AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Now he had a debt to pay for the Serpents, and according to Razor, some guy from New York was looking for fighters. So, whatever happened, it was a sure bet he’d never see Mandy again.
The metal door creaked open behind him, and he expected to see Cage or Razor with their usual sage advice before a fight, which consisted of “Get out there, fuck this guy up, and make us some money.”
Instead, he turned to face a guy as big as him with sleeve tattoos and hard brown eyes. His close-cropped beard and hair looked recently clipped by one of those fancy-ass salons. His jeans and t-shirt said designer, whereas his attitude screamed hard-ass thug. Nothing added up about this guy, and Mamba didn’t like things that didn’t make sense.
The guy’s eyes roamed over the cinderblock walls and concrete floor then landed on Mamba. “I see Razor doesn’t believe in too many amenities.”
Amenities? Who the fuck was this guy?
“He was right, you’re a big fucker.” He circled Mamba like he was inspecting a racehorse, zeroed in on the Serpents’ colors etched across his chest but didn’t comment, then turned on his heel and left the locker room without a backward glance. Weird as fuck.
A few minutes later, Cage stuck his head in the door. “You’re up next.” He held the door wide; Mamba rolled his shoulders, mentally preparing himself to take over the cage, and followed him down the narrow hallway. The cheers, catcalls, and whistles grew louder as he approached the main room where the metal cage took center stage. Bright lights blared from the rafters, making it impossible to see anything beyond the first two rows of bleachers.
Cage thumped him on the back right before Mamba stomped up the metal stairs that lead to the cage’s door. He released the latch, stepped onto the rubberized mat, and the door banged closed behind him. His opponent stood on the opposite side of the cage, bouncing on the balls of his feet, his mouth set in a thin line as the crowd cheered Mamba’s name. His heart sped up and slowed as he let his body absorb his surroundings, then just as quickly, he shut it all out, creating a tunnel vision that included only his opponent.
He’d fought Viktor, the bulky Russian, before, and although their bouts were evenly matched, Mamba always took him down. A fact that didn’t sit well with the cocky Russian so much that he’d spent the last two weeks trash-talking Mamba and telling anyone who’d listen that tonight the victory would be his. Not fuckin’ likely.
Mamba charged his opponent, landing a solid blow to the side of his head, and the fight was on. They grappled against each other with jabs, punches, stomp kicks, and whatever worked until one of the fighters was knocked unconscious or tapped out. The crowd came to see a bloody, brutal battle, which was what they delivered. The usual MMA rules didn’t apply here, and there was no limit on the betting and overall chaos both in and around the ring.
Oxygen burned in and out of Mamba’s lungs as he teased Viktor like a panther toying with its prey. He delivered crushing blows, then pulled back enough to catch his breath. His stocky opponent swung wide, and Mamba easily evaded his fist; then, he spun around and caught a glimpse of Razor and Cage in the front row. He quickly scanned the rest of the row, picked out the mystery man who visited him in the locker room, then froze and stared.
Mandy.
The crowd erupted, and he stumbled as the Russian head-butted him into the metal cage. The staggering blow jogged Mamba out of his daze. He struggled to push Viktor off while focusing on the first-row seats. The Russian came at him again, harder, and Mamba retaliated with a knee to his gut and an elbow to his temple.
Viktor whirled around out of his hold, lost his balance, and Mamba landed a blinding uppercut that sent the Russian to the mat. He struggled to raise his head, then collapsed against the rubber flooring. The referee hustled into the cage, and when he declared Mamba the winner, the crowd exploded with cheers as money flew from hand to hand.
Mamba raised his arms in victory, then cocked his head, straining to see the first row through the blinding lights. He squinted to focus, but Mandy was gone—if she was ever there at all.
* * *
Mandy was so excited about getting out that she never thought about who might be fighting. The gossip circulating the Marauders said no one had seen Mamba with the Serpents or anywhere in Vegas. She assumed he’d either left Vegas for good or became what bikers called a nomad. Either way, she hadn’t heard from him in almost a month and fought to control her shocked expression when a poster hanging on the fight club’s wall announced Mamba as the main event.
Her long-ago crush on the man who dropped into her life vanished without a word in living color. The picture showed every rippled muscle, every sharp angle of his rough, take-no-prisoners expression, but she’d seen another side of the ripped fighter: the side that worried and cared about her anxieties regarding her brother; the side that wanted to see where their unlikely relationship was headed.
He’d promised to return to the salon that night, then disappeared from her life.
Blaze shadowed her every move even though she did nothing to encourage him. Mandy stayed close to Mitzi and the other girls, but somehow Blaze managed to maneuver the seating until he was next to her. Her rigid body sat on the metal bleachers with frazzled nerves through the three fights that preceded the main event.
When Mamba slammed into the octagon cage, Mandy’s eyes widened. His muscular body was tighter and leaner. His movements were cat-like and smooth. He’d been perfecting whatever skills he already had because the man before her moved with the precision of a machine.
Blaze smirked when Ajax mumbled something to him, then said, “That fucker, Mamba, is going down.”
They tapped fists, and Mandy assumed they had bet on the fight. Attending fights and recruiting local talent was how the Marauders made their money, and Mandy didn’t want or need to know about any other illegal activities.
It was clear to Mandy that Mamba was in control from the minute he entered the cage. It seemed to her that he was merely playing with his opponent to prolong the fight and the other man’s pain. Mamba bounced and weaved, his feet barely touching the mat as his opponent struggled to retaliate.
Blaze and Ajax were on their feet jeering at Mamba, their shouts mixing with the chaos of the room. Mamba shifted, their eyes met, and she felt a flicker of emotion pass between them. The split second ended when the other fighter barreled into Mamba, catching him off guard. He fought off the man, then knocked him to the mat. The referee declared Mamba the winner, and the crowd exploded.
“Fuck,” Ajax bellowed, then herded her and the other Marauders out of the fight room.
She paused for a second to enjoy Mamba’s victory and get one last look at the man who constantly occupied her thoughts, but Blaze caught her elbow. “Let’s go.”
She stared at the now empty cage, wondering if Mamba even saw her through the glaring spotlights. Maybe the glance she envisioned was all wishful thinking. He hadn’t cared enough to tell her he was leaving Vegas, so why would he care now?
* * *
Mamba was down the stairs leading from the cage in three large steps. He craned his neck over the crowd of mostly men either celebrating their winnings or bitching and moaning about their losses. Guys stopped for back slaps and congratulations, and a few groupies wanted selfies, but Mamba needed to make it around the other side of the cage where he’d seen Mandy.
