“I want hundreds of roses, Pete!” I yell as he walks around the living room, talking into the receiver. “I want them all over her apartment,” I continue instructing. “All of them red. And I want every dozen to have a song so she’ll think of me. I need her to think of me.”
She does, think of me.
She calls and texts me, and I call and text her.
Every day I hear a report on what she did, how she is. The guys tell me it will get easier, but it doesn’t. It gets worse.
It doesn’t get any better until that fantastic day I finally get to go pick her up and bring her back on the circuit with me.
THE FINAL, FINALLY. My little firecracker and I made an agreement when she came back, and she better f**king stick with it. The thing is, Scorpion has blackmailed her sister back to his side too. Motherfucker.
Pete and I have planted a snitch, and we now know Scorpion had something on her, which must’ve been why she went back to that ass**le. But I’m not letting Brooke step in this time. Tonight I take care of it all.
This season hasn’t been easy, but then nothing worthwhile ever is.
We’re headed down the hotel elevator, on our way to the Underground, and I’ve barely been able to shake myself out of the deepest hole in the history of my lows.
I’m trying to pump myself up for the fight with some mashups as we ride down the elevator, but though my body feels ready, my mind is with my girl. As we shuffle out of the elevator and into the hotel lobby, I grab Brooke by the h*ps and pull her back to me, murmuring, “In my peripherals.”
Her worried gold eyes meet mine, and I yank down my headphones.
“In your seat at all times, Brooke,” I say, while winding my fingers into her hair, then I crush her sweet, hot, delicious f**king mouth under mine. She looks dazed when I pull her back an inch, and I set my forehead on hers while I keep my eyes on her. “I adore you with every breath I take—in every ounce of me, I adore you.” Another fast, hard kiss later, I slap my favorite ass and whisper, “Watch me break him.”
I play my music while we ride to the Underground. I need to concentrate, but I’m eyeing the back of her neck, the way her br**sts rise and fall, and for a moment, I forward into the future, to the way she’ll look at me when I ask her. The guys tell me everything is ready, and I just hope that she is. Ready for me. For all of me.
I’m winning tonight. Even if I have to kill for it. I’m taking it all. Everything I’ve never had, by force if I have to.
My championship, my woman, I’m winning, and when the crowd is screaming my name, I’m taking the yes out of her mouth that I want.
When we reach the Underground, I keep my headphones on my head as I watch Brooke head to her seat. She ducks her head and spreads her hand over the mound of her little round stomach as she follows Pete, avoiding looking at me. God, she stirs up all my protective instincts and then some.
She’s nervous.
I don’t want her to be.
The last time she saw me in a final, Scorpion broke me. This time I want her to watch me break him. I want her to be proud. I want her to be proud of being with me.
I wait in the locker room—no other fighters here tonight. Just Coach, Riley, and me. They’re arguing about something. I can see the tendons popping out of their necks while Coach tapes up my hands. I know it’s hard for them to trust me when I’m pulling out of a swing. Maybe they think I’ll do what I did last season.
No shit I’m getting Brooke’s sister back again. But this time I’m the one who f**ks Scorpion in every damn hole of his body. I get the girl, the championship, rescue the sister, and break the blackmailing motherfucker. All of which he can watch from his prime spot inside the ring—with me.
I turn up my music and tune into the rhythm of my heartbeat, the hard, steady pump of my blood reaching every inch of my muscles. I do a mental check, head to toe. Nothing hurts. I study my taped hands and squeeze my fists, popping out my knuckles. Every part of me is ready to fight.
I’ve been a sad, depressed f**k for weeks. Wondering if I’m good enough for Brooke, for our baby.
Tonight, I’ll prove to myself that I am worthy.
Despite what every other person in my life has thought about me.
I stop my iPod when I see Riley lift two fingers in the air. Pulling off my headphones, I set them aside and stand to jump in place when I hear the voice out in the arena.
“Ladies and gentlemen, hello! Well, here we are this evening with you all! Are you people ready? Are you all READY for a fight unlike any other? Unlike ANY OTHER, people! Ringmaster?”
There’s silence.
Breathing as I warm up, I twist my neck to each side, then forward and back.
“Sir, we won’t need your services tonight,” the announcer says.
The crowd lets loose a roar.
“That’s right!” the announcer joins them as he keeps on yelling. “Tonight, there are NO rules, NO ringmaster. Anything goes. ANYTHING GOES, PEOPLE! No knockouts—this is a fight of submission. Submit!”
“Or die!!” the crowd screams.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Yes! It’s a submission fight here tonight in the Underground! Now, let’s call your worst nightmare into the ring! The man your daughters cry about. The man you want to run from. The man you certainly don’t want to be up in the ring with. Our defending champion, Benny, the Blaaaack, Scorpionnnnnn!”
I keep jumping in place and pumping out my arms, keeping my shoulders loose and my core tight.
“Booooo!” the crowd yells outside. “BOOOOO!!”
A few feet away, Riley stretches out my RIPTIDE robe, and I step up and ram my arms into the sleeves, tying it loosely around me.
“And challenging our champion tonight, we all know his name! We are all waiting to see if he’s gonna bring it to this ring tonight. So . . . is he? Get rrrready to welcome the one and only Remingtooooooon Tate, yourrr Riiiiiptide!!”
I charge out the walkway to the instant chant of the crowd.
“Rem-ing-ton! Rem-ing-ton!”
The color red streaks across the arena as the fans stand to greet me. “Remyyyyy, kill him, Remyyyy!”
“Go, Rrrrrriptide!”
I leap into the ring and take off my robe, then I look around with a smile, sucking it all in, my fans’ faces full of expectation, the way the arena looks in this season’s final.
I will not fail.
I stretch my arms out and do my turn so that they can keep on screaming like they like to, feeding me, and the noise heightens as I start slowly turning around.
That’s right, I’m going to break him tonight, and it’s all for . . .
My eyes spot her, and I smile.
Brooke Dumas.
I have fought my life to control my mood swings. I have fought for my health, for the hell of it, and to vent. I have fought in anger, and tired, depressed, hungry, excited. I have fought to prove myself to my parents when they didn’t care. I have fought to prove to myself I’m strong. But now I fight to prove myself to her. And I’m taking this one home.
The bell rings, and I lock eyes on Scorpion and leap into action. Going to center ring, I watch Scorpion jump around for a moment, then I hit him—fast and hard—one punch, two, three. He stumbles back.
“Remy!!”
Brooke is screaming at me, her voice loud, clear, thrilled. It charges me like a bolt of lightning. I drive my fist into Scorpion’s jaw and knock him back a step, then I slam him again and knock him back yet another one.
“Go, REMY!!!”
“Kill him, Remy!”
“Remington, I f**king love you! Ohmigod, I love you!” Brooke screams.
Holy god, I’m so f**king wired to show her I’m the man, I’m the only f**king man for her, I drive my knuckles into Scorpion even harder, alternating between guarding, then hitting, guarding, then hitting.
The crowd loves it.
“Kill him, RIP! Kill him, RIP!” they chant.
The fight continues through the night, pausing only during small resting periods where we drop down on our stools and our coaches drill us with instructions.
I listen to what Coach says, pretending to listen, nodding. But it goes in one ear, and out the other. I know what I’m doing. Scorpion and I don’t take our eyes away from the other as we head back to center again. I can see it, in his eyes, when he plans to move. We hit again, both of us landing hard punches. He clinches me, but I pull free and slam out my right hook. He covers and pounds my ribs.
My breath goes, but I quickly recover, going at him with my fastest punches, so fast he barely sees them coming. Wham wham wham. Soon blood starts pouring out both his nostrils, and his balance is rocking with my hits.
I know I have him, but the gleam in his f**king eye tells me otherwise. He doesn’t plan to submit. Swinging out, he hooks an arm around my neck and pulls me down as he rams his knee into my gut.
He looks excited about that. But I don’t think I’ll let him land any more. Shoving him back, I drive my fists fast and hard into his body, slamming him like I do my hard bags until he’s covering, ducking, trying to escape my payback.
I don’t let him. I follow and pound him into the ropes.
He falls to his knees and spits on the ground, then he gets up and comes at me.
He hits my jaw, ribs, temple, slamming me into the ropes.
Fuck! I straighten and stalk him as he backs away, my eyes trained on his as blood trickles down my face.