Fierce Protector: Hard to Handle trilogy, Book 1 (8 page)

“I can only go on what Mitch told me. The crowd noise might clue you in,” said Tyler with a friendly smile. He was as taken aback as his two female companions.
I mean, the guy just grilled in my front yard, and now look at all of this!

“Four times deployed to play his vital role in the War On Terror, and four times a returning hero,” the announcer continued, whipping up the crowd with practiced ease, “it is my pleasure to welcome back to the ring a
fierce
competitor,” he boomed, carrying the crowd to new heights, “an accomplished
fighter
,” he emphasized, giving the noise time to approach its peak, “the winner of
three
purple hearts, the Distinguished Service Cross and the
Silver Star
as a Navy SEAL,” he raged, almost drowned out now by the full-throated yelling which seemed ready to lift the arena’s roof straight off, “Zachary . . . Norcross!”

It was a noise orgy like nothing Eva thought a modest crowd could create. They were stamping and yelling, competing with a thunderous rendition of Jimmy Hendrix’s classic opening to
Wild Thing
blaring through the PA speakers, willing their hero to the ring. His competitor, introduced with less gusto but with respectful approbation from both the crowd and announcer, was Brandon Hillman, another ex-Navy type who was now part of the town’s fire department. Zack shrugged off his scarlet robe and revealed his musculature, a model of taut perfection. His sternum was the only unadorned area; every other part of his torso – his pectorals, his incredibly sculpted abdomen, the muscles which pointed attractively down in a strong V-shape which ended somewhere in his navy blue shorts – was a rippling accomplishment.

Brandon wasn’t bad-looking, either, Eva saw. Amid the incredible noise, the two came together with the referee at the center of the ring and bumped gloves in the traditional manner. Then, however, came something very much not of the MMA tradition: they placed their foreheads together and seemed, for all the world, to pray out loud, whispering the same invocation. It was as expected to the crowd as it was unexpected to Eva, Trish and Tyler, who glanced at each other, unsure what to make of this unusual and touching moment. The two fighters then hugged briefly, bumped gloves again and stepped back to let the referee deliver the rules.

“Tyler, what’s going on? None of the other rounds started this way.” Eva’s interest couldn’t have been more peaked.

“I have no idea,” he said, entirely mystified. “Like I said, he’s a legend around here. You heard the announcer . . . and this crazy-ass crowd.”

“Didn’t it seem like he and Brandon know each other?” Trish suggested, but before anyone could speculate, the round began.

With a swift hand motion, the diminutive referee bade the two men
fight
. Eva’s heart pumped as Zack began a dodging, dancing, fleet-footed style of combat. It was impressively quick and precise, responding to Brandon’s every jab with a well-timed duck, fading away as though able to predict his every move. Brandon himself eluded many of Zack’s early punches, catching a few to the side of the head, but not allowing himself to become rattled. Coming in close, Brandon tried a swift knee contact with Zack’s belly, but found himself hurled back and twisted onto his side. In a blink, Zack had pounced, pinning Brandon down in a writhing flurry of limbs and gloves.

Just what is this man?
Eva found herself wondering.
A lamb, or a lion?
She watched as Brandon managed, somehow, to wriggle free and right himself, backing towards the far ropes to give himself time to regroup. Zack flexed his shoulders and advanced confidently, but received two quick blows to the head, a hard elbow and a meaty punch, which stopped his progress and saw him buying his own time. There was a period of terse exchanges, careful and reactive, neither fighter prepared to commit. Long before she expected it, the round was over, five minutes of combat brought to a close.

Brandon was receiving ice to his face and was inhaling an energy drink as though his life depended on it, but in the other corner, Eva saw, the scene was very different. Mitch knelt by his friend as Zack sat quietly, eyes closed, breathing very deeply in a regular, practiced pattern. Gloved hands on his thighs, posture upright, Zack simply breathed for the whole of the break. Called back into action, his eyes flew open and he advanced once more with renewed confidence.

Brandon’s tactics had changed. He now sought to pin Zack down, avoiding the ruinous head punches which had almost certainly lost him the opening round. Pulled in close by an ill-advised upper cut which left him off balance, Brandon recovered and reached back to pull Zack’s legs forward. He may as well have tried to uproot a tree. Zack stepped neatly out of the clumsy embrace and delivered a heavy kick to Brandon’s stomach, ruining the balance his opponent had regained, and followed with a sequence of aggressive punches to the face, a quick, carefully orchestrated ballet of violence, which Brandon simply could not block. Toppling backward helplessly, Brandon was instantly grappled once more, Zack’s knee in his belly, forearm across his throat, their positions shifting constantly in a battle to apply, and relieve, pressure.

Brandon’s arm was turned suddenly to one side, forcing the fighter onto his front, whereupon Zack sat atop his opponent and threatened to catch him him in a headlock so strong that Eva feared for Brandon’s life. Invisible to the crowd, but promptly announced by the referee, Brandon tapped Zack’s knee three times in the accepted signal of submission. The victor leapt up and helped his friend to his feet, lauded by the crowd in another giant welter of noise.

Only now, as they stood still, flanking the referee, could Eva see the cost of these eight minutes of warfare. Brandon had a cut above his right eye which had wetly reddened the whole side of his face, while Zack’s torso showed the bright, painful abrasions caused by the urgent grappling and shifting hand-holds which had marked their second round. The referee was handed his microphone and made an announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, due to the submission of his opponent, Zachary Norcross is the winner of this fight.” Whistles and cheers filled the hall. “However, owing to medical conditions stemming from his recent combat tour to Afghanistan, Mr. Norcross is not physically able to commit the second round of fighting, a bout which could, as you know, last up to twenty-five minutes. Therefore, by default and by post-fight withdrawal, I announce that Brandon Hillman will proceed to the second round.”

A new tone of applause greeted this news, a polite and respectful clapping like none Eva had heard that evening. This was neither the herd mentality of horny women nor the baying for blood which had marked the crowd’s reactions to his arrival. This was unadorned, unabridged
respect
.

Applauding with the others, Eva found herself very confused. “What’s going on, guys?”

“He fights only
once
,” said Trish. “Win or lose, his opponent goes on to the next round.”

“That’s allowed?” Eva asked, surprised. “The others go along with it?”

“Well, let’s just say they make some special allowances for him around here.

The referee was not quite finished, it seemed, and now read from a prepared card. “I’d like to announce that Mr. Norcross would like to dedicate his
de facto
victory this evening to the memory of Senior Chief Petty Officer Nicholas Vines who, like so many of our brave men and women, lost his life in the service of our country. We will honor their memories.” Sustained applause accompanied Zack’s withdrawal from the ring and his whole journey back to the relatively secluded locker rooms. He was calm, focused on his own decorum and posture, almost marching. A single wave to the crowd was as much formal acknowledgment as he gave. Within moments, the next fight was being prepared and Zack’s crowd returned to murmured discussion.

The GI rounds were ferocious and not a little bloody. Amid loud applause and encouragement, Brandon went on to compete in the final, but found himself up against a huge, highly-experienced Marine who delivered a swift knockout with the bout only forty seconds old. Gradually able to pick himself up, he congratulated his opponent and emerged from the locker rooms a little while later, side by side with Zack. Mitch and Flynn hugged their friend, and the group walked together to the parking lot.

“You ain’t never danced like that before, Zack. Way to go, buddy.” This was Mitch’s interpretation of the fight, which found the agreement of all. “Next time you’ll go all the way, I know it.”

Zack placed his bag on the roof of his car and ushered Mitch, Flynn and Brandon inside. “I’ll go all the way when the doctors tell me I can,” he cautioned, more than a hint of frustration in his voice.

“Very impressive,” said Trish. “Thanks for inviting us.”

“Yeah, I had a great time, man,” agreed Tyler. “We’ll have to do this again.”

“Well, why don’t you follow us back to my place? The boys tell me there’s plenty of booze and I asked Cheryl to make her special Sutherland Salsa.” Trish and Tyler exchanged a look and then asked Eva for her opinion.

“I’d love to come,” she said.

“Great. See you over there.” Zack smiled slightly and then jumped into the passenger’s seat and yanked the door closed just before Mitch took the ageing Mercedes at speed out of the parking lot.

“Yeah, Eva, I’m sure what you say is true,” Tyler quipped, “but what about going over to his place?” Trish had whacked his ass even before the joke was fully delivered. “Oh, come on, let a boy have his fun.”

“No driving for you, Mr. Lightweight. Eva, do you mind?” She took the wheel of her Pontiac and followed the distant, speeding Mercedes through the traffic and along quieter residential streets to Zack’s house, parking neatly outside.

“Nice place!” Trish commented brightly as they arrived. Even in the dark of 9:30pm, they could see the two-bedroom, single-story house had been very thoroughly renovated. It may actually have been, Trish remarked to herself, the tidiest home owned by a single man she had ever seen. The garden was freshly weeded and tilled, while inside, the living room was a neat, cozy horseshoe of couches and beanbags.

“As good for exercise as for just sitting on, watching TV,” Zack explained as he waved them in. “Grab one while I get you guys a drink.” The house was pretty well filled with people, the usual mix of Zack’s friends, some other fighters from the gym, as well as a bevy of twenty-something women whose purposes here were not difficult to guess at.

The hero of the hour was relieved to get away from the noise and people for a while, take a five-minute shower and apply soothing lotion to some of the scrapes he had endured. No repair work was required, he noted with satisfaction; he had kept his guard up, moved his feet well. Perhaps, he thought cautiously, with a few more months’ practice and continued work in the gym, he’d be back to his best.

Well,
almost
his best. That peak may permanently have passed, he knew. His injuries would have at least that much of a lifelong effect. But he could practice his art, gain strength and experience and, inadvertently at least, attract the adulation he had heard and felt tonight. The roar of the crowd when it became obvious Brandon had submitted had been staggering and – quite literally – worth fighting for. The attentions of the young ladies, though, was a different matter. He shook it off and returned to the party, feeling pretty good in a fresh plaid shirt and jeans, his short hair once more clean and neat.

The living room had a fun vibe, everyone with beers in hand and the music turned up. Brandon had introduced himself to Eva, Trish and Tyler as they hovered slightly awkwardly at the edge of things. “Is that your car out front, the red Pontiac Le Mans?” Brandon asked, receiving a nod from Eva. “I had the exact same model, back in high school. Called it Triksie. Loved that thing. It just wouldn’t quit!”

“They don’t make them like they used to,” Tyler commented, while Eva stifled a giggle at the name.

“Well, I should say, it didn’t quit until I drove it to Dallas one weekend to visit a buddy of mine.”

There was a pause. “What happened in Dallas?” asked Trish.

“Got stolen,” Brandon recalled.

“Oh, man that’s the
worst
,” Tyler commiserated.

 “Yeah, they found it a few weeks later, totally burned out. Apparently some homeless guys had been living in it and started a fire to keep warm. Guess it got out of control.”

“That sucks!” contributed Eva.

“Oh, I don’t know. By that point, burning it was probably the best thing to do,” he admitted, chuckling at the memory. He got a good laugh from the others and they clinked beers to reliable old clunkers.

Trish was introduced to some of the MMA guys’ partners and Zack did a quick patrol of the party, receiving congratulations from everyone and catching up with a few people. His ‘groupies’, of whom there were perhaps seven or eight, followed him either physically, or with their eyes, ready to warn off other potential suitors, positioning themselves both to elicit maximum attention and to show as much thigh, or cleavage, as social niceties permitted.

Eva watched the show. “It’s a bit like freakin’
Animal Planet
in here. Did Zack invite them back?”

“Friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends . . .” Trish replied.

Eva took the point, but found their wanton sexuality a little trashy, not to mention almost certainly fruitless; none of them seemed remotely to be the type that Zack would want to bring into his bed. There were several pairs of very obviously fake boobs, some very heavily applied makeup, and jewelry which tended towards the flashy and conspicuously inexpensive. Although she couldn’t yet claim to know him well, she felt sure he would be a man who valued quality, even in a girl he planned to sleep with only once. The way he was ignoring them gave strength to this argument, Eva saw. Watching him work the room, she found her tummy aflutter once again as she recalled the incredible form of his unclothed torso before the fight.

Tyler and Brandon had started the traditional get-to-know-you chat which, around here, could consist only of sports, so Trish escorted Eva to find either Zack or someone almost as hot for her to talk to. “You know what makes you different to these wannabes?”