Authors: Abriella Blake
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Coming of Age, #Romance, #Contemporary, #New Adult & College
Riding Dirty
Ruiners Motorcycle Clubby Abriella Blake
A Hearts Collective ProductionCopyright © 2014 Hearts Collective
All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional, and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental.
Cover Photo
©
Jenn LeBlanc / Illustrated Romance
http://illustratedromance.com/
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RIDING DIRTY
Ruiners Motorcycle Club
by Abriella Blake
Green lights and blinding strobes blared through the hazy MGM Grand stadium, illuminating the heads of almost 17,000 roaring spectators in an otherworldly glow. The smell of corn nuts and sweat hung in the air, and the rush of adrenaline was palpable.
Over the pounding bass of the loud speakers and the collective groans of anticipation, the announcer boomed: “Welcome to the Ultimate Fighting Championship 318! Tonight, six-time consecutive champion Guido Malone squares off against rookie of the year challenger Bronson Ramsey. We’re your hosts, Stan Cox and Oliver Woods.”
The music reached its crescendo.
“It’s truly been a meteoric, rags-to-riches rise for tonight’s challenger Ramsey, who exploded on the Mixed Martial Arts scene with the surprise knockout of two-time champion Raymond Osaka in his first bout this season. Since then, we’ve seen his control improve in each match but nothing can tame that merciless pace and crushing force he’s known for. They don’t call him ‘Avalanche’ for nothing. Ramsey’s a real throwback to the good old days of American prize fighting, when men were tough and fights were mean. Tonight, pared against Malone’s progressive blended style, the next evolutionary phase of MMA hangs in the balance. Here’s Ramsey fresh from fight camp, looking lean and mean.”
An entourage emerged from the contender’s alley. At first it was hard to see the main man’s figure from the bleachers, and heads turned to the big screens. Bronson Ramsey strutted down the lane, his head obscured in a black and green hoodie to shut out the flash of the cameras. He stood at least a head taller than his massive bodyguards.
A murmur of anticipation and interest swept the crowd as he rambled toward the octagon with a slow, deliberate stride. He tossed back his hood revealing a chiseled, classical face of swarthy features, a nose that had been broken at least once, and flinty black eyes. His expression was a steely poker mask of concentrated power, unsmiling, giving nothing away. Flanked by screaming adoration and din, he looked impervious to it all and merely nodded curtly at an invasive close-up before turning away, cracking his knuckles and muttering to himself.
The announcers rapidly covered his fighting history. “Ramsey’s rookie record is impressive with 8 wins by knockout, 2 by submission, and zero losses. He has been killing it all season.”
“That’s right, Ollie. This rookie has made waves by redefining the use of street fighting tactics in MMA. He’s been training hard to polish that raw dirty boxing that made him notorious by ramping up those Judo and wrestling studies.”
“Stan, it’s safe to say that it’s going to take more than the rock-hard steamrolling Ramsey typically favors to win him the title tonight, as our reigning champion is a famous escape artist when it comes to grappling. Still, Ramsey is a promising newcomer who has yet to reach his peak performance, there’s a lot of expectation riding into this career defining fight.”
As if on cue, Ramsey ripped off his hoodie, revealing an outstandingly chiseled, scarred and tattooed torso. It was easy to see that he was no stranger to violence. He submitted to a slather of Vaseline from the trainer and bared his teeth, showing his alien-green mouth guard. Receiving the clear, he climbed into the ring and squatted, still, a spider in its web. He could feel his heart pounding in his mouth. There was, indeed, a lot of expectation for him to upset the champ, a lot was riding on tonight's fight; pride, money...women.
Tonight’s battle would make or break him.
“They say he fights clean and lives hard, Stan, and we’ve seen that again and again as he’s grown up in cage fights right here in his native Las Vegas. You can see that he’s not intimidated by the octagon, unlike so many others who have challenged Malone. Ramsey is mentally free and confident. With that notable record of 10-0, perhaps this is only the beginning. Ladies and gentlemen, our challenger tonight, from Las Vegas, Nevada, it’s Bronson ‘Avalanche’ Ramsey!”
The sound of his name brought him to motion. With a shout he catapulted into the air, arms extended, riding on the rush of the crowd’s applause.
“And now our reigning champion.” The arena stilled, and Ramsey paced. “Guido Malone is a six time consecutive Ultimate Fighting Champion, holding the record for longest winning streak with the belt, and with an imposing 24 career wins, 10 of which are by knockout, 12 submission, 2 decision. A fifth degree Judo black belt holder known for his speed and flawless blend of such disciplines as Muay Thai and karate, it’s damn near impossible to find him opponents at the same level athletically.”
“That’s right Ollie. Malone is a truly disciplined martial
artist
who likes to stay on his feet. It’s all sprawl and brawl, all the way. This is a guy who took Muhammed Ali’s words to heart and literally floats like a butterfly and stings like a motherfucker. This is already an interesting match-up for UFC tonight even before the first bell, beauty and the beast if you will—a sly, sophisticated champion and a hard, hungry challenger. Ladies and Gentlemen, our reigning champion tonight from Brooklyn, New York, it’s Guido ‘The Stinger’ Malone!”
In an explosion of golden light and up-tempo rap, Malone strutted down the corridor from his locker with the poise and grace of a dancer, swinging his arms in air jabs, smiling and blowing kisses at fans. His tiny gold shorts emphasized his enormous thigh muscles. He screamed joyfully and hammed it up to the camera.
The ring girl appeared in the octagon, a vision of bare curves and carefully arranged strings. Malone turned to pinch her exposed buttocks as she walked by with the “Round 1” card.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Ultimate Fighting Championship is on the line. Your referee in charge is Bill McCade.”
A thunderous drum roll overwhelmed the stadium as the fighters left their corners to convene with the ref in the center of the octagon.
“I want fight, not fouls,” said Ref Bill. “And may the best man win.”
The fighters locked eyes while the announcer reiterated their credentials and their stats flashed across the big screens.
Malone: born New York, age 35, 6’2’’, 245lbs, reach of 37 inches.
Ramsey: born Las Vegas, age 28, 6’5’’, 230lbs, reach 38.5 inches.
There were other numbers, numbers only Bronson Ramsey knew; 2,608 miles from Las Vegas to Merida, Mexico, where a short boat trip could bring him to Isla Holbox, paradise; 3 mob enforcers who slept in shifts by his door; 2 gangs to pacify; $1 million owed.
Emcee Chuck Strange was introduced, the sponsors thanked.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” wailed Strange, “It’s TIME!”
The ringing bell set the fighters free. They circled slowly at first, fists hovering like antennae near their faces as they gauged each other’s size and speed.
“Ramsey definitely looks like he’s towering over Malone,” pointed out Ollie. “In reality it’s a height difference of only three inches, but God it looks like more. Malone is going to have to contend with that reach advantage, looks like he’s already having difficulty in finding a land pad for any blows, but he’s got his weight on his side.”
Malone didn’t need the narration to figure that one out. His tactic of artillery-like punches was proving ineffectual with Ramsey. Ramsey easily ducked each blow, and swatted Malone away like a pesky gnat with a swift teep kick to the chest. Before Malone could recalibrate his stance, Ramsey was at him with a roundhouse kick.
Malone deflected with his right arm, jabbing with his left, and found his footing. The only way he could figure a win would be to find an opening and strike a crippling blow.
“An interesting beginning tonight, ladies and gentlemen! Nobody can land a punch so far, and we’re two minutes in.”
For a split second Ramsey’s guarding arm swung too far down and Malone seized the opportunity, reaming Ramsey’s chin with a clenched fist. The challenger stumbled backward, his dizziness peppered by spectators’ screams and jabs from Malone.
“Solid hit by Malone! He’s in like Flynn, no recovery time for Ramsey tonight—but wait! Ramsey returns with a withering counter-punch leveled at Malone’s stomach that sends him on his heels. ”
Thinking fast, Malone snatched Ramsey’s incoming hook as he dodged back, locking him into a clutch. From here, it was just a few maneuvers until the reigning champ could manipulate the rookie into submission. So much for the challenger!
The big screen zoomed in for a shot of Malone making faces and clowning at his opponent, winning laughter from the crowd and anger from the contender. It was Malone’s first and last mistake; disrespect.
Nothing irritated Bronson Ramsey faster or harder than a douche bag.
Ramsey’s jaw tightened with the click of anger in his head. Sweat streamed down his back as with jet engine speed he drove his arms to the side. Malone was startled by Ramsey’s vigor and teetered, giving Ramsey just the window he needed to duck under. His massive, rippling shoulders slammed into Malone’s waist with the velocity of a comet, knocking the wind out of the reigning champion and freeing Ramsey’s left hand. With it, he pummeled his opponent’s side four times in a single second before wrapping his arm under Malone’s thigh and chucking him, impossibly, across the ring.
“Inconceivable! In a turn of speed that blindsided the fastest MMA fighter in history, Ramsey has executed a breathtaking one-arm toss and snatched the upper hand. He’s going in for a hold. Malone better rally fast, or he’ll get buried by the Avalanche.”
Ramsey was on top of his dazed rival now, shrimping his left leg over Malone’s chest while the right viciously kicked out Malone’s feeble attempt at a butterfly guard. In spite of his superior weight, Malone couldn’t free any limb and found himself crucified to the floor.
A dark smile flashed across Ramsey’s face, promising pain. He leaned in to whisper, “What'll it be, champ?”
Malone was totally prone but raised his head enough to spit in Ramsey’s eye.
“Bad choice.” Ramsey answered the insult with injury, slamming both his fists into Malone’s chin in an uppercut so fast Malone had no time to react. Like lightning Ramsey brought down the sickening thud of his knuckles into Malone’s jaw, allowing himself the pleasure of pummeling again and again.
“Ramsey has landed a haymaker! Lookout folks, it’s the Avalanche.”
“Stan, Ramsey gets his nickname from the landslide of blows he likes to bury his opponents within his own signature brand of the ground and pound style. We’re getting a prime example here. Malone’s not gonna bounce back from this one fast.”
Blood and teeth and fists flashed, and it was all that the ref and cornermen could do to haul Ramsey away from the insensible Malone. As the round bell tolled, the former champion’s eyes rolled back into focus and he groaned in agony.
“We have a knock-out! We have a champion,” cried Chuck Strange, carrying his mic into the center with all the pomp of a peacock. “Precedent is shattered; this is the first MMA championship to be settled by knock-out in the first round! Ladies and Gentleman, your barrier-breaking new Ultimate Fighting Champion is Bronson ‘Avalanche’ Ramsey!”
Under the bright lights of victory, Ramsey’s adrenaline revved up a notch higher. Holding his bloodied fists high, he let a cold smile flash across his face and climbed the wiring of the octagon. Goading the crowd, he wiped the blood across his chest, flipped off the cameras and laughed. He won! The audience couldn’t get enough and screamed encouragement. Ramsey back-flipped off the cage and jumped back to the emcee to accept his prize.
Chuck Strange and the Ref McCade stood in the center of the octagon, holding between them the championship prize: a giant leather belt covered in gold. Strange raised the mic to his lips as the ref offered Ramsey his award. “The belt is yours.”
The gold was heavy and cold to the touch, and Ramsey felt a catch in his throat as he ran his fingers over it. His. The championship was his. He thrust the belt overhead with a scream of triumph. Squeezing his eyes shut, he could almost imagine the Mexican sun on his bare skin. He opened his eyes, took a deep breath.
One step closer to freedom, Ramsey...
Strange had to do his job. “You’ve set records tonight, Ramsey,” he said, “And left countless fighters in your dust with your rapid ascension to the ultimate MMA throne. This is a stunning upset, and may I say, executed with panache. You’re the new reigning UFC champion. How does it feel? What is going through your mind right now?”
Ramsey’s smile went from cold to hot. “I’ll tell you the truth, Chuck. All that’s on my mind right now is a hot bath and a rare steak.” He paused for the laughs. “Seriously, though, I am honored to be here, honored to receive this respect. I live by a law; respect and you will earn respect. I believe that with all my guts, and so I must say thank you. Thank you to my family, the Ruiners Motorcycle Club. Thank you to my sponsors Cosmo and Joey Auditore, to the UFC board, thank you.”
Bronson didn’t hear what Strange said next. He only saw a blur of faces and flashes through the buzz of victory as his bodyguards walked him back to his private locker room. Just inside the first door, two polished men in three-piece suits were waiting for him. Ramsey grimaced and showed his bloody paws when the taller of the two reached out for a handshake.
