Chapter 24
Red
The thing about scandals was that they could take on a life of their own.
Cash’s pre-fight conference was a shit show. All anybody wanted to ask him was about Julia or the fact that Leo Holistic Lifestyle had pulled out. Nobody wanted to know about him, his fighting strategy, what he was looking forward to most about his UFC debut. Between the badgering questions and the incessant flash of camera bulbs, it was a miracle he could even get a word out.
“Can you tell us how you met this Julia Thatcher?” someone in the crowd asked.
“How would you describe the nature of your relationship?”
“Will she be at the match tonight to support you?”
“I hear that your manager tried negotiating a deal with Nike, but they refused on account of these recent events coming to light.”
Cash’s jaw tightened. He shifted in his chair. His usual charm and easy smile were nowhere to be found, replaced with an uncharacteristic stiffness. “No comment,” he said over and over again.
Dylan, who’d been seated next to Cash the whole time, snatched his microphone. “Does anybody have any real questions, or can we wrap this up?”
I was standing at the back of the room, keeping to myself and staying within the safety of the shadows. I was dressed inconspicuously, wearing a navy-blue ball cap pulled down low to obscure my face. So far, nobody seemed to recognize me. I fully intended on keeping it that way. The last thing I wanted right now was to be caught in the middle of a swarm. Patrick told me to lay low, so I was going to do just that.
Someone in the front row raised their hand. “I wanted to ask McConnell what he thinks is his opponent’s biggest weakness going into the fight tonight.”
Andrew McConnell was Dylan’s opponent, seated on the opposite side of the stage. He wasn’t that impressive; none of his features were particularly memorable. McConnell had short red hair, pale blue eyes, and the general air of an overconfident idiot. He looked like the kind of guy who’d taken one too many hits to the head. The lights were on, but nobody was home.
“Got an ace up me sleeve,” he said, his Irish accent so thick that I didn’t catch what he said at first. His self-assured smile was dopey and crooked. “Ah know all ‘is plays.”
“And how would you know that?” someone asked.
“‘Cause.”
Cash rolled his eyes. “Brilliant elaboration.”
“Man, fook you!” McConnell gestured to someone just off stage. “Got me a bran’ new coach, ya see. Let me reacquaint ya.”
A bewildered murmur erupted from the audience as Robert “Bob” Falco stomped up the steps of the stage to join his fighter, waving to the adoring crowd like he was competing for the title of Miss Universe.
My mouth dropped open in a mix of shock and disgust. “That bastard.”
Cash stood up abruptly. “You son of a bitch! Was this why you bailed on us? You were busy lining yourself up for a different fighter, you two-faced snake!”
Bob shrugged, smiling unapologetically. “I don’t like betting on dying horses. Looks like I was right to jump ship when I did.”
McConnell flipped Cash the bird. “Prepare ta get yer ass handed to ya, Mitchell. Winner gets ta take Julia for a few rounds, if ya know wha’ I mean. Word ‘round the block is ya don’t mind sharin’.”
It happened in the blink of an eye.
Where I was built for strength, Cash was built for speed.
He lunged across the stage in a blind rage, fists raised and ready to land square on their mark. If it weren’t for Dylan’s fast reaction time, he would have knocked the ever-loving daylights out of McConnell.
All hell broke loose.
Shouting, cheering, booing. Camera shutters clicking, flashing lights going off like a firestorm. The conference moderator shoved himself between the two fighters, trying to keep them apart. Dylan did his best to hold Cash back. Bob didn’t seem too bothered about letting McConnell get in Cash’s face.
“Keep my woman’s name out of your fucking mouth!” he spat.
“Easy,” Dylan hissed. “Calm down, Cash. If you hit him now, you’ll be disqualified before you can even get in the cage. Take it out on him then. Right now, you need to stand your ground.”