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Chapter 19
Julia
The pre-fight conference and weigh-in was upon us. It was the day before the fight, first thing in the morning. I couldn’t remember if there was ever a time I saw a whole group of people so buzzed and excited to watch two grown men step onto a scale.
The room was packed, full of UFC fans and reporters alike. It was a miracle that the onslaught of camera flashes hadn’t blinded Red, Dylan, and Patrick as they waited to take the stage. Despite the A/C working overtime, the air was stuffy and hot. I felt like a sardine, packed shoulder-to-shoulder beside Cash and the random guy next to me. The moderator was working overtime, announcing names with such flair and enthusiasm that I couldn’t help getting caught up in the electricity of the room.
“Please welcome to the stage, Jonathan ‘Red’ Smithson!”
I cheered at the top of my lungs, snapping as many pictures as I could as Red stepped forward. The applause from the audience was thunderous, booming off the conference room’s dark grey walls.
Beside me, Cash chuckled. “God, he’s so tense. He hates all the unnecessary theatrics.”
I smiled, realizing how right he was. Red was a bit stiff, unsmiling. To be perfectly honest, I totally understood. All the cheering and jeering over blasting bass music, coupled with the ridiculously large promotional banners featuring Red and his opponent plastered just behind the stage felt like overkill.
Dylan didn’t look too pleased about the dramatics, either.
I leaned over to whisper-shout near Cash’s ear. “Dyl looks like he needs a coffee.”
Cash grinned. “I had to set three alarms for the guy. He slept through all three. I finally had to storm in and kick him out of bed.”
“Was that the loud thud I heard while I was putting my makeup on?”
“No,” he said, unable to hide the guilt from his expression. “Don’t worry, he’ll live.”
I giggled, nudging him in the ribs with the tip of my elbow.
The moderator gestured with his left hand in one big, sweeping movement. “And on the other side of the stage, please give it up for the one and only Romeo ‘Devil Face’ Jones!”
The crowd went absolutely insane as Red’s opponent stomped up the steps. My eyes widened, mouth dropping open in a mixture of horror and amazement. Devil Face was not an accurate enough moniker to describe what I was looking at.
The man was a good six inches shorter than Red and not nearly as defined, but he looked to have at least fifteen to twenty pounds on him. There wasn’t an inch of his body that wasn’t covered in tattoos —including his face. There was a green serpent design across his temple, fangs out and drawn to appear as though it was attacking Devil Face’s right eye. A dagger decorated his left cheek, a series of wonky stars sat where his hairline should have been, and a mess of geometric patterns covered the top of his scalp. Even histonguehad been tattooed to look blue.
“What the hell?” I muttered anxiously to myself.
“That guy is trouble,” Cash grumbled.
I glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard rumors. The guy’s totally unhinged. Apparently, he’s not above pulling illegal moves if he thinks he can get away with them. He’s burned through three coaches already because he’s too rough with them during training.”
I gulped. “Jesus. Is Red…” I stopped short, shaking my head in an attempt to collect my thoughts. Red was going to be fine. I had complete faith in him.
Then all hell broke loose.
Devil Face pointed directly at Red and snarled. “You’re a fucking dead man!” He charged across the stage, one fist raised and poised to punch. The audience went crazy, screaming and cheering for blood. Devil Face got within a few feet of Red but was held back by his team and a few conference officials.
“You’re going down, asshole!” Devil Face hissed. “I’m gonna cave your skull in with my knee! You’ll be begging for mercy.”
I gripped Cash’s hand tight. “Why isn’t anyone stopping him? The hell is his problem?”
Cash discreetly lifted my fingers to his lips and gave them a quick peck. “Don’t worry, baby. It’s all for show.”
“This is forshow? He looks like he’s ready to tear Red’s eyes out.”
“Relax, Julia. Everything’s fine, see?” He tilted his head in Red’s direction. I held my breath, observing from the front row as Devil Face got in Red’s face.
It suddenly occurred to me that Red seemed unbothered. Bored, in fact. Like Devil Face was nothing more than a fly on the wall. Red had no need to bang his chest or size the other guy up. No need for posturing, no need to showboat. He didn’t need to stoop to the level of meaningless trash talk, didn’t bother reacting to anything Devil Face tried to sling at him.
