My heart stampedes in my chest, and I take deep, steadying breaths as Mase, Lennon, and I move down the dark warehouse hallway from Bear’s dressing room toward the arena. The sound of the crowd going crazy just ahead echoes off the high ceilings. After last week’s matchup, I’m sure they’re plenty curious about how everything is going to go down tonight. I’m not a gambler, but I’m betting that the loss last week has produced some interesting betting strategies. Will Bear win or lose? It’s anyone’s guess. But they won’t see what’s coming. And we’ll have to hope things don’t go sideways with the OG Bastards.
Whatever happens, we all need our heads straight tonight. Unfortunately, there’s been a lot going on to distract us; enough shit going down that it’s thrown all four of us to the point where we hardly know which end is up. But what we do know is this: fight night is going to fuck the OGs up. This oughta be fucking good.
The crowd is already plenty rowdy, the announcer having just welcomed Royal from Sigma Iota Nu into the ring. He jogs and jumps around, keeping warm all while eyeing our approach. I guess since Wilder knocked Bear out last week, they figured they’d come back for a second victory. A slight smirk begins to pull to my lips. I sure fucking hope that’s not how it goes.
I smack my wrapped and gloved fists together in front of me a few times and jut my chin toward the announcer, lifting a careful brow that says Yep. Your eyes aren’t deceiving you. Now let’s get on with it.
The announcer booms into the mic, “And fighting for Bainbridge Hall, we have an alternate stepping in tonight! Everyone, please welcome Duke Valentine to the ring!” There’s a rumbling of confusion and dissent in the crowd, but also some cheering and a whole lot of lips wagging as all eyes land on me.
Are we pulling a fast one on them? Sort of. But because bets are sometimes placed in advance, the fight is only ever listed by the houses the fighters come from, not the individual. The system leaves room to account for injury, though I’m positive no one’s ever actually put in a substitute before today. SIN versus Bainbridge. That’s all anyone knew while they were placing their bets for this match. I just hope to fuck I can pull this off.
My eyes scan over toward the seats the OG Bastards always occupy. Derek looks ready to spit nails, but he’d never, ever lose his shit in front of this crowd. That’s why I hadn’t said a damn word to anyone about my idea until after Bear had spoken to his dad at the game. I hadn’t wanted him to have to lie to Derek’s face or risk a chance in hell Derek would pick up on our plan. I’m glad I was able to convince Bear this was the best course of action.
He may or may not be able to fight effectively tonight—that was definitely a topic of debate over breakfast this morning. He would certainly risk his recovery if he put himself into the ring. He’d balked at first when I suggested he put me in as a sub for him, but the more we thought about it, the better the idea seemed. I’m nowhere near the fighter Bear is. But I’m uninjured. And it doesn’t matter if I get fucked up during the match. It doesn’t affect anything else I do. I’d rather get my bell rung than see my friend suffer another loss like he had last week. None of us want to see him out of commission for the rest of his football season or risk his career.
Derek crosses his arms over his broad chest and sits back. I can just make out the muscles in his jaw working. He’s probably so fuckin’ pissed he can’t see straight. My gut drops, noticing Murdock is present for the first time ever. He has a twitchy grin on his face. This is probably the most entertaining thing he’s seen in thirteen years.
Mason glances at me out of the corner of his eye, his head giving a sharp jerk. Under his breath, he murmurs, “Don’t let it bother you that he’s watching. I’m fine. And little do they know this is only the beginning of dismantling them piece by piece.”
I nod in agreement as my eyes fall to the last of the OG Bastards—aka my father—who watches all the nuances of what’s happening with interest. He lifts a glass of an amber-colored beverage to his lips and takes a slow sip, then lowers the glass to the small table between him and Derek. I can see it in his eyes as he runs a hand over his bearded cheek—he’s mulling over our swap in fighters. I wonder if he’s figured out that our decision to put me in wasn’t solely about Bear’s injury. We’re going to deliver a hit where it hurts—their fuckin’ hoard of dirty money.
As we stop outside the cage, Lennon gets my attention, gripping my hips as she goes up on tiptoes and plants a kiss full on my lips. She whispers against them, “Kick this guy’s ass and make sure the OGs lose big this time.”
Fucking Derek taking advantage of Bear’s injury and toying with him last week … the oxy showing up too fucking late. Just, nah. That doesn’t get a pass. I glance across the ring, my eyes connecting with Royal’s devious stare. I have one job tonight. And that’s to win.
With my heart racing, I stare into the depths of Lennon’s blue eyes and cup her cheek. She’ll deny it, but she looks a little pale. Fucking poisoned lollipop. “You sure you’re feeling well enough to be here? You can lie down in the back. I promise it’s okay. I mean it.”
Lennon tilts her head to the side, looking at me like I’m crazy. “And I mean it when I say you’re outta your goddamn mind if you think I’m leaving you right now.”
Mason eyes her indignant stance, then shrugs good-naturedly. “You heard the lady. She wants you to kick some ass, so get in there and do it for her. For Bear.” He purses his lips, resting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing. “And even for me. I wanna see you in action.”
I nod. “Okay. Let’s do this.” As I climb the steps into the cage, I glance over my shoulder, searching for Bear. He’s standing at the back of the crowd, the hood of his sweatshirt up. One look and anyone would know it’s him, but fortunately, everyone else’s focus is over here. On me. He inclines his head, eyes boring into mine, and I nod back, reading his message loud and clear.
I swiftly turn, my focus returning to my opponent. Royal and I are evenly matched in terms of height and weight. This match is going to come down to skill … and maybe a little bit of luck.
The referee does his usual thing, and then it’s just me and Royal, staring each other down as we circle on the mat. His eyes move over me, looking for a weakness. Too bad for him, I don’t really have one after sparring with Bear so frequently. Still, I have no doubt he and Wilder have practiced together plenty.
My gaze flicks to the side where Lennon now sits on the edge of her seat with her hands folded beneath her chin. Mase is right beside her, looking outwardly relaxed, but that could change at any moment, depending on how the fight goes.
Royal is quick on his feet, and we exchange a flurry of punches back and forth. For the first minute, I simply concentrate on keeping my face out of the way of his fists. He does manage to land a few shots to my chest and abs, as well as one that glances off my right shoulder. It would have been murder on Bear, so I’m glad it’s me taking it and not him. I clench my mouth guard between my teeth and keep right on going.
I take a hard fist to the chin, but immediately rally with a jab to Royal’s nose. It stuns him enough that I’m able to pull him in close, delivering a knee to his stomach that has him wheezing.
Sweat pours from me, my heart slamming around in my chest as we fight, determined to take each other out. From the corner of my eye, I see the cautious excitement on Lennon’s face and the delirious anticipation on Mase’s. I’m doing well, I can feel it, but I have to focus. Royal is no slouch in the ring, but I didn’t expect him to be. I wish I’d paid more attention to his fighting style. Bear and I had talked about it, but the reality is there’d been limited preparation time. I hope this doesn’t backfire on us.
We grapple, locked together upright. Royal makes an attempt at a takedown, which fails. I push away, then immediately dart to the right, punching him a few times in quick succession. He’s unbalanced, and I take advantage, hooking his leg and bringing him to the mat. We both grunt as we hit. With muscles straining, we roll, fighting for dominance, and use our fists to inflict damage where we can.
Bear and I talked a lot about submission grappling, and I sure hope I can handle this. I’m always at a disadvantage with Bear because he’s so fucking big, but Royal is more of an even match. We roll. I steadily work, trying not to lose focus or patience. The crowd is roaring and on their feet, Mason and Lennon are right at the edge of the cage, squatted down and watching. Mason talks to me as the power struggle continues. “That’s it, Duke. Keep going. You’ve got this.”
I manage a full mount, stretched out over him. I reach my right arm across, grabbing his shoulder. I want his fucking back. He tries to trap my arm, as if he’s going to roll me, but I reach up before he can and slide into a modified kneeling position. I grab his wrist, pinning it to his chest, and begin to roll him instead, using my bodyweight like a bulldozer. His arms are caught beneath him, pulled into his chest. My breath heaves as I scoop his forehead, lifting his head from the mat, and hook my elbow below his chin with the other arm. From there, I keep tightening down on his airway until the ref calls the fight.
Letting go, I get off Royal and rise to my feet. He scrambles to his knees, takes a quick breath, then climbs to standing as well. He gives me a glare, but I can also see the reluctant appreciation in his eyes for a fight well-fought. Wiping sweat off his brow with his forearm, he heads over to his team where Wilder gives me a slight head bob, as if to admit that he also agrees that it was a good fight, then goes about helping his friend get water. He takes his mouthguard and wipes his face down with a towel.
I’m in a post-win daze, staring out into the cheering crowd. I did it. A moment later, Mason is with me. He takes my face between his hands, scanning for injuries before looking into my eyes. “You good?” It’s hard not to see the worry there, and I want to grab him into a fierce hug, but I settle for tipping my forehead to his and simply breathing along with him because my heart is threatening to rip right out of my chest for more than physical reasons. Mason always assists Bear like this, too … but it hits different when it’s him caring for me.
“I’m good.” I accept the water he offers, then turn to see Lennon has climbed up to the outside edge of the cage, her fingers clutching at the metal wire to hold her steady. I step over to her, my chest still heaving from exerting myself to the max during the fight.
“You did so fucking good, Duke.” Her blue eyes shine, her grin, contagious. “Seriously. Amazing.”
We’re interrupted when the ref calls Royal and me to the center of the ring and brings us on either side of him. He takes both of us by the wrist before he makes his announcement. We all know who won this fight, but it seems he wants the pleasure of … rubbing it in? Interesting. “By submission, this fight goes to Bainbridge Hall’s Duuuke Valentine!” From there, he yanks my arm into the air, signaling my victory. I hide my relieved exhale by lifting my other arm into the air and waving at the cheering crowd. My gaze flicks to my father, then Derek and Murdock. They seem … displeased. Actually, that’s a poor choice of words. They’re fuckin’ pissed.
Interestingly enough, they clear the room fast, the three of them heading back to the office without a damn word to us. Not even so much as a congratulations from my father. It figures. Ever since I quit football, I’ve been on his shit list, so a win here likely means nothing to him. Especially if he bet against our own house.
When Bear sees the OG Bastards have gone, he pushes his way through the crowd, ignoring those who recognize him. I’m just coming out of the cage with Mason behind me when he gets to us.
He grabs me, uncaring about the grimy sweat and spray of blood I’m currently covered in, and thumps my back. His embrace is rock solid, and for a moment, we simply stand there, arms wrapped around each other. “You fuckin’ did it.” His chest heaves against mine. “Thank you.”
I back up a hair so I can look into his eyes, though neither of us completely lets go of the other. Pressing my lips together, I slowly shake my head. “No thanks needed, brother. You’d do the same to help me.”
He blinks a few times and nods. “Yeah. I would.” His gaze shifts to Mason and Lennon, who stand off to the side with my gear in hand. “For any of you.”
Grinning, I rub my hand over my bruised cheekbone. “Same.”
Mason jerks his head toward the back hallway. “How about we get you a shower, then we can get the fuck out of here and show our appreciation for each other at home where the OGs won’t be breathing down our necks?” He gives me a cheeky grin, then extends his arm toward the dressing room with a flourish. “After you, champ,” he huffs out, clapping a hand to my sweaty back as we turn to go.
All the way to the dressing room, I let myself think about what just went down and the consequences of our actions. Who knows whether Bear would have won or lost that fight, but the important thing is that we saved his arm—and totally fucked the OG Bastards in the process. I’d seen the terrible, surly looks on their faces before they’d taken off. Because, of course, they bet on Bear losing again. Mean fuckers. There’s lesson one for you, assholes. Don’t underestimate the men you raised.
