Page 96 of My Undead Heart

“Matt!” My brother waves through the steady stream of people. They opened the doors minutes ago and the seats around the cage are beginning to fill up. This older warehouse has been transformed to a makeshift showground for the night. Tables, chairs, even a VIP section with free food and drinks; Kyle Ramos sure knows how to sell out an event. My guys, both those fighting and the others here to support, all arrived over an hour ago. We’ve got a room in the back that provides them the space to focus until it’s time for their event.

I glance beyond the judges and refs to find a familiar set of faces. UFC scouts. The same guys whose eyes I caught in an event much like this in what feels like a lifetime ago. For the first time tonight my gut churns with anxiety. It all comes down to this and what happens in that octagon.

“Hey, Danny. Thanks for coming.” I clap my brother on the back before greeting Nikki with a wave. “You too, Nikki.”

“This is so exciting!” She glances around with wide eyes. “Where are our seats?”

“Here.” Danny hands over the tickets. “Why don’t you go find them and I’ll grab drinks.”

“You’re the best, baby,” she mutters and kisses him on the mouth.

My brother squeezes her ass. “You too, baby. I love you.”

Nikki kisses him once more before sauntering away.

“So, how are your boys feeling tonight? There are three on the card, right?” Danny asks.

I nod, unable to hold back a smirk. “They’re feeling pretty good,baby.”

“Aw, come on, man! Don’t you give me shit about that, too.” He laughs and shakes his head. “My friends have stopped calling me Danny.”

I laugh and offer him the obvious solution. “Maybe you should stop saying baby.”

His smile doesn’t fade and he clasps my shoulder with his hand. “You’ll understand one day, man. If she’s the right girl, you’ll do whatever she likes just to see her smile. I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks.”

“You’re a good boyfriend, Danny.” I grin because he’s head over heels for his girl. “I better get back. Keep an eye out for Uncle Jimmy. Mia, too.”

His brows rise at that. “Ah, so you do know what it’s like to be hooked by a woman.”

“No way, man. Not me. Mia would stab me if I tried to call her baby.”

He shakes his head and begins walking toward the concessions. “Whatever. Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks.”

It doesn’t take long for the seats to fill. Kyle runs these things like a well-oiled machine, so as soon as the onsite medical staff arrives, a runner comes back to our locker room with a five-minute warning before the first fighters are led out to compete. It’s go time. This is the first time South Side, my baby, has had a fighter on the card for an event this size, and we all gather in the staging area proudly wearing our shirts from the gym. Ricky bounces on the balls of his feet, shakes out his arms to keep his shoulders loose, and dips his chin to the beat of the music playing in his headphones.

The MC calls Ricky’s name and the music cues, streaming over the loudspeakers. My guys look to me first and I nod before leading the way. Ricky walks at my side, Xavier behind him, and the rest of our gym follows. We don’t dance. We don’t stroll in with a slow swagger, showboat, or smile. This is the intimidation factor, right here, and we look every bit a lean, mean fighting team.

The announcer babbles on as Ricky’s opponent is introduced, but I keep his gaze focused on me, my hands holding the back of his head. “Just like we practiced, Ricky. You listen to me in there. No one else. Make us proud.”

He strips off his shirt, hands it to one of our guys, and Xavier opens the cage. Ricky jumps inside, pacing and stretching his limbs while waiting on his opponent to join him in the octagon. Standing near the door, I prepare to coach him through any difficulties. The crowd around us cheers and I know I’ll have to compete with their screams to meet Ricky’s ears. I wonder if Mia is here yet. She didn’t text earlier, but I left my phone in the locker room because my head is one hundred percent in the game now.

The ref checks their gloves and reviews the rules. Within seconds the bell dings and the first round starts.

The opponents dance around and feel each other out while aiming to get in a jab or two. Ricky’s strongest game is on his feet, and he throws some wicked kicks to the other guy’s knees. The crowd shouts and calls out while the two fighters attack and retreat, hit and defend. It’s a mild fight until Ricky goes for a kick that the other guy reads. He knocks Ricky to the ground.

“Don’t give him your back!” I shout as the other guy, obviously well versed in wrestling, not only gets Ricky in a hold, but as Ricky attempts to escape, he traps him again. They both breathe heavily and sweat flies from their mouth guards as each holds the other tight. Ricky’s already losing steam and this round isn’t even over.

“Come on, everything you got!” I shout, but that’s the instant his opponent snags the upper hand and transitions into a mount. Ricky’s on his back and struggling to get free, but he’s vulnerable, a place you never want to be. Ricky battles, bucking to shift his opponent off center. The guy leans back and doesn’t lose his hold, turning Ricky’s body into his own personal practice bag.

Ricky’s opponent comes down, raining elbows and several jabs to his side that’ll have him pissing blood for a week. I continue to shout encouragement, glancing up at the clock because he still has another forty-five seconds to endure. That’s a long ass time when taking hits like this.

Ricky waits for the next punch and when it comes he strains for leverage to shove free. It doesn’t work. The other guy changes tactics and wails down five solid punches to Ricky’s face.

Blood, grunts, groans. The last fight of my career all comes back like a flash. Betrayal, disappointment, failure. I have to shake my head to clear the images from my mind.

Boos from the crowd amplify. This isn’t an underground show and while hits to the head aren’t discouraged, this is a fucking bloodbath. “What the hell? Get him out of there!” I shout to the referee. Ricky’s head lolls to the side and they finally call the fight only moments before the buzzer signals the round’s end. Win by knockout. I swing open the door and race inside along with the medics who drop to administer care.

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