Page 71 of Heartbreaker
“Which is?”
“Brooks offered himself up to be that person.”
A deep pit fills my stomach, and the breath escapes my lungs. He’s lying. He has to be lying. John wouldn’t…He would never do that.
The smile that Drake wears slips into something more sympathetic when I meet his eyes. “And I made a little wager with him to get you in bed before Wrestlefest. Obviously, I lost in one aspect, but I made $2,400, so I guess I can’t complain. But hey, everything worked out for the best, right?”
“Tell me you’re lying, Miles.”
“No can do.” He shrugs. “I tried to warn you, Sav. John Brooks just isn’t the man you thought he was.”
“Well, Damian Drake is not wasting any time getting this match going,” Jude Paul says when the bell rings and Drake runs toward his opponent with a sharp right hook. Brooks Taylor ducks under the swing when he charges again, swinging his bicep into Drake’s neck. “Clothesline by Brooks, quickly taking control of this match.”
Brooks grasps Drake’s legs, creating a figure-four hold, and lifts Drake onto his shoulders before turning Drake onto his stomach. “Texas Cloverleaf,” Scott Harrington practically yells into his headset. “When’s the last time you saw Brooks Taylor do something like that? He didn’t come to play tonight.”
“Well, this is a Last Man Standing match for the title, Scott. It’s going to take a lot to keep both of these men down for a ten count, and I think Brooks Taylor knows that. He’s going to pull all the tricks out tonight.”
“We see Drake clawing his way to that bottom rope to break the hold, but…No! Brooks drags him back to the center of the ring.”
Drake swings his leg up and kicks Taylor in the face when he attempts to reapply the Cloverleaf. The impact stuns Brooks, and it gives Drake time to scramble up to his feet. He nails his opponent with a running lariat—using his forearm, he delivers a power strike to his opponent’s neck that sends him over the top rope.
“That’s all you got, Brooks?” Drake taunts from inside the ring. “I thought you were going to put up a fight tonight, Taylor!”
Drake climbs out of the ring, jumping down to the ground where Brooks has come to his knees. Gripping the ends of his opponent’s hair, Drake slams his opponent face-first into the barricade repeatedly. It’s brutal and relentless. Satisfied with the attack, he sends Brooks headfirst into the steel steps.
“Brooks goes headfirst into the steel steps!” Jude says. “And the referee begins the count.”
1…2…3…
The referee stops once Brooks makes it back to his feet, much to his opponent’s dismay.
Drake doesn’t waste time. He immediately throws rapid-fire punches, but Brooks counters, blocking each one. A hard kick to the chest sends Drake sailing into the barricade, and with a running forearm, Brooks sends them both sailing over the barricade into the front row. The impact knocks the wind out of both men, but Brooks Taylor manages to pull himself back up first. He grabs one of the folding chairs from the cleared seating area and swings, striking his opponent’s back. Drake screams, falling back to the ground. Another blow to the shoulder, but the next swing lands on the concrete floor when he rolls out of the way, echoing through the air.
The men trade punches, fighting through the crowd and up the stairs of the arena between sections. Fans on either side are spurring on the insanity with thunderous cheers that surge with each strike. Reaching the top of the steps, Drake hits a stiff European uppercut, throwing his forearm upwards into Brooks Taylor’s chin. It sends the champ stumbling backward. One wrong move and he’ll go tumbling back down the stairs.
Drake whips Brooks away from the stairs, slingshotting him into the concrete wall instead.
“Taylor goes headfirst into the wall, and I don’t know if he’ll be able to recoup from that, Scott,” Jude Paul says as the referee begins another count.
1…2…3…
Scott agrees. “I’m not seeinganymovement right now. The referee is already at the five count.”
Finally, Brooks stirs, but before he can fully come to his feet, Drake drags him into the hallway by the hair.
“Stay,” Drake commands when he props Brooks against the wall. He swipes his arms, clearing a table full of merchandise, but when he turns to retrieve his opponent, Drake is met with a boot to the face.
The crowd around them cheers, egging on Brooks as he climbs on the table. Leaping from the table, he drives his elbow into Drake’s chest, and it sends them both to the ground. Fans gasp upon impact with the solid ground, and both men lie sprawled out on the concrete floor.
Again, Brooks stirs first, and he leans back against the wall as the referee counts, already at four. He makes it to eight before Drake finally stumbles to his feet, but Brooks is there, waiting with a flurry of punches. The assault continues through a different hallway than the one they entered and down the stairs. Reaching the lower level once again, Drake grabs one of the large trash cans and tosses it at his opponent, who catches it.
A deadpan expression crosses Brooks Taylor’s face as he throws it off to the side. Drake takes off, sprinting through the crowd, but Brooks catches up to him when he reaches a set of steel barriers that block off backstage.
“Oh! Brooks Taylor with a barrier to the face,” Scott Harrington says, when Brooks grabs Drake by the back of the head and smashes his face into the top of the barrier. Drake stumbles backward, trying to regain his composure as the champion sets up another devastating attack. “Now, what is he doing?”
“It looks like Taylor is setting the barrier up against the side of the stage to create a ramp, of sorts,” Jude says. “These men are using anything as a weapon to wear down their opponent.”
Satisfied with the setup, Brooks kicks Drake in the midsection and forces him into a standing headlock. Bending at the knees, he lifts the challenger off his feet and tosses him backward.
