Full Contact (Worth the Fight #2) Read online

  When he was a mere inch from her, she took the bottle of water and dumped its contents on his head. “Get the fuck up. Training in twenty minutes. You better be there, Tony.”

  “Carajo!” he spluttered. “That’s fucking freezing, woman!”

  “Yes, sweetheart, I can tell.” She made a point of casting her eyes down his naked body to his shriveled member.

  Next she walked over to the bed and pulled the covers off the woman lying there.

  “Off you go, honey.”

  “What the hell?” the woman shrieked.

  “Oh, sweetie, you didn’t think Tony was going to propose marriage, did you?”

  The woman looked up at Francesca, then over at Tony, who actually seemed relieved to have Francesca handling the situation.

  “Listen, you have five seconds to get your ass up and out. If not, I’m calling security. One…two…”

  “Okay. Okay.” The woman stood up, naked, not caring that there were three other people in the room. She gathered her clothes from the floor and walked into the bathroom.

  Francesca turned her attention back to Tony. “You’re going to get your ass dressed and to the gym, and then you’re going to go do whatever Slade tells you to do.”

  “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, woman? I hold the most titles of any MMA fighter. I can drink and fuck all day and I’d still win. You got that, mami?”

  Francesca didn’t cower. In fact, she took three short steps toward him. “First of all, don’t call me mami. I’m not your mother. Second of all, I have a lot invested in you.” She poked his bare chest. Slade was impressed. “And, I’m your last chance. You’re a cocky motherfucker, and no one, and I mean no one, wants to put up with your shit any longer. You’re a has-been. Washed-up. We were the only ones willing to stick our necks out for you. So you will do what we say or your career’s over.”

  “Pfft! Red, my career is far from over. I’m not a fucking has-been.” He swayed a little as he spoke.

  “You can’t even stand up straight, you’re still so fucking drunk.” She crossed her arms. “You wanna bet? I bet if you were to fight next week, on the same card as Cain, you’ll get your ass handed to you.”

  “I am not going to fight in some small-town competition,” he huffed. “And anyway, you can’t just sign me up for a fight a week before. They’ll never allow it.”

  “Don’t worry about what I can or can’t do. I think you’re just afraid you can’t cut it.”

  “How stupid do you think I am? I see what you’re doing.”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  At that moment the woman walked out of the bathroom. She was a mess, with some white powder around her nose.

  “Jesus Christ,” Francesca sighed. Then she looked back at Tony. “This is what you want? ’Cause this is what the paparazzi will see coming out of your hotel room. This is why people don’t think you have it in you,” she said as the woman made her way shakily toward the door of the suite.

  “Calm down. I’m fine. I don’t do that shit. I just drank a little,” Tony said.

  “People won’t know that. They’ll see her with you and they’ll think you’re using. I don’t need any problems with the licensing board. And you need to start training…today!”

  “I can win a fight…today!” he yelled.

  “No, you can’t. You’re not just hung over. You’re still drunk!” She threw up her hands. “Since you’re too scared and out of shape, don’t fight. No skin off my back. I have a contract for you to fight at the end of the year, so your ass is mine, regardless. Go back to your party and your slutty, coked-up girlfriend. Oh, and put on some clothes. No one wants to see your little dick hanging out.” She stomped out, slamming the door behind her. So much for walking a fine line, Slade thought.

  Tony’s nostrils flared. “Cojones. Esa mujer no sabe lo que esta diciendo. Yo puedo ganar en mi sueño.” He turned to Slade, though Slade hadn’t understood anything he’d just muttered. “You hear me?” he yelled. “That woman doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. I can win in my sleep.”

  Slade pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against and turned to leave, but Tony continued. “Not only will I win, I’ll knock him out in the first round. You can bet on it. You hear me? Round one. You better tell her that!”

  Slade nodded as he watched Tony dig in his suitcase for his training clothes. “Meet you at the gym in thirty.”

  Slade left the suite, only to find Francesca standing by the elevator. She looked concerned.

  “You have some major balls, Frances.” Slade smiled and placed an arm around her shoulders. “That could’ve gone an entirely different way.”

  “But he said yes. Right?”

  Slade snorted. “Yeah, he said yes. He’ll be at the gym in half an hour. He even says he’ll win in the first round. He’s a cocky motherfucker. How the hell are you going to get him on the card at the last minute?” He pressed the elevator button.

  “Men. They’re all the same. You give them a challenge and they always take the bait,” Francesca sighed. “I took a risk and signed him up already. I got a call yesterday that some guy who was supposed to be coming down from Ohio got injured, so I talked to Tony’s agent and we got the paperwork in order. Tony just needs to sign on the dotted line later this afternoon.”

  Slade shook his head in awe.

  Chapter 7

  The crowd was rowdy. It was a smaller venue than the big arenas Tony and even Slade were used to fighting in, but much larger than the small underground dives Slade had been sneaking off to a few months earlier. Slade couldn’t remember having been this nervous at his own fights. It was the Academy’s first competition since he’d become co-owner, and they needed the money in order to help pay off the costs of the renovations. Plus having Tony fight was a huge lure, but it was also a huge risk, because he had barely trained and was ill-prepared. Even so, the cocky son of a bitch was sauntering around as if winning was the only possible outcome.

  Slade was hoping that Francesca’s tactic would work. To her credit, it had been a smart idea to challenge a man like Tony. No way could Tony have backed down from a challenge. Slade just hoped he was ready.

  Cain’s fight was first. He was fighting against another heavyweight, a well-known fighter who had been slowly rising up the ranks in the MMA circuit. Cain didn’t seem worried. Whereas most fighters jumped up and down to loosen their muscles, Cain remained still—cool, confident, and as quiet as always.

  “You good, brother?” Slade asked.

  Cain nodded. Slade straddled the bench next to him and began to wrap his wrists. It wasn’t Cain’s first fight. An ex-Marine who had done two tours overseas, he was as straight as they came: no tattoos, light drinker, kept to himself. His strength was Brazilian jiujitsu. If his opponent was standing, he was at a disadvantage, but once he got the other guy on the mat, Cain was lethal: before the guy could blink, he found himself either in an arm bar or getting choked. His opponents always underestimated this about him because he was so light on his feet and, with his thick biceps, his opponents were so busy trying to defend against a jab or an uppercut that they never saw the takedown coming.

  “Good luck, Cain. You got this,” Slade told him as they walked toward the cage.

  Wearing flashy shorts, Cain’s opponent, Jimmy “Quicky” Quin, came out to a loud, boisterous song. Cain, by contrast, came out without music and was wearing muted green shorts. The cage opened and the two fighters, who had weighed in earlier, entered, along with a referee.

  It took precisely one minute and forty-nine seconds for Cain to take Quin down to the floor, and another seventeen seconds to get him in an arm bar, at which point Quin tapped out.

  Slade cheered for his friend, who had suffered only a cut lip.

  A few minutes later Slade headed to the locker room, where Tony sat in a chair jiggling his leg as Travis wrapped his hands. Slade did his best to pump him up, assuring him that this would be an easy victory.
Inside, though, he was sure Tony was going to lose.

  Then Francesca sauntered in. “So…you sober enough to fight today?”

  “Bite me.”

  She laughed. “You wish.” Then she snatched the wrap from Travis’s grip. “Let me.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Tony scoffed. “Look at you.” He pointed to her green wrap dress and sky-high heels. “You know how to wrap a fighter’s hands?”

  She winked at Slade before addressing Tony. “So, you ready?”

  “Muñeca, I was born ready.”

  Slade, who’d been standing next to them, spoke up. “Don’t be so cocky. Concentrate.”

  “I’m not being cocky. It’s a fact.”

  “Listen, we don’t know shit about the guy you’re fighting. Don’t underestimate a newcomer. There’s no video out for this guy. I don’t know what his weaknesses are. And I saw him at the weigh-in.”

  “Oh, me too,” Francesca chimed in, licking her lips. “He’s fucking yummy.”

  Tony groaned. “Yummy?”

  Slade rolled his eyes. “He’s big, Tony. I mean, the dude’s fit. He looked focused and ready. I’m worried. This is a no-big-deal fight for you, but to this nobody, it’s the fight of his lifetime. He’s out for blood.”

  “I’ve fought the biggest guys in MMA—here, in Japan, in Brazil. No newcomer in this shitty little town’s going to land a punch. I’ll bet my firstborn he’s down as soon as I land that first kick in the first round.” He got a knowing look on his face. “Better yet—let’s make a bet,” he said to Francesca. “If I knock him out in the first round, you’re going out with me to celebrate.”

  “Fine. If you knock him out in the first round. But one drink only.”

  “A drink that will end with more. I promise you that.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Whatever,” she deadpanned.

  They turned at the sound of a squeal behind him. “Oh my God, did you see that guy, Jacques? He’s humongous. Muscles on top of muscles.”

  “Babe, stop checking out the competition,” Jack said to Chrissy.

  “What’re you guys doing here?” Slade asked.

  “Came to support WtF Academy and my brother, what else?” Chrissy said, kissing Slade on the cheek. “Did you see that Jacques guy?” she repeated to Francesca.

  “I know, right? Yummy!” Francesca answered.

  Tony let out a snort.

  “Oh, is that who you’re going to fight, Tony?” Chrissy asked.

  “Yes. The yummy guy,” Tony said, sounding irritated.

  “Oh, well. His muscles really weren’t that big. Well, they were big, but not really like yours.” She reached for his bicep and squeezed. “Yours are—”

  “Chris.” Jack closed his eyes, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let go of Tony and stop talking about muscles and men and fighting in general.”

  “I’m just trying to make it better.”

  “Not working, Chris,” Slade said.

  As Tony finished warming up, Slade quickly checked his phone, where he saw a text from Jessica wishing his team good luck. She was so sweet; she hadn’t been able to get the night off to come watch, but she’d worn a WtF Academy T-shirt to work. She was so supportive of his business and of the team.

  It was strange, what he felt for her. It both scared and excited him. When she wasn’t around, he missed her. He wanted all her dreams to come true, and he would do everything in his power to make those dreams come true. She was funny as hell, beautiful, and simple. That was what did it for him—Jessica’s simplicity. She said what she felt; she didn’t beat around the bush. When she was angry, she told him without hesitation. When she was happy, she beamed. When she was turned on—damn, she made it known!

  He quickly sent her a reply thanking her, then silenced his phone. He had almost told her how he felt the previous night, as they lay in bed together, but he’d been too nervous. First of all, he’d never said those words to a woman other than his sister. Second, she had just gotten out of a long-term abusive relationship, and he didn’t want to scare her off.

  He forced all these thoughts out of his head. Right now he needed to concentrate on the man who was about to fight, not on the woman who drove him absolutely mad.

  Unlike Cain’s modest entrance, Tony came out of the locker room to a loud techno song. He jumped up and down and waved to his fans. His shorts were black with sponsor logos all over.

  Then out came his opponent. Jacques was easily three inches taller than Tony, who was six-one. But Tony, who was no novice and knew how to work the cameras and the crowd, gave his opponent a ferocious stare.

  As soon as the first bell rang, Tony didn’t hesitate: he threw the first punch. Slade groaned. That was not smart. Being on the offensive would tire Tony out far too quickly. He needed to size up the competition first. He was being self-indulgent and arrogant and was going to lose the fight.

  Jacques easily avoided the punch, and the two men circled each other like two predators ready to pounce. The standoff went on for a minute or more, and the fans yelled, wanting to see action. Then Tony threw out a combination left-right punch kick. Jacques moved, evading both hits and throwing Tony slightly off balance. Slade could already see the sweat trickling down Tony’s face, and he knew his fighter was getting winded.

  Slade turned to Francesca. “Do something, Frances!”

  “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

  “Work your magic. You seem to be the only one who can get through to him.”

  “Please, that was a fluke. I used his own macho caveman insecurity to fuck with his mind. He can’t be so stupid to fall for it twice.”

  “Reverse psychology done by a woman in high heels and a tight short skirt works every time.” Slade gestured with his chin. “What you did in the hotel—do it again.”

  She groaned and made her way closer to the cage. “Come on! Get him…kick him…,” she yelled.

  Slade shook his head. That was the same thing he’d said. He needed her to do more. Much more.

  “Frances, you need to do better than that. Come on!” Slade yelled.

  Francesca tossed him a look over her shoulder, then turned back to the cage. “Round one, my ass! I knew you couldn’t cut it. Might as well pack up your shit and go home. Maybe Jacques will buy me that drink.”

  Tony faltered for a second, and Slade wondered for a moment if Francesca had gone too far. But then Tony ducked out of the way of a jab that would have surely broken his nose, and simultaneously landed a roundhouse kick to Jacques’s ribs. And with that Slade saw, for the first time, a sliver of the super heavyweight fighter he’d seen on television.

  The bell signaling the end of the first round sounded an instant later, and Tony made his way to his corner and plopped down. Travis came quickly with ice and water as Slade whispered advice to Tony, but soon Slade noticed that the fighter’s attention was elsewhere. “Are you listening to me? Tony, man, pay attention. You need to land another—”

  “Where is she?” Tony interrupted.

  “Who?”

  “Francesca.”

  “Oh, uh…” Slade stood and looked around. “Not sure. Why?”

  “I don’t want her here. Tell her to get the hell out.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. I don’t want her here,” Tony said, his voice low and firm. “I will walk the fuck out if you don’t get her out of here right now.”

  “Uh…okay,” Slade said, befuddled. He beckoned to Travis. “Tex, go find Frances and tell her to wait in the locker room or outside. No questions. Just go.”

  “Sure, boss,” Travis said, jumping off the cage platform and heading off in search of Francesca.

  “Better?” Slade asked, then added, “You’re doing great. That last kick fucked him up. He’d be lucky to last another thirty seconds.”

  “I don’t want to see or hear her. You understand?”

  “Okay, okay, I got it. You just concentrate on the fight and I’ll make sure sh
e’s not around.”

  “Fucking first round,” Tony mumbled before the bell rang for the second round.

  Slade’s brow furrowed. Was Tony’s pride wounded? Was that what all this broodiness was about? That he hadn’t knocked the guy out in the first round like he’d bet Frances? His partner was right: challenging that caveman ego was the key to success with Tony. It got you one pissed-off motherfucker, but it also provoked the exact kind of focus that Slade needed from Tony.

  Fifty-two seconds into the second round, with one black eye and a swollen nose, Tony knocked out Jacques. The crowd roared and chanted his name.

  “Good job, Tony. Seems like Scarface is back,” Slade said as soon as the reporters left the small makeshift press area where Tony had given a brief press conference. Tony was quiet and didn’t acknowledge Slade. Instead he grabbed his duffel bag and slipped out the back door.

  —

  “Congrats, man. Awesome night for WtF,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, it was awesome.” Slade was lying on a lawn chair on his patio overlooking the ocean, a beer in his hand. “We probably shoulda gone out to celebrate our first victory, but no one seemed in the mood. Cain said he had plans, and Tony was just bitchy.”

  “Well, we’re celebrating here. You think Jess will make it to dinner?” Chrissy called from the kitchen through the open window. Cooking for her two men was something she did often. Sometimes she did it at her own house, other times she did it at Slade’s.

  “Nah. She’s working till late. She said she’d grab something at the bar during her shift. She’s coming over afterward.”

  “Well, dinner’s almost ready, guys. Jack, honey, why don’t you set the table?” Jack didn’t hesitate in getting up to do her bidding.

  As Slade was about to get up to help, his phone rang. When he saw Jessica’s name on the screen, he smiled. “Hi.”