“Move it boys.”
Making the first move, I jump forward and strike him in the face. His head jerks back, blood pouring from his nose. Putting my hands up to block myself I wait for him to return the hit, but he just circles me.
Maybe he’s trying to wear me out.
I lay a combo into him. Punching him in the stomach before giving him an upper cut to the chin. He falls back on his ass, his face swollen from my hits.
He said he’s trained for a year, but he acts like he’s trained only a week.
Climbing on top of him I pull his head to my chest, wrapping my legs around his back.
“You said you’ve been fighting for a year?”
I right hook him in the ribs, and finally he returns a hit to my head. My ears ring, and my head throbs. I let him go, and strike him in the face over and over, he tries to block himself, but I find an opening every time.
The crowd starts to boo, and my heart strikes with fear. Why are they booing? Usually they only boo if nothing is happening.
Letting go of him, I jump to my feet and he slowly climbs to his own huffing and puffing.
Eyeing me with an unreadable look he digs in his shorts and pulls out a serrated knife. My back breaks out into a nervous sweat as I wait for them to call the fight, but nobody does anything. The announcer is quiet, and the crowd is wild. I finger the cage, eyeing the man outside by the door.
“This is MMA, not the streets!”
The guy laughs, crossing his arms.
“This isn’t Kansas anymore Dorothy, I don’t open the door until they call the fight.”
Like lightening, Bret jumps at me with the knife.
I freeze, I can’t move. I might die here tonight, all over a lousy check and contract.
This is not what I signed up for.
This is not okay.
Not paying attention, pain slices through my abdomen.
Glancing down blood caresses my jersey shorts.
“You fucking cut me!” I look up at Bret, he looks like a savage with the way he’s looking at me. His legs are spread wide, his body swaying back and forth as he grips the knife with a death grip.
“You don’t have to do this,” I state softly, my hands out to caution him.
“The fuck if I don’t. I need that money, I need that contract, I won’t make it in the UFC any other way.”
He takes a stab at me, the serrated knife grabbing my shoulder and slicing it open. Roaring with pain, I sidestep him. The crowd is ecstatic, eating up every bit of my pain.
Thomas never showed me how to dismantle a knife from someone in a ring, but if I’m going to get out of this alive. I’ll have to figure it out.
“I don’t want to hurt you. Please just set the knife down Bret!” With every rush of pain pulsing through my body, my patience is wearing thin.
“Oh but I do, you’re going to die here tonight, and then I’m going to be rich.” He pushes the words through clenched teeth. Turning around I get behind him and grab him by the head, throwing him on his back.
Straddling him for control he jabs the knife into my thigh, the searing pain aching down to the bone. Reaching for the knife, he jerks it out and goes for my throat.
Before I can think of my next move, I grab him by the head and twist till I hear a crack.
His body goes limp, the knife dropping to the floor along with his hand. My chest heaves as I look upon his lifeless body, my hand turns palm up and trembling. How did I do that? It was so easy, like a second nature. Instinct even.
“We got a tap out!” The announcer affirms the win, declaring Bret’s lifeless hand hitting the mat a tap out.
I just killed him.
I just killed someone.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tate
“Oh my god Tate, you can’t wear that.” Chloe’s eyes bug out of her head as she looks me up and down. I’m wearing jeans and a black racer back tank top. I mean it’s not a dress, but it’s not what I wear to clean the house either. She’s such a diva sometimes. I have no idea how we click like we do, we’re so different.
“Where did he say he was taking you again?”
Huffing I strip down to my bra and panties. Frustrated with what to wear.
“He didn’t say. Which is more torture than surprising because now I’m stuck with do I dress up or not.”
“Hmmm.” Chloe ruffles through my bags of clothes, tossing exercise clothes left and right as if they’re trash themselves. “Just as I thought, you’re going to need my wardrobe.” She stands up, holding the bag I had my clothes in. She went through all my clothes and none of them are to her liking. I owned two dresses that Chloe would have probably approved of, and they sit in the closet in my dorm room with tags on them.
“I’m not wearing your clothes. A date is nerve wracking enough, why add to the stress of a constricting dress that squeezes the life out of you,” I explain further.
“That’s the fun in it,” she laughs.
I shake my head. “I must have missed the class where they teach girls to dress like clowns and call it fun. Besides, it’s just me and Camden, we don’t have to impress anyone.” I tell Chloe a lot of things, but I don’t tell her about what goes on between Camden and I. She wouldn’t understand our need for rough sex. Camden and I are a different kind of breed, we seek pleasure through pain. We don’t perceive pain like others.
“Here, wear this.” Chloe tosses a slouchy red shirt and a black skirt at me. Holding them up I inspect them further.
“Maybe to the shirt, hell no to she skirt.” I toss the black tube top she calls a skirt back at her.
“Oh my god, you’re going to be the lady that wears yoga pants on your wedding day, aren’t you?” She purses her lips, one hand on her hip.
“Maybe,” I laugh.
“Try the damn skirt on, it’s really soft material.” She tosses the black skirt back at me.
“It’s not me,” I protest.
“I know you don’t know how to wear things like this so let me teach you.” Ripping it from my hands she holds the waist of the skirt open. Normally I’d get mad at someone talking to me like that, but she might be on to something. I really don’t know anything about dressing up. “You put both feet in at once, and pull it to your waste.” Sarcasm thick in her voice she holds the skirt open, waiting for me to step in as if she’s dressing a child.
“Give me that.” I tug it from her grip, and glare at her. She’s right, the material is soft. Maybe it will be comfortable.
Placing both my feet in I pull it up. It fits snugly along my waist, but holy hell the side of it cuts up past the knee. I gulp, unsure if I have the legs for this. I’ve been gaining a lot of muscle lately.
Grabbing the shirt, I put it on and turn to look in the mirror. This is not me. I look tense. I look insecure, and that can’t be sexy.
“You look hot!” Chloe slaps at my ass.
“I don’t know,” I reply softly.
“Trust me, you look great.” Chloe bounces on my bed in excitement.
The doorbell rings and we both freeze, my heart skipping a beat.
Chloe runs to the window, peeking through the blinds. This feels like my first date with Camden all over again.
“He’s here!” she whispers loudly.
“Dad is sleeping, and Journey isn’t here. Will you go let him in?”
Nodding she races out of the room.
I glance back at the mirror, the dreaded shirt and skirt looking back at me. I turn around and bend over, the skirt rides up, the cut going up my thigh.
“Oh my god, I can’t wear this,” I whisper to myself. I want men to see me as an equal, as a challenge. In this, I’m screaming ‘slip two fingers in when I bend over boys’.
Quickly I tug the shirt over my head, the material getting caught on my hair. Then I pull the skirt off so fast I swear it rips. I grab my jeans and shuffle them on and literally sigh at the comfort they bring. Bending down I grab my black racer back shirt and pull it on. Turning, I look back in the mirror and already feel more at ease. My pink sports bra peeks through in spots, but it still covers me more than that skirt and shirt did.
This is who I am, and if anyone will understand that, it’s Camden. If not, then maybe I’ll just be single for the rest of my life. This is a good test to see if Camden is still the boy I loved four years ago, or if fame has struck him into another person.
He has so many girls that doll themselves up with the most expensive furs and perfume. He needs to know now that I’m not them. I’m still Tate.
Stepping out of the room, I literally hear Chloe gasp in shock when she sees I changed back into my clothes. I smile at her mortification.
My eyes sweep to the door, finding Camden wearing a gray suit with a purple tie. I do a double take. He’s. Wearing. A. Fucking. Suit.
My stomach knots as I look down at myself. My bravado fleeing. I’m such an asshole for not dressing up! My back breaks out in a nervous sweat as my heart skips a beat.
“Shit,” Camden mutters under his breath.
“I’m sorry. I just—” The words get caught in my mouth trying to explain why I didn’t dress up.
He rips the suit jacket off, tugs on his tie before taking it off.
“Camden you don’t have to take—” He holds his finger up, ushering me to wait a minute.
Pulling the cuff links from his sleeves he rolls them up, and swipes his hands through his hair. In black slacks, a white dress shirt, and just fucked hair, Camden looks good enough to eat. Call me crazy, but I’d rather have my men rough around the edges than prim and proper. I’d take a man in gray sweats with that just worked out sweaty glow, over a man in a suit with soft hands any day.
“I was hoping you weren’t going to dress up, but I wasn’t sure and didn’t want to show up in casual while you dressed up. I’d feel like an asshole.” He shrugs, a smirk fitting his face flawlessly. “Well, more than usual anyway.”
“You look really good,” I smile approvingly. He looks ravishing cleaned up.
“You too.” He looks me up and down and a blush heats my cheeks.
We both look at Chloe who is standing next to us. Her face is pinched in confusion as she eyes us like we’re a reality TV show. See, she never did get Camden and I.
“You know what, I thought maybe you two were just ass backwards, but now… I know you two are perfect for each other.” She rolls her eyes, and sashays out of the room.
The room is filled with tension as she leaves, leaving an awkward Camden and I. It feels like a first date all over again.
Risking a glance at Camden, both hands in his pocket, his head leaned down he looks up at me.
“You ready?” He holds his hand out to me.
I smile and grab it. “Yes.”
“Good, we don’t want to miss our flight.”
My smile fades. “Flight?”
“Yeah, our date is in South Dakota.”
Camden
Tate is looking out the window, her face lit up and eyes bright. She looks like a little kid on her first airplane and I can’t take my eyes off of her. Kaley really went all out getting me these tickets.
I don’t know how she got a private jet, and I’m not sure I want to.
I know I can’t afford it. I’m broke. I made sure to spend damn near every dime I had trying to bury myself and hinder my celebrity profile as much as I could.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Snapping me from my thoughts I mask a smile.
“Seeing that you got your first fight booked, I want you to see what it’s like in the ring up close,” I explain.
“You’re taking me to a cage fight!” Her face stoic, I can’t help but chuckle.
“Yes, I pulled a few strings and got us tickets.”
She grabs my hand, and squeezes it tenderly. My brows furrow as I look down at our hands interlocked. The soft gesture hitting me in the chest and bringing every single feeling I ever had for Tate to the surface.
“Thank you.” Taking my gaze from our hands I look at her green eyes.
“You’re welcome.”
I’m falling for her all over again.
Landing at the airport, a private black town car takes us to the arena.
As soon as we pull up there’s cameras everywhere. News reporters broadcasting live right outside the arena.
Shit, I was hoping they’d all be inside.
I squeeze Tate’s hand grabbing her attention.
“I’m not sure if we’ll bring any attention or not, but if they come running with cameras keep your head down and do not respond to anything they say.” She looks at me with pinched brows. “Do you understand?”
She nods. “Yeah, okay,” her voice small, I give a curt nod and inhale a deep breath.
I’ve been out of the spotlight for a while now, but if they’re hungry enough… the sharks will come running at the bait. Tate being the worm.
Our driver pulls up front and quickly I get out to open Tate’s door.
Holding her hand I keep my head down and head toward the front entrance.
Not paying attention to who’s in front of me I knock into a little boy.
“Sorry about that little guy.” I ruffle his hair, and step around him.