanted a disapproving look at her, but Alyson ignored her. She needed to vent her anxiety somehow. Her nails were being sacrificed for the greater good.
Ramming his shoulder into Bret’s gut, Jami grappled with him. They grabbed each other’s arms, flinging each other’s hands off and grabbing again. Gaining ground, and then losing it. A true battle for dominance was being waged before her.
It was difficult to watch, the fear a constant presence at her side. When Jami hit Bret in the nose, and she saw the blood spurt out, she flinched. Although she was there to root Jami on, she had met Bret. Under any other circumstances, she might have been able to paint him as the villain, but she had a face, a voice, and words to apply to him. He wasn’t an animal. He was just a man, possessing similar qualities as Jami, and like Jami, he was fighting for his title, for his presence, his fame, his name. She really couldn’t blame him for that.
So, Alyson felt fear and concern boiling inside of her for both of them. She hated seeing Jami hurt someone. She hated even more seeing him get hurt, but it wasn’t something he was looking to change, and she couldn’t change him. She didn’t want to. Not really. Jami loved what he did, and if she wanted to be with him—really be with him—then she would have to learn to love it, too.
In the middle of the round, while Jami was struggling to break free from a leg lock, Victoria leaned in and spoke into her ear. “I have to go to the ladies’ room. Would you come with me?”
Alyson glanced at her, and back at the ring where Jami was struggling for freedom. She glanced back at Victoria. Then back at Jami. She bit her lip. She didn’t want to leave her friend hanging, but she couldn’t walk away from this. The lines to the bathroom would be long. Longer than she had time to spend, and she didn’t want to miss a moment of the fight. This was Jami’s time, and when she looked back on this, she wanted to know she had seen it all, every step that he took to the top. Thankfully, Liv saved her from having to make a choice.
“I’ll come with you, Tori. You stay here and watch the fight,” she told Alyson as she rose out of her chair.
Alyson barely spared them a parting glance. Turning in her seat to give Victoria room to get by, Alyson was riveted to what was happening in front of her. That was why she didn’t see him coming.
Movement on her right registered a moment before someone sat down in the seat beside her. Assuming it was Liv returning, she said, “That was fast. I thought you’d be in line forever.”
“Hi, Alyson. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Startled by the male voice, Alyson jerked her head to the side and gaped. “What are you doing here?” The man from the festival, from outside of her work, sat next her, smiling.
“I came to see the fight.” He pointed to the ring.
Alyson stared blankly back at him. “You’re in my friend’s seat.”
He looked around. “She went to the bathroom, right?” Alyson nodded. He settled back and folded his arms over his wide chest. “Then I have some time.” Looking ahead, he watched the fight that Alyson should have been watching, but she couldn’t pry her eyes away from him. Why the hell was he here, next to her, talking to her? How had he found her among all of these people? “So you’re dating Weston?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly at his question. She remembered how she didn’t know his name, but oddly, he knew hers. Even though she thought he was nice initially, she couldn’t shake the sensation that something about this guy was off. He was throwing off some heavy creep vibes that she hadn’t picked up on before. Not to mention, there were too many questions surrounding him. Who was he, exactly? What was his name? Why was he always showing up where she was? It couldn’t all be a coincidence.
Seeing the look on her face, he smirked. “You don’t have to answer that. I can see by the way that you look at him and he looks at you that you’re together.”
“Why are you here?” she repeated.
His eyes widened and he tilted his head toward the octagon. “The fight, Alyson. Try to keep up.”
She bristled at his condescending reply. “Look, I’m here with my friends, you’re in their seat, and I really don’t like your tone,” she said caustically. “I think you’d better go find y
our seat now.” Turning her attention back to the fight, she felt her irritation with this man like a physical thing, stirring the air, sending spikes of adrenaline burning through her system.
“You really don’t want me here?” he asked, sounding confused, but when Alyson turned her head to supply him with a snotty retort, she saw the amusement flashing in his light eyes.
For a moment, the words left her. She didn’t find anything about this situation amusing. If Jami looked over here and saw her talking to this guy, he would be pissed. He would have questions that she didn’t know how to answer. “No, I don’t,” she said finally, somehow managing to keep the tremor from her voice.
He pursed his lips, the action causing his chin to wrinkle. “Okay, I can respect that.” He stood, preparing to walk away, but paused at the last minute. Bending down, he placed his head beside hers, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Tell Tori I hope she enjoyed her flowers.”
All the blood drained from her face as he walked away. Coldness seeped into her limbs as Alyson sat there, her emotions in turmoil. No, she couldn’t have heard him right. She couldn’t have…He couldn’t be…
By the time she had the presence of mind to look for him, he was already gone. She looked around, frantically searching for him. For Liv. For Victoria. Anyone. Framed by two empty chairs, Alyson suddenly felt very alone and very vulnerable. Her heart pounding, her body shaking, she slumped down in her seat, wishing she could get the hell out of there.
THIRTY-ONE
Jami glanced over at Alyson just in time to see the man bend down and speak to her. All he caught was the back of his head, but the guy was huge. He didn’t know what he said, but judging by her suddenly gray pallor, it couldn’t have been good.
His attention was divided. Bret Cordova was coming at him hard and quick, his determined fists out for blood, out to break him. When Bret rushed him, Jami leaned back and swept his leg out. Bret’s ankle collapsed and he lost his balance. Jami glanced toward Alyson’s row, seeing the man retreating into the arena.