Alpha Fighter (7 page)

But I’ve seen tape on the kid. He throws a decent punch, but he has no follow-up. He goes all out in the first couple of minutes and then he's flat for the rest of the fight. His moves are also as predictable as thunder after lightning. Don’t get me wrong—the kid definitely isn't bad. After all, no one in his own league stands a chance against him. But I’m in a different league and, even in my own league, I'm the king of the ring. I'm coming back up for another win this season, to add to my record-setting streak of seven tournament wins in a row. All in all, I'm not concerned about the punk.

Besides, this isn't even a tournament match. There are no gloves, no fancy equipment or playbacks, and no complex rules. The only rule is that you don't kill your opponent—or at least try not to—but beyond that, you can throw any kind of punch, make any kind of jab, and launch any kind of attack. This sort of teaser match, just man versus man, is to get the fans hyped up for the tournament fights, and preview some of the match fighter pairings, so that the crowds are going crazy before the first official fight even starts. It's the primal stuff that gets them going, whether it's the men wanting to see two dudes pummel the shit out of each other with skill or the women wanting to see the men use their brute strength in the most primitive, animalistic way.

But when you get cocky is when you fail, so I never go down that road. I fight every match like I'm up against myself.

By the time I'm in the ring, the shouts of the crowd are surging for the start of the match, and Nate is standing across from me. I've successfully blocked the Savannah part of my thoughts off with a tight seal. I'm back in my element. The high-pitched screams of the crazed women, cheering ‘Veni Vidi Vici!’ and trying to fling themselves closer to the ring and closer to us, are a familiar soundtrack. The extra energy I have from missing my usual Thursday night bang yesterday is all in my fists as the clock starts and Nate and I start throwing punches.

To my surprise, it's a better match than I expected. Nate has clearly been working hard since the taped fights I watched. He's blocking more, dodging more, throwing harder punches, and mixing up his moves a little. That's not to say that he's any real threat. I keep the lead all throughout the match, but the kid has come far and is rising to the occasion. It's like he has something to prove.

The men are a mixed crowd, half roaring with adrenaline and half tight-lipped with anxiety. There's always a lot of money riding on the matches, even these pre-tournament underground ones that aren't officially sanctioned. Maybe even especially these, because they're fights without rules or regulations. These fights are all about the strength and skill of man alone.

The women aren't divided like the men. The plain, good girl types, the foxy man-eater types, and the seasoned groupies alike are all going crazy. Somewhere in my peripheral vision a bra goes flying through the air, but it means nothing to me. This is my life, this what I do, and this is what I know.

I win, though by a smaller margin than expected and after putting in significantly more work than against the lower-ranked fighters in my league. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone signs him straight out of the ring and they schedule a rematch for us later in the tournament. When we shake hands, the kid looks me straight in the eyes and nods at me like we're equals, instead of just holding his head and grimacing, like some defeated fighters do. There's something hard in his face. I don't know what it is, but the kid has developed some new chip on his shoulder in the past few months.

My SEAL training makes me take note of all of this and my fighter instinct, encouraging me to learn all that I can about my opponent, makes me immediately try to figure out how these changes could affect me. It's not a big concern, however. He is still far from my toughest opponent, even if he does get signed and join this league, and I'm not threatened.

I see him shortly after, sneaking into the locker rooms with a cheap Malibu Barbie type. Not my type and definitely a little more trashy than necessary, but she's also not entirely unattractive and the care Nate takes to look around and move quietly, looking like he's hiding the girl, seems a little excessive. Or maybe he has a girlfriend and Malibu Barbie isn't her?

Not my business.

"So, Cooper." Vlad greets me by my locker with a big bottle of an electrolyte-balanced sports drink and a fresh towel. He doesn't finish his sentence, just raises his eyebrows at me.

I don't take the bait, and instead just glug from the bottle of sports drink. After a little while of that, after which Vlad gets that I'm not saying anything of my own volition, he continues.

"What was that all about?" he asks.

"What was what all about?" I ask. I know what he means.

"Is it still the girl?" Vlad asks, ignoring my pointless deflector question. "Who is this chick?"

"I don't know, man," I say, pulling my sweat-drenched shirt over my head and starting to unwrap my knuckles. "She's something else."

"She must be," says Vlad, looking bemused. "I haven't seen you like this before."

I shake my head. "She's just my roommate. Don't get any of your big ideas."

"So, the usual?" asks Vlad. "Get in, get off, get out?"

I bristle. I don't like him talking about her like that. "Can we talk about something that matters?" I say. "Like what happened to that kid, Nate?"

"Surprised you, didn't he?" Vlad is finally off the subject. There's nothing that he would rather talk about or think about than fighting strategy. "The little punk has been working hard. That's why we never get complacent. There’s already talk of a rematch for you guys later in the tournament. Two trainers are arguing over who gets him right now."

"Yes, sir," I say. "So, the deal?"

"You know I don't like gossip," Vlad starts. I raise an eyebrow. You wouldn't think it looking at him, since he's such a tough guy, but Vlad likes little more than to know everything about everyone. It makes sense from a strategic standpoint, but it's still an entertaining contradiction with his impersonal presentation to those who don't know him well. Vlad continues, "That Nate kid, whose face you were pounding a few minutes ago, is the golden boy of motorcycle club king Salvador Moreno."

"A prince of the streets?" I smirk. It sure didn't help him win his fight.

"Aye," nods Vlad, "But a troubled one. After the last big gang war between the Morenos and their rivals, the Santoses, they called a truce by promising that their children would marry. And apparently his little miss to be ran off not too long before the wedding."

"Couldn't keep her satisfied?" I ask. Then I remember the girl I saw earlier. "So I'm guessing she's not Malibu Barbie, then? Huh, maybe that's why. The kid needs to learn to keep it in his pants if he wants to wife that."

"This, coming from you?" Vlad laughs.

"Hey!" I protest. "I
don't
want to wife anyone. What I do works for me." I say it a little less confidently than usual, which is ridiculous. Of course I don't.

Vlad shrugs. "If he can't find his fiancee and get her back by October sixth at midnight, word has it that the biggest, deadliest gang war yet will break out between the Morenos and Santoses on October seventh."

"What's then?" I ask.

"That's exactly two months after the wedding was supposed to happen, on the girl's eighteenth birthday," Vlad says. "All I can say is that I'm sure as hell glad I'm not that kid right now."

"Hell, yeah." I shake my head. "It's no wonder he's been training harder. I would, too, to get my mind off of all that."

Vlad gives me another look. "You already are, and all it took was some cute

girl."

"Don't complain," I say, "You want me to train hard, don't you?"

"I'm not complaining," Vlad says, putting his hands up, "I'm just surprised, that's all."

I head off for a shower without a response. Hell, I'm surprised, too.

Savannah

C
ooper and I settle into a surprisingly comfortable pattern of friendly conversation and amiable company over the next few days. It's pretty painfully obvious, at least to me, that we're ignoring the elephant in the room—our chemistry—but Cooper doesn't push me or try to start anything beyond friendship, because he can tell that I'm holding back.

That just makes me want him even more. And so I do the only logical thing that I can do.

I set about doing all that I can to move out of the apartment, and get far, far away from Cooper, as soon as possible. Finding a second job that would accommodate my job at the tattoo parlor, with its variable shift end times, proves impossible. I don't give up, though, since I know that this place was an absolute steal and I can't afford another place, or to move back into motels, unless I make more money. Luckily, Tamryn talks a lot and I have an ear for business.

The parlor is almost empty one evening, except for a last client getting some body work in the back room, and I'm washing tools while Tamryn is going through the appointment book.

By which I really mean, spinning around in her wheeled office chair and gossiping.

"Karma's a bitch," she starts.

"Oh?" I say.

"Uh huh," she nods, vindictively. "My cuz, Julie, is such a little slut. Do you know what that skank did to me?" 

Of course not. "No, but I would love to hear all about it." I smile. Tamryn and I have developed a fun, joking relationship.

"You're damn right, you would!" Tamryn's eyes light up, the way they do only when she has a particularly juicy piece of gossip. "Well, I was dating this guy in high school, Bobby. He was cute enough, but not my best-looking boyfriend, and he was such a slacker that I eventually dumped him. He'd just drink beer and game on his computer all day. I'd have to practically climb in his lap with my boobs out to even get his attention!" Tamryn definitely wasn't the most delicate or prudish of girls, as I had quickly learned. "Anyway, I cut the loser loose when I realized that I'd be taking myself to prom if I didn't. I needed someone who wanted to
do
something. Anything!"

"Okay, so Julie is involved how...?" I have to prompt her, if I want to get to the meat of the story before the parlor closes. Tamryn also has a tendency of going off on tangents—and long ones.

"Well, lo and behold, my cousin starts dating him a few years later. Dating my boyfriend!"

"Your
ex
-boyfriend," I point out.

"Girl code!" Tamryn wags a finger at me. "Once a boyfriend, always off limits. Anyway, after Julie starts dating him, Bobby decides to clean up, grab his life by the nuts, and go off to medical school. Who knew the guy had the brains for that? I sure didn't!"

"Mmm." I nod, agreeably.

"Now Julie's the yoga-doing, soap opera-watching, stay at home wife of a doctor in a big ol' house with over three hundred channels on her cable plan, a big mutt, and the kind of fancy wine that you can't even
get
in a box." That last part seems to really irk her.

"It sounds like it worked out well for her," I say, staying neutral in tone.

"Ha!" Tamryn snorts. "I'm telling you that Bobby was always a two minute flop in the sack. Anyway, here's the best part—Julie's now almost eight months pregnant, huge as a whale, and has such high blood pressure that she's on bed rest. She says it's from the baby, but my money says it's all the Ho-Ho's and Ding-Dongs she must have been eating lately. Ha, good luck getting that little wasp waist she was so proud of back!"

Suddenly, I have an idea. 

"You said she has a dog?" I ask.

"Yeah, so?" asks Tamryn, popping her gum.

I've always been good with animals, especially dogs. I always wanted one, but Dad didn't have the time and, since the only kind of dog he would consider acceptable for him to own would be a rottweiler, didn't think I was up to the task of handling the dog by myself. If Tamryn's cousin is on bed rest and her husband works all the time as a doctor, that means there's no one to walk her dog.

"Can I ask you for a favor?" I ask.

"What?" Tamryn looks at me suspiciously.

"I really need some more money and I love dogs. Can you ask your cousin if she needs a dog walker and recommend me for the job? Please?" 

Tamryn brushes the question off with a wave of her hand. "The skank owes me that much. Consider it done."

"Aw, thank you!"

Sure enough, the very next day I get a call from Julie asking when I can start. And just like that, I have a daily morning jog with Maxie, her slightly overweight mutt, lined up.

Good. The sooner I get out of the apartment and away from Cooper, and temptation, the better. I don't know how much more I can take.

Cooper

I
'm interested in getting to know this girl. She feels it, too, but she's scared of accepting it. I have decided that I want to pursue this, I want to pursue
her
, and see where this goes. She has decided that she wants to run.

That just makes my job a little more challenging. But there's nothing I like more than a challenge.

I came home late the other night and found her asleep on the sofa, curled up with a thin blanket and as cute as can be. Spread out on her stomach was the newspaper, folded open to the housing ads. So my job is to get in and get close before she has the chance to get out.

That's fine. I didn't feel like taking my time anyway.

"Where are you off to?" I'm finishing my protein shake in the kitchen when Savannah walks through the door in a pair of tight yoga shorts and a sporty t-shirt. Her hair is up in a ponytail, she's wearing a pair of running shoes, and she's not wearing a smidge of makeup. She's beautiful. 

"Oh, I'm dog-walking on the side." She rolls her eyes and corrects herself. "Well, dog jogging. The pup has a few pounds to lose, so I'm trying to get him some quality exercise."

"Cool, I'll join you," I say. I'm still wearing my gym clothes from earlier, so I just drink the last dregs of my protein shake and go over to her.

"Oh, um, I..." she stammers, clearly searching for a reason that I shouldn't come with her. I don't give her time to come up with something.