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“Fighters to the center of the ring!”
That snaps me out of whatever the hell just happened.
The three of us come together in the center of the cage, two fighters and the ref. I pinpoint the exact second Fernandez makes eye contact with me. The cocky attitude, the arrogant spark in his eyes, vanishes like a puff of smoke.. He probably doesn’t recognize his own reactions. But I do.
He’s seen the monster, and he’s afraid.
The ref steps back and the bell rings. He should be afraid. It’s time to unleash the beast.
Britt
Keller. His name is Keller.
Hearing the announcer broadcast K’s real name reminds me of the paperwork I read yesterday. The legal paperwork required by the AFL for every fighter before they step into the ring.
Keller Bishop. It explains the Killer nickname, but not the odd, churning sensation in my gut when I hear it over the loudspeaker.. It doesn’t explain the strange sense of déjà vu I get when I run the name Keller over and over in my head. It’s the same creepy, “ice water in my veins” feeling I get when I look into his haunting silver eyes.
Max drops into the seat next to me. We’re in the front row at K’s corner, Gabriel and Pete about a yard away.
“You think he’ll do okay?”
I turn to gape at Max. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since K—no Keller, nearly took his head off at the training center the other day.
“I-I…” Max stares at me as I start to speak, his mouth twisted, his eyes sending out a silent challenge. One that says I’m either with Max or with Keller, depending on my answer.
Challenge accepted.
I straighten up in my seat and shoot him my own confident stare right back.
“I think he’ll demolish Fernandez in the first round,” I say with confidence.
The hurt in Max’s eyes is obvious, to the point I almost feel bad for taking Keller’s side. Then I remember—there are no sides. Max is the one pitting himself against the new fighter, with my friendship as the prize.
I turn back to the cage and feel the weight of Keller’s, heavy gaze on me. He gives Max a quick glance, his lip curling into an almost imperceptible sneer. Those quicksilver eyes return to mine, sparkling under the bright lights of the ring. A ripple of heat spreads from between my thighs, sending a shudder of pleasure through my body. Reflexively, I lick my bottom lip. Keller’s eyes widen and the fire inside me explodes into animal lust.
I’m practically panting, reeling from the ability of something as simple as a look from Keller turning me into a puddle of hormones.
The bell rings and my moment of dazed bliss ends.
Fernandez immediately tries to crowd close to Keller. He knows that Keller is a better striker and being a jiu-jitsu style fighter himself, Fernandez needs to prevent Keller from landing any kicks or hits, and get him on the ground as soon as possible.
Fernandez executes a swift jab to Keller’s chin. Keller does nothing to block the shot, the other man’s fist landing flush against Keller’s jaw. His head barely moves from the blow. I blink several times in shock. This is the first time I’ve seen anyone land a hit on Keller. The corner of Keller’s mouth pulls up in an almost imperceptible smirk.
He let Fernandez hit him on purpose!
Feeling brave, Fernandez leaps again, this time his fist swooshing past Keller’s face as Keller leans back just out of reach. Keller’s response is to grin, taunting Fernandez. The other man scowls, determined to land another blow, and starts aggressively pursuing Keller. Every step Fernandez takes forward is met by a step backwards by Keller. Over and over, they dance around the cage. Finally, a growling Fernandez runs out of patience and goes for it, leaping into Keller’s space, determined to grab his waist and bring him down.
Anticipating his move, Keller lands a quick jab to Fernandez’s face, shoves him back by the shoulders, and executes a perfect diagonal kick to the side of his head.
/> Fernandez crashes to the mat in a sweaty mound. Keller jumps on top of him, immediately maneuvering him into an arm bar, threatening to break his joint at the elbow if he doesn’t tap out. Fernandez makes a weak attempt to get out of the hold, but he’s still too dazed from the blow to his head to do anything effective.
The ref is about to call the fight when Fernandez taps his hand on Keller’s leg, which is wrapped tightly around his neck.
Keller lets go and gracefully leaps to his feet, leaving a gasping Fernandez on the ground. Gabriel and Pete cheer from the corner where Keller accepts a bottle of water.
The crowd in the arena is going crazy, cheering and shouting in disbelief. Twenty-four seconds. That’s how long it took for Keller to get his first AFL submission. Did he even break a sweat? I watch Keller drink, the long, sexy curve of his throat working to swallow the water. He hands the bottle back to Pete and his eyes search out the front row until he finds me. Chills rush over my skin and can’t hide the pleasure wracking my body from his pointed stare. His eyes say what he can’t—I want you, I did this for you, this isn’t over between us.
“Fuck, that was fast,” Max mumbles.
