Knockout

  As soon as this was over, he was going to find out what the hell that guy said to her, and then he was going to track him down and beat his ass.

  “Hoping your girlfriend will come help you?” Bret’s words were a garbled mess thanks to his mouth guard, but after years of communicating that way himself, Jami was able to piece them together. His bloodied lips curved into a taunting smile. “How about I promise to leave enough of you for her to clean up after?”

  Jami lunged, catching Bret in the mouth again. A fresh line of blood trickled down his chin and he grinned. Well, Jami wasn’t a miracle worker, but at least that shut him up. Normally, he might have come back with a snappy retort, but inside the ring, Jami kept his mouth shut. He needed to stay in the zone, and getting into a pissing match would only ruin his concentration, not help it.

  When Bret came back at him, Jami delivered punches to the gut, the ribs, and face. As Bret fell back, Jami advanced on him, his eyes scanning his body for the next spot on him to damage. Maybe he would go for the fleshy spot under his arm, an area that, if hit just right, would shock the bundle of nerves and knock him out instantly. The side of the jaw was another good place. He was looking to end this fight. The quicker he could get Ally alone the faster he would have answers.

  With Bret off kilter, Jami took two steps toward him and jumped. Lifting his leg high into the air, he blasted his foot into Bret’s chest. The center hit knocked him on his ass. Back on his feet, Jami went after him, but even winded, Bret was quick to recover. Rolling sideways across the canvas, he scrambled to get his feet under him. Jami didn’t intend to let that happen.

  Striking out with his fists, Jami clocked him in the face once, twice, three, four, five times. Blood was everywhere. The glazed look Bret wore was the sign Jami had been looking for. Bret would go down soon, the win would be his, and he could take Alyson home.

  With that thought in mind, Jami stepped up, preparing to knee his opponent in the face and end this thing. He never got the chance.

  Before he could process what was happening, Jami’s leg was ripped out from under him. His back slammed down on the canvas, exploding the air from his lungs. He gasped, trying to draw it back in. A heavy weight collapsed on top of him. Bret.

  A fiery burn tore through the right side of his face. Raising his hands, Jami tried to block the attack, but the blows were coming at him from all angles. Pain seared through his abdomen where Bret drove his fists next.

  Jami’s head swirled with mixed messages. Pain. Confusion. He needed to regulate his breathing, draw in more oxygen, but it fucking hurt. More hits to the sides of his face. Stars erupted behind his closed lids.

  The arena was in an uproar. He heard the voices shouting, a string of commands issued to both of them. They wanted Bret to hit him harder, kill him. They wanted Jami to kick Bret’s ass, knock his lights out.

  As Bret continued to tenderize his body, Jami thought of Ally and what she must be thinking right now. She hated the fights. She hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place, but she came, for him. He never should have asked, especially considering what her father had done to her and her mother for all those years, but he needed her here. He couldn’t explain it, but he needed to know that she was out there, watching him, rooting for him, waiting for him.

  And she was.

  She must be so disappointed in him right now.

  Opening his already swollen eyes, Jami saw the ref kneeling beside them, studying the action, getting ready to call it. No. He couldn’t let that happen. He had not put in all that work just to quit. His gaze lifted, and he saw Don and Spencer standing just outside the cage shouting, their eyes frantic.

  And just beyond their shoulder, he caught sight of her. Alyson, her eyes bloodshot, her hands covering her mouth and nose. She was watching him with sheer panic in her eyes.

  The look on her face gave him the spark he needed.

  Lifting a heavy arm, Jami hooked a right straight into Bret’s jaw. The man blinked, fell slightly sideways before catching himself with one arm. Gathering all the strength he had left, Jami forced his body to move. The ref fell back as Jami lumbered to his knees. His body was so heavy, so bruised and worn, that it felt like he was lifting a two ton boulder instead of his own bodyweight.

  Stabbing pain ripped through his left side as he crawled toward Bret, who perched on his hands and knees, shaking his head to gather his wits. Dammit, I think he broke my ribs. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t experienced before, but it would be a bitch to fight through.

  That just meant that he needed to end this now, before any more damage could be inflicted, before the pain became too great to push through. Hell, it was already almost there. There wasn’t a single place on his body, except maybe his toes, that didn’t ache as if someone had twisted him up and shoved him through a meat grinder.

  Grunting as he forced himself to his feet, Jami stumbled over to Bret, raised his foot, and gave him a swift kick to the ribs. That was to return the favor. Groaning, Bret fell onto his side, and Jami dropped to his knees over top of him. Pounding his fists into his face, Jami delivered one hit after another. He didn’t intend to stop until the fight was called, but he hadn’t given Bret enough credit.

  The next hit wasn’t his own. Jami’s head jerked back, stunning him, and giving him the first taste of why they called Bret the ‘“Iron Fist.”’ Damn, but he’d been holding back.

  Struggling to free himself, Bret bucked his hips. Jami held on, balancing himself in an attempt to stay on. This is what cowboys must feel like, riding those broncos, he thought to himself. When he couldn’t dislodge him, Bret clasped both hands together, forming one giant fist, and brought them down like a hammer. Jami folded over, but had enough presence of mind to bring his elbow with him.

  More blood poured out of Bret’s face as Jami opened a gash in his forehead. Any other man probably would have passed out by now, but not him, not the man who had something to lose. He was fighting like a caged animal, but Jami was fighting even harder. The truth was that they both had something to lose. He had goals in mind, and he wouldn’t rest until he achieved every one of them. Bret was in his way, and he was intent on removing any and all obstacles from his path.

  The sheer volume in the arena had reached deafening levels, buzzing inside Jami’s head as he unleashed his fury on the man. They exchanged so many hits, neither of them should have been conscious, but they weren’t giving up.

  Jami pounded on Bret’s face until he hardly resembled a man anymore, but one giant, puffed up lump of purple, black, and blue, but Bret was giving it right back. Drilling his fist into Jami’s injured ribs, Jami gasped from the sudden, shooting pain that lacerated him and shrunk in on himself. Twisting beneath him, Bret knocked Jami over, and began raining hell on him.

  He brutally beat against his back, hitting him in every tender spot until Jami felt like throwing in the towel. But he refused to back down, refused to give in. Never.

  Bucking his hips sharply, Jami was able to clear enough space to roll onto his back, only to find himself trapped.

  Pinning his arm down, Bret sat on his chest, trapping his arm beneath him. Jami’s brain scrambled for resolution, anything he had learned to help him out of this. As Bret leaned his forearm across Jami’s throat and began to press down, Jami tried to think back to his training, to the videos, searching his memory for anything he could use to get out of this, but the white fog was already rolling in, clouding his vision as the oxygen was slowly being cut off from his brain.

  Holy shit, he was going to lose.

  Straining, Jami tightened the muscles in his neck, staving off the crush of weight for as long as possible. With his free arm, he jabbed weakly at Bret’s body, hoping to find someplace soft, someplace injured to cause the man to release him, just for a second, so he could try to break free.

  The crowds’ jeering began to muffle as black spots invaded his vision. No. No! This was not happening. He’d come too far. Kicking his legs, Jami utilized his knees, th
e freest part of his body, ramming them into Bret’s kidneys. When he heard his grunt and felt his body pitch forward, the weight on his throat doubled. Jami’s head felt like it would burst from the pressure building inside, but he forced himself to keep up the assault, and it paid off.

  He didn’t know what he had done, but something worked, and Bret’s arm fell away. When his vision cleared marginally, Jami saw Bret’s face hovering over his, twisted in pain. The arm he’d been using to choke him with was now holding him up. Struggling, Jami inched his arm free from beneath Bret’s massive thigh and wedged his forearm under his chin. Locking his other arm behind Bret’s head, he squeezed, forcing his head lower until his chin touched his chest.

  At this angle, Jami was able to return the favor. He was now cutting off Bret’s oxygen, satisfaction rolling through him as he looked the man straight in his wide, bulging eyes, and watched his face flush red.

  Adjusting the angle, Jami pressed slightly harder to the side of Bret’s neck, releasing some of the pressure from his larynx—he wasn’t aiming to kill the man, just maim him—placing the pressure instead over his carotid. Bret struggled, his hands grasping at Jami’s face. Keeping the pressure on, Jami twisted his head side to side so he couldn’t get a good hold on him. In a matter of seconds, Bret’s eyes glazed over and he felt the muscles in his body release.

  It was over.

  The ref smacked the canvas next to Jami’s head and jumped to his feet. Jami registered the commotion, but he was too stunned to react. He lay there for a moment, with Bret laid out on top of him, and stared at the bright lights overhead.

  He’d done it.

  He’d won.

  The weight on his chest disappeared and someone helped him to his feet. Jami’s head spun as he tried to regain his bearings. The first face he saw was Don’s. His weathered face stretched in an ear-to-ear smile of pride. “Congratulations, son, you did it!”

  Spencer pushed up on his side, leaping up and down, jerking his shoulders all over the place. “That was fucking epic, dude! After this, you’re going to have all the chicks lining up outside your door.”

  Everyone was on their feet, cheering, shouting, crying, screaming. Music blasted. There was noise everywhere. The lights were blinding. Will, Bobby, Collin, and Dwayne moved in and formed a tight circle of muscle around him. Craning his head, Jami searched for the one face he needed to see, the only face that could ground him. He spotted it, coming straight at him.

  Retrieving her quickly, Spencer wrapped his arms around Ally’s shoulders to shield her from the insanity of bodies pressing in from all directions, and guided her through the cluster of people who had entered the octagon.

  A medic got to him first and began doing a brief patch job, clearing some of the blood from his face, roughly smearing Vaseline into his cuts so he wouldn’t bleed on camera. When Ally was within reach, Jami reached out and snagged her wrist, ignoring the dagger of pain lancing through his side as he pulled her in.

  She looked up at him, her eyes misty with a layer of unshed tears, but she was smiling. “You won.”

  “Yeah.” He had. He swallowed past the growing lump in his throat.

  “I’m so proud of you.”

  Jami touched her face. He wanted to kiss her, but he would get blood all over her. “You stayed.”

  “I know.”

  “I love you.”

  Her eyes opened wide in shock. Jami held her gaze, letting his words sink in. It was like she had wanted, for him to spit the words out because he meant them, because they had to be said. He loved her. His brain had finally caught up with his heart.

  A flood of lights descended on them, and then he was torn away from her. The announcer and half a dozen cameras were shoved into his face. Ally stepped aside, watching him as he gave the customary post fight interview.

  Even as questions were thrown at him from all directions and he answered, he couldn’t resist the pull she had over him. Every time he looked at her, her smile grew wider and his chest constricted tighter. Holy shit, he was in love.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The room was a madhouse. Once they finally were able to break free of the cameras, Jami, Ally, and the rest of the crew filed back to the private room set up for him.

  Now that he had a moment to breathe, Jami felt every single ache and pain like a fresh stab wound. Ally helped him ease down onto the bench and Don and Spencer got right to work patching him up.

  He held her adoring gaze as she helped him lift his arms and hold steady while his ribs were taped. She held his hand, her fingers caressing the knuckles as she watched the blood being squeegeed from the rest of him, the gauze and the miles of tape getting set into place. He was a mess. He didn’t have to look in a mirror to know that. He felt it. Everywhere.

  “So I take it this means you’re not up for celebrating tonight?” Spence asked, still wearing his stupid grin as he bent down in front of him and set two butterfly bandages over his left brow.

  “I take it from that shit-eating grin, you won that bet,” Jami returned.

  Spence’s smile grew wider. “You shoulda gone in on it with me, man. I made fifteen hundred off your sorry ass tonight.”

  “That all?” Jami feigned disappointment. “I would have thought I’d command more than that.”

  “In due time, my brother. You’re going to make me rich. You’re going to make us all rich.”

  The door opened and laughter poured in. Tilting his head to see past Spence, Jami frowned. “Send them away,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Beside him, Ally took in the swarm of females coming through the door, and scowled. Clenching her fingers in his, Jami sent her a silent message. He didn’t want them. She gave him a soft smile. Spence did damage control, wrangling the women and ushering them back out the door. “The Judge isn’t up for partying tonight, ladies. But I’m sure if you ask the “Iron,” he’d be more than willing to let you set up in his room.”

  “Thanks, man,” Jami said as the door closed.

  “That’s what I’m here for, but are you sure you don’t want me to call them back? That was some seriously fine tail—hey, where are you going? Babe!” Ally shook her head, her eyes snapping with fire as she watched Liv burst from her chair and flee the room. Jami felt bad for her, too. His eyes followed Spence as he sped out the door after her. His friend was a ladies man, which made him a bad bet in the relationship department. Anyone could see that a mile away, but some women, like Liv, seemed to think they could be the exception to the rule. It was a damn shame, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  “I don’t like your friend.” Alyson glared at the door that remained wide open.

  Jami tugged her closer, biting back a curse as another bolt of pain shot through him. “But you like me, right?”

  Tilting her head back, she smiled. “Of course, I do.”

  Before he got lost in her mouth, Jami lifted his face to the other people still in the room. “So, how did you like the fight, Miles? Was it everything you thought it would be?”

  Miles’s face lit up and he scoffed. “Everything and more. My friends are going to crap their pants when I tell them what I did this weekend. No one is going to believe me.”

  “I bet the cameras caught you,” Jami told him, enjoying the look of dawning that washed over the boy’s face.

  “I bet I can find it on YouTube!” Whipping out his phone, his fingers flew over the screen.

  Beside him, Victoria was smiling, too. “It was a great fight, Jamison. I have to admit, I got a little worried toward the end, but you pulled through it. You should be proud of yourself.”

  “I am,” he said smugly. They all shared a laugh. He wasn’t smug at all, he was confident. Big difference. He knew what he could command of his body, and he asked for every bit of it and more. That’s why he would always succeed.

  “So what now?” Alyson asked. Jami focused on her tiny hands rubbing a path up and down his forearm.

  “I move on to the next fight, mo
ve up the ladder, and then take down the guy at the top.”

  “Who’s the guy at the top?”

  Standing behind them, packing his supplies away, Don spoke up. “Tony ‘“The Killer’” Michaels. The biggest, baddest fighter to step into the ring since Rocky.”

  “Rocky’s a fictional character.” Jami chuckled. He felt Ally’s shoulders bunch and he frowned.

  “Doesn’t hurt to aspire to his level, though,” Don continued.

  Jami tuned out, focusing on Ally. His fingers touched the side of her face lightly. “What’s wrong, babe?”

  “Nothing,” she said, too quick to be believed.

  Cupping her jaw, Jami turned her face up to his. “Let’s try that again. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m just…I don’t know. Distracted, I guess.”

  Her expression pinched, and Jami tensed. “Does this have anything to do with that guy I saw talking to you earlier?”

  Her eyes grew wider. “What guy?”

  Jami tilted his head, a look of warning flashing in his eyes. “You know the guy I’m talking about. The one who spoke in your ear. You know him?”

  She paled, but he had to give her credit, she didn’t look away, and she didn’t try to deny it. “No, I don’t. I mean, I ran into him a couple of times. He was nice, but…”

  Jami’s eyes narrowed. “But what?”

  “The last time I ran into him, I felt like there was something there, something I didn’t like, and then tonight happened, and now I know why I didn’t like him.”

  Jami tightened his arm around her, his thumb smoothing over her cheek. “It’s okay, Ally, you can tell me.”

  She swallowed thickly, her eyes darting toward Tori and Miles. Jami looked up at them. Miles was busy on his phone, but Tori was sitting forward in her chair, watching them intently. She’d heard everything, and was just as interested in what Ally would say next as he was.

  “He said, ‘Tell Tori I hope she enjoyed her flowers.’” Jami’s hand stilled, his body turning rigid with the rage that had begun to build. “Jami,” Ally continued, her eyes wide and pleading, filled with fear that should be there. “I think that was Tony Michaels. If what he said about the flowers is true, and I think that it is, then I think he’s the one who’s been calling and the one who broke into my office. He knows everything. None of us are safe.”