Zack knew something was up as soon as he saw Sadist standing in front of the red line painted on the ground at Redemption’s entrance, his arms folded over his massive chest. When Sadist stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder, he had a strong suspicion whatever it was had to do with him.
“Sorry, Slayer. Only members are allowed to cross the red line.”
“I’ve got a three-month pass.”
Sadist held out a meaty paw. “Let me see.”
Zack handed over the pass Shayla had given him. He hadn’t been to Redemption for a week, but he was damn sure the pass hadn’t expired, because he’d only had it for a month and a half.
Sadist inspected the plastic card. Then he crushed it in his massive fist and scattered the pieces on the ground. “Looks like it was a three-week pass and not a three-month pass. You must have made a mistake.”
Zack was disappointed but not surprised. In all his years in the business, he had never met a team as close-knit as the team at Redemption. They truly were a family, and as any family would do when a member had been hurt, they were closing ranks and shutting him out.
No Redemption meant no training. No training meant no Torment. No Torment meant he wouldn’t have the opportunity to put himself to the test. When he went after Shayla’s ex—and nothing had changed his resolve to give her justice—he would have to do it not knowing whether he had the self-control to pull back before things got out of hand.
“I’m just here to work out.”
Sadist shrugged. “You need a new membership to get in, and the membership desk is closed.”
“I’ll buy a day pass.”
“We’ve run out.”
Damn. He needed to work off some of his anger and frustration in a proper MMA facility and not the cold, poorly outfitted hotel gym that he’d been forced to use after picking up his stuff from Shayla’s apartment.
“Okay, man. I get the message. I’m out of here.” He lifted his hands in mock defeat. “Tell everyone I said goodbye. I’m back on the recruitment circuit and flying out to New York tomorrow.”
“So that’s it?” Sadist scowled. “You’re going to San Francisco?”
“I was here to coach Shilla. She doesn’t need me anymore, and she doesn’t want to see me. I need to get back to work.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sadist’s voice rose in pitch. “She’s your girl. You don’t walk away. You don’t give up because you lost your card.”
“I do if she says that’s what she wants.” His hands curled into fists. “You think it’s easy for me? I’ve called. I’ve texted. She’s made her feelings clear, so I’m going to do a few trips and hope she cools down before I come back.” He wasn’t giving up. Not yet. But he was going to give her some space.
Sadist gave an indignant snort. “You betray her and then you abandon her. Nice.”
Zack bristled at Sadist’s sarcastic tone. “I watched her go down when Sandy hit her, and I watched her go down in the underground fight. To me, her reaction looked exactly the same. I even suggested she see a doctor after the underground fight, but she said she was fine, and I respected her decision. I made the mistake of not letting her make her own choices before, and I wasn’t going to do it again. But a third time? When she could barely stand? She wasn’t going to quit so I did what I had to do to protect her.”
“Is that what you’re telling yourself so you can sleep at night? That she hit her head hard enough to have another concussion?”
Zack folded his arms and glared. “It’s what I saw.”
“Through your Okami-colored glasses?”
“You don’t know anything,” Zack bit out. “What happened with Gordon was the nightmare of my fucking life. Yeah, maybe I’ve still got a hang-up about brain injuries because of Okami, but she could barely walk a straight line after Gordon’s foul. I could have just let her go back in the ring like she wanted, and if I had, I wouldn’t be here alone. But the risk was too damn high. So I told the doc about the fight the way I saw it, and he made his call. Even if I do lose her, I would make the same decision. I’d rather a world with her alive and hating me than one in which she’s gone.”
Sadist stroked a hand over his jaw and studied him, considering. “Wait there.” He didn’t wait for Zack’s response but crossed the red line and disappeared into Redemption.
What the hell? Zack was tempted to walk away, but curiosity and a deep reluctance to return alone to his hotel held him in place.
A few minutes later, Sadist returned. “The Predator is waiting for you out back.”
Puzzled, Zack frowned. “Why?”
“He has an extra membership card.”
If Zack hadn’t wanted that card so badly, he would have laughed. But he did want it. Although it had only been a week, he missed working out at Redemption. He missed the training, the camaraderie, the scents of vinyl and sweat, the sounds of speed bags drumming, weights clanking, and treadmills whirring. He missed being part of the sport that had been his life for so many years, the endorphin rush he got when he pushed his body to the max, and the hope that maybe one day he would be able to fight in the ring again.
“I’m a recruiter. Not a fighter.”
“So check the Predator out,” Sadist suggested. “Everyone thinks he’s good enough to go pro. Maybe you’ll want to sign him to MEFC before you head out of town. You don’t want to lose him to Radical Power. I heard they’ve been sniffing around.”
Zack sighed. “The Predator’s a street fighter. He’s got too much unlearning to do.”
“Last I heard, you started out as a street fighter, too.” Sadist closed the door behind him. “Maybe you can unlearn a few things with him. Or maybe you’re too scared. I get it. The whole Okami thing. And then Shayla taking a few knocks to the head, making it all come back…”
“Fuck you.” He knew exactly what Sadist was doing, and yet he was finding it hard to resist.
“Yeah, that’s about what the Predator would do to you if you fought him. He is undefeated in the underground and a damn dirty fighter. If a man were wanting to push himself to his limit, a street fight in an alley with the Predator would be the best way to go about it. But I get that you’re too afraid to face him. Hell, even if I weighed fifty pounds less, had spent time in Black Ops, and had been trained in covert operations by the CIA like him, I’d be afraid, too.”
Zack didn’t rise to the bait. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a bastard?”
Sadist laughed. “They tell me I’m a sadist. But today, I’m being a nice guy and giving you a choice to walk into the parking lot behind Redemption like a man instead of being picked up and thrown to the wolves for betraying our teammate. It’s the kind of choice you didn’t give to her.”
Sadist was right. When he’d seen Gordon’s knee slam into Shayla’s head, all he could think about was getting Shayla the hell out of the fight so she didn’t wind up dead like Okami. He’d been just as ruthless about making it happen as he’d been the night he walked away and left her in Glenwood.
“That leaves me with a choice that’s no choice at all.”
A grin split Sadist’s face. “You could probably outrun me, but I have a feeling you’re not the kind of man to turn down a challenge. And the Predator is one hell of a challenge.”
“He’s not Torment.”
“You aren’t ready for Torment.”
Zack studied the heavyweight fighter, considering. He was flying to New York tomorrow to sign an upcoming new fighter from the Bronx, and he had planned to hunt down Damian while he was there. This was the perfect chance to really test himself against a worthy competitor. The Predator wasn’t Torment, but he was damn close. “I’ll walk.”
“Good man.” Sadist clapped him on the shoulder. “Most of the team should be out there already. I wish Shilla could have been here, too. She loves watching the Predator fight.”
“You said he was in the CIA?” He lengthened his stride to keep up with Sadist as they walked along the building.
“Second-worst kept secret at Redemption, but he’ll deny it, so don’t ask. If you ever get his wife, Sia, drunk at the annual Redemption Christmas party, she has a good story to tell about what happened when she was kidnapped, and that will pretty much tell you all you need to know.”
“What’s the first-worst kept secret?” He didn’t want to know, but he did. Everything about Redemption interested him, from its history to its fighters and from their stories to their bond.
“Shilla’s accident that wasn’t an accident.” Sadist heaved in a ragged breath. “You probably know more about it than we do. When she first walked in the door, she was a wreck. Casts, slings, bruises, bandages…you name it. She told us she’d fallen down some stairs. Torment tried to send her to a rehab center, but she insisted she wanted to learn MMA. That’s when we knew for sure there was more to her story. You don’t look the way she looked from a fall down the stairs.”
Zack stopped midstride. “I know what happened. Why are you telling me this?”
“There are benefits to having a history with the CIA. Friends you can call up for a favor. The Predator is a protective sort, especially when it comes to the team. He might be persuaded to do a little investigating for you if there was someone you were trying to find.”
“And the price for the information?”
Sadist shrugged. “You have to be part of the team.”
The Predator was waiting for him in the alley wearing a T-shirt, fight shorts, and a pair of running shoes. Two Redemption fighters were stationed on either end as lookouts. Torment leaned casually against the back door, like he had known Zack would show up. Zack was glad he’d worn his track pants to the gym. Although he’d always fought in street clothes as a kid, he was used to the range of movement afforded by sportswear.
No words were exchanged. None were necessary. It was an underground fight. No rules. No limits. No mercy.
The fight began with a nod from Torment. The Predator wasted no time and moved in quickly to smash his fist into Zack’s cheek. Zack welcomed the pain as the payback he deserved and dropped into his fight stance, fending off the attack with an overhand left, followed by a right. The Predator landed a left kick, and Zack countered with a spinning back kick that the Predator easily blocked. The Predator retaliated with a dirty right hook, slicing Zack’s forehead. Blood trickled over his brow, dripped down his eye, and he wiped it away, a familiar heat curling in his belly as the beast that he’d locked away inside himself raised its head.
Fighting the junior and midlevel fighters had been easy. But the Predator was in a different league. For the first time, Zack felt off his game, unprepared, and acutely aware that he was nowhere near the level he had been at four years ago. Although he hated to admit it, he wouldn’t have lasted three minutes in the ring with Torment.
The Predator moved in with a right and then unloaded a flurry of punches to Zack’s head. Zack moved to counter, but the Predator was gone, moving like a ghost through the shadows of the alley. He was everywhere and nowhere. The blows came hard and fast, with no discernible pattern except that he never hit the same place twice and nothing was out of bounds. He used moves that would have had him disqualified from sanctioned fights, and for all Zack’s skill, he couldn’t get close enough to take the Predator down to the ground where he would have the advantage.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead, took a breather while the Predator jeered from across the alley.
“That all you got, Slayer? Let me know when we’re done warming up and I can really get started.”
Zack was used to posturing and trash talk. When he had fought professionally, it was part of the show. The fans loved to hear the fighters threaten each other, and their scripted comments were the highlight of weigh-ins and interviews. But here, where there were no fans or cameras, he took the Predator’s comments for what they were—a message that Zack wasn’t worthy of what the Predator was holding back.
Not worthy.
It was the story of his life.
Without warning, the Predator rushed him, forcing him back against the building. He landed a leg kick that made Zack’s teeth rattle and connected with huge shots to the head. Stunned, Zack threw a pair of counter rights, but the Predator’s right hand flattened him against the wall, and he poured on the hurt, wrenching Zack out of the present and thrusting him into the brutal past.
“Don’t tell me how to live my life, boy. You know why your mother killed herself? Because she had a fucking worthless piece of shit for a son. If I want to drink, I’ll fucking drink. If I want to slap any one of you kids around to shut you the hell up, then I’ll slap you. You think you can stop me? Think again. You don’t have what it takes. You are good for fucking nothing.”
Jab. Jab. Jab. The Predator wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t let Zack off the wall. Zack tried to advance, landed some right hands, but couldn’t get enough room to go in for a takedown. He ate some savage knees and fell back, scrambling.
“You’re nothing, Grayson. A high school dropout. Living in a fucking trailer with your sisters. Your parents were trailer trash. Your grandparents were trailer trash. You’ve got trailer trash in your blood. You aren’t worthy of my sister. If I see you near her again, this fucking beat down will be nothing compared to what I’ll do to you.”
“C’mon, Slayer. This is pathetic. I’m getting bored punching your ugly face. Do something, or I’m gonna fall asleep. How did you win a fucking title belt if you don’t know how to fight?”
“Four.” The word dropped from his lips before he could catch it. “I won four belts. Not one.” Adrenaline surged through his body, clearing the haze from his mind and unleashing the anger he held tightly in check. He was the best middleweight fighter in the country. An MEFC all-star. He had come from nothing and made something of himself through hard work and dedication.
He was worthy.
Worthy of respect.
Worthy of the ballerina who had stolen his heart.
He threw a big left hand, holding nothing back, and moved on the advance, taking the Predator by surprise. He connected with a vicious combo of fists and kicks, followed by a movie fight rear back punch that got the Predator weak in the knees. Zack grabbed the Predator’s shirt, lifted his hand for the knockout strike.
And then the Predator cursed.
Zack sucked in a breath as the word unlocked a memory of his very last fight.
Okami had cursed.
He had fallen to his knees, fully lucid and engaged in the fight even as Zack threw his last punch. There had been no sign. No warning. Until the end, it had been a fight like any other. And Zack had been fully present. Aware. In control. Even after he’d released the beast, he could remember every detail of the fight—the roar of the crowd, the scents of sweat and vinyl, the taste of blood in his mouth, the fury in Okami’s eyes. And Okami’s last words…
Fuck you.
He hadn’t hit a man when he was down. He’d hit a fighter who had gone down fighting—a fighter who had chosen to take the risk of stepping into the ring against medical advice. Zack wasn’t responsible for Okami’s choices. He could forgive himself, because he was worthy. Not just as a fighter, but as a man. He had been in control then, just as he was in control now.
He dropped his fist, and the Predator surged up and landed a vicious uppercut to his chin, and then one to his nose. Blood splattered across the pavement. Reeling, Zack fell forward, and the Predator met him with big shots and knees. Zack dropped and ate some more shots before he fell to the ground, tapping out as the world went topsy-turvy and Okami finally had his revenge.
“Someone call a medic.”
“Hey, buddy.” Sadist crouched down beside him, gently pushing him down when he tried to rise. “Probably better if you just lie back and chill. Lucky for you, Makayla’s on duty tonight. She’s got a light touch with stitches and broken bones.”
“I’m good.” Zack wheezed out his words as blood trickled into his mouth. “Just need some ice.”
“Yeah.” Sadist patted his shoulder. “Sure. How about we wait for her anyway, just in case. Your ribs made a cracking sound when he threw that spinning back kick your way, and your nose might need a little reset.”
Zack gritted his teeth against the pain of each breath. “Got a flight to catch in the morning.”
“I think you might have to delay your trip a couple of days.” Sadist cocked his head to the side. “You had the advantage until you pulled your last punch. Why did you do it?”
Zack lay back and stared up at the stars. “Because I could.”