Page 15 of 4th Degree

I take those few seconds before the fight starts as an opportunity to look over the Bulldog MMA team. Kane stands, ready to go, and behind him I can see Jax and Coach Dominic standing outside of the cage. Jax looks nervous, like he’s about to jump out of his skin. But beside him, Coach just looks…determined. Confident in his fighter.

I think we’re all holding our breaths when the bell rings to signal the start of the round. Kane’s opponent, Chevlin, couldn’t appear more arrogant if he tried. His hands are down, his strides forward are lazy, and that damn grin hasn’t left his face.

He waits a few seconds before snapping a few punches out, trying to bait Kane into attacking first. But Kane just defends them and continues to circle, settling into his fighting stance.

Chevlin doesn’t like that. His smirk falters, and his next few combos are thrown with ill intent. Still, Kane doesn’t react.

“Coach said Chevlin used to do whatever he could to piss Kane off so he would start throwing,” Lucy explains. “Once Kane’s punches became wild, Chevlin would use it as an opportunity to take him down and submit him.” Chewing on her lip, she adds, “His whole goal this fight is going to be to bait Kane into going crazy.”

Just as she says that, Kane starts to throw back. We all watch with bated breath, the tension in the air stifling.

Chevlin’s expression becomes one of absolute glee. He waits for Kane to throw one combo, and then another, and on the third one, he counters it with a hard right hand to the chin.

The arena gasps as the shot lands flush. It doesn’t wobble Kane, but the sound of the impact is enough to have Chevlin’s corner screaming, the crowd cheering, and everyone in the Bulldog section holding our breath as we wait for Kane’s reaction.

Only, he doesn’t give one.

His movements stutter for half a second after the punch, but it seems more like a mental hiccup than a physical reaction to the shot. And then he goes right back to circling Chevlin and looking for his opening, throwing a few more punches of his own.

The lack of reaction clearly confuses Chevlin. His smirk is nowhere to be found, and his hands come up higher, as if he’s suddenly realizing that he’s underestimated Kane. That this isn’t an opponent he can play with anymore.

It gives Kane the opening he needs. With Chevlin’s hands up, and his attention focused on Kane’s punches—albeit controlled—coming at him, the last thing he expects is a takedown. And that’s exactly what happens.

Faking a punch, Kane shoots forward and wraps his arms around Chevlin’s legs. He scoops them out from under him, making Chevlin land on his back with a resounding crash.

The crowd cheers, but no one is cheering as loudly as Kane’s cornermen. Jax and Coach are screaming, looking like they might climb the cage soon.

Kane starts to rain punches down on Chevlin. His old teammate still looks stunned from the takedown, so his defense against the attack isn’t very effective. He eats one, two, three shots to the face before the ref sidles closer and calls for him to protect himself.

Coach is yelling something. Kane’s punches have become tinged with desperation, with victory, but somehow, Coach’s words break through Kane’s growing haze. And right as he goes to throw another punch, he changes tactics.

Instead of beating his old teammate by what would likely be a brutal knockout, Kane grabs a hold of Chevlin’s arm, falls onto his back into an armlock, and forces the submission by straining his arm until he taps out with a cry.

The arena explodes.

Around me, the Bulldog team is on their feet, high fiving each other and screaming at their teammate’s victory. I’ve never seen people so happy for another person’s success in my life.

I let myself get swept up in the celebration. This is the most fun I’ve had in I can’t remember how long.

My gaze catches on the scene inside the cage. At first, it’s because Kane is standing over Chevlin with a completely blank expression, so I have no idea if he’s about to curse him out or help him up.

But after a second’s hesitation, Kane extends his hand to his old teammate.

A chill covers my skin. I don’t know the tattooed fighter that well, but there’s a sense of gravity in the moment that tells me just how important this is for him. And when Chevlin takes the offered hand and gets pulled to his feet, and I hear Kane’s girlfriend Isabella let out a happy sob behind me, I know I’m witnessing something incredible right now.

Kane claps his opponent on the shoulder and murmurs something to him before walking back to his corner. Jax and Coach are already in the cage, and it’s anyone’s guess which one of them is happier about tonight. They’re both practically vibrating with excitement, their faces stretched wide with matching grins.

But then Jax lets out a whoop and hoists his friend into the air. Even Kane can’t stop himself from smiling, though it’s followed by his lips moving to say something that looks suspiciously like put me down, asshole.

Then it’s Coach’s turn to congratulate his fighter. And I shouldn’t be surprised that he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even hug him. He simply grabs him by the neck and brings their foreheads together. A silent moment passes between the two men, pride emanating from Dominic and appreciation from Kane.

“And your winner, fighting out of the blue corner… Kane Whitaker!”

After another ear-splitting round of cheers, the Bulldog fighters can barely settle for long enough to listen to Kane’s post-fight interview. When he finally steps out of the cage and looks around for our group, it’s like a lid being popped off a shaken-up soda can.

You’d never guess this sport is an individual one, because with the way this team is cheering for Kane, you’d think they were the ones who won the belt.

Kane splits the crowd as he moves toward our group. It doesn’t take him long to reach us, and it takes even less time for the congratulations and back claps to start.

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