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She lifts her head and stares at me. “You won’t.” And then she rocks her hips over my cock, and I groan.
“I can’t fight him if I’m hard.”
“Ms. Penn was prancing around in a thong bikini the other day.”
I cringe at the thought and my dick deflates. “Yup, that’ll do it.”
She chuckles and runs her nails along the back of my neck. “You were born for this moment,” she tells me. “You’re a champion, Dylan. This just makes it official.”
“I’m going to win.” I kiss her cheek, then move to her other one. “And then we’re going to see how well you take a knot.”
“You’ll have to wait until we get home,” Brady says, ruining the fun. “There are cameras everywhere.”
True. They put them in the rooms to make sure we’re not doing anything illegal while we wait for the fight to start.
“Ugh, always the voice of reason,” Quinn complains, but she shoots him a thankful look. “We can wait. Besides, Austin’s soft opening is at the after-party. We can’t blow it off.”
I give her a look. I hate the parties, but with Quinn and my brothers there, I’ll suffer through it. “Fine.” I pat her ass. “But you need to get off me before I decide to sayfuck the cameras.”
She scrambles off of me, knowing I’m dead serious after the incident at the gym. Her cheeks are flushed, and I chuckle. Maybe she wouldn’t mind being caught on tape.
Knuckles rap on the door and we all trade looks.
“Fuck, guess it’s time.” I stand and shake out my muscles.
“Go get ‘em, killer.”
I shoot Quinn a wink as Brady and I exit the room, heading to the arena while Quinn and Austin head to their sets in the front row, where our parents are waiting. Brady is subbing for my coach, who is out sick with a nasty virus. I’m actually glad he’s here. Something about having my pack and family close as I head to one of the biggest moments of my career thus far amps me up, and by the time we get to the ring, I’m bouncing on my feet.
Let’s fucking do this.
Knuckles connectwith the side of my face, and my head whips to the side. I recover as quickly as I can, dancing out of reach and keeping my eye on Markum, my opponent. He’s in the finals for a reason. His punches hit like a truck, and he’s wicked fast. We’re almost evenly matched.
I let my guard drop slightly, defending a kick to the ribs, but it won’t happen again. Our eyes connect, and he smirks, as if he senses my imminent defeat. He doesn’t understand I’ve yet to embrace the beast within. Up until now, it’s just been me and Markum going at it, but it’s time to stop fucking around.
Markum starts toward me, and I let the darkness off its leash. Fire surges through my veins, a burn that I welcome after as many hits as he’s landed. The screaming and shouts fade away until the only thing I hear is my breath. Inhale. Exhale. Different screams echo through my head.
The nightmares of my past try to pull me under, and instead of resisting, I let them in, clenching my jaw as the sounds reverberate through my mind. Letting the injustice of what happened build until a familiar simmer of rage settles in my chest. The only time I let myself embrace those faint memories is when I’m fighting.
Maybe it’s fucked up. Maybe I need therapy like Brady, but in the moments when it’s me or the guy I’m fighting, that repressed anger gives me the edge I need. I watch Markum approach with hawk-like precision, imagining his face as that of the CEO of the company that put those malfunctioning parts on the road. Markum’s left leg dips, barely noticeable. Chest heaving, blood around his mouth, a split eyebrow.
Our eyes connect right as he throws a punch, and a flicker of doubt crosses his face. I let the punch land but bring my fist up into his stomach, following it with the opposite knee and a hook to the side of his head. Markum falters, and I don’t let him recover.
My punches connect over and over until Markum wobbles on his feet. I suck in a breath and throw the final one, putting as much force from my legs and torso into the hit as I can. Every muscle tightens and works together, and when Markum’s head swings to the side and his body follows a moment later, I exhale with relief. He drops to the mat.
Knocked out.
Those screams in my head are louder than the ones from the crowd, and I clench my jaw as the ref calls the fight, breathing in and out through my nose until they fade. Glancing up at the ceiling, I breathe in again.
“And our Regional Fist champion is the Hammer!”
Something warm touches my chest, an invisible hand. Maybe an angel. Fuck, I don’t know, but in the seconds between Brady and Austin and Quinn rushing over, I can’t help feeling like Mom is standing in front of me. I never got to know her much. I was so little when she died, but I remember the way she used to sing to get me to fall asleep.
I’m so proud of you.
That’s what she’d say. I’m sad she’s gone. I probably wouldn’t be here if she was still alive. It’s a bittersweet moment, knowing that all the fucked-up shit that’s happened is what led up to this moment.
I miss you, Mom.
