Four rounds went by where they beat the bloody hell out of each other. One round Tate would dominate, the next Tommy would. Tommy succeeded in getting the other fighter into a clinch three times, landing damaging body shots. But Tate never wavered. It became clear why he was close to being a contender for the belt.
His opponent landed another left. Blood gushed down Tommy’s face into his eyes. He tried to wipe it from his face so he could see Tate, but it was useless. More blood just poured out. Tommy locked his arms around Tate’s waist and lifted him high in the air before crashing him against the mat. He’d just landed a jab that opened up a gash under Tate’s eye when the bell dinged, signaling the end of the round.
Breathing heavily, he made his way to the corner.
“You’re doing great out there, Tommy,” Mike said as one of the guys from the team pressed an ice-cold piece of metal against the gash to control the swelling. “One more round. Tate’s just as tired as you are right now. Take advantage of that.”
Mike slapped him on the shoulder then hurried over to Tate, most likely to tell him the exact same thing.
There’d be no special treatment for either of them.
The bell rang for the start of the fifth and last round.
Tommy jumped to his feet and met Tate in the middle of the ring, fist protecting his chin.
He was exhausted, arms heavy, face and body hurting to high hell. But he was satisfied to see fatigue in his opponent’s moves, too. The seasoned fighter was just as wrung out, just as beat up—and just as determined to finish this before the final bell rang.
A fighter never wanted a decision to go to the judges. Tommy wanted an outright win, which meant he had five more minutes either to knock Tate out or submit him.
He was pretty damn positive Tate was thinking the exact same thing.
They exploded toward each other.
Two minutes in, Tommy’s wound reopened in an exchange, as did Tate’s. Blood flowed down both their faces and over their chests as Tommy pushed the other fighter back against the ropes. He grabbed the back of Tate’s head and yanked it down as he raised his leg high. Knee connected with nose, and Tate’s body slumped to the ground.
Tommy went down to cover him, intending to deliver a few more punches to seal the knockout, as he would in any other fight, but saw that Tate was out cold, and backed off.
Mike hurried into the ring and bent over Tate. His eyes had opened and he was staring straight ahead in an unfocused sort of way. Tommy watched as the team crowded around Tate, remembering the time his team had done the same to him, when he’d lost his belt.
He knew exactly how Tate felt right now: the confusion, trying to make sense of the questions being yelled at him, trying to answer them back as he cleared his rattled head. When Mike and another fighter helped Tate to his feet, Tommy breathed a sigh of relief at the clear eyes that looked back at him.
Tate shook them off. Popping his guard out of his mouth, he stepped up to Tommy and hugged him.
When Tate leaned back, he said, “You’re going to fuck Ricky Moon up bad.”
At the mention of the man who had laid Tommy on the canvas and taken his title, he frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Giving a pained chuckle as he patted Tommy on the shoulder, Tate only shook his head. Mike joined them, pride and excitement in the huge grin on his face. “I think you just earned yourself a fight, son.”
What the hell was going on? “What do you mean?”
Mike jerked his head toward the back of the gym. Tommy looked over his shoulder and followed the direction of the nod. Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, legs spread apart, nary an emotion on his face, was Ethan Porter—the president of CMC.
All Tommy could do was stand and stare at the man. When he finally found his tongue, he asked, “Did you know he was going to be here?”
“Yeah, we had a meeting scheduled for this morning. I convinced him to stay and observe.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you thinking about him. I wanted him to see you.”
Tommy guessed he could understand that logic. If he’d known he was fighting in front of the man who’d banned him from the cage, his focus would’ve been shot to hell.
“Go get cleaned up and meet me in the office.”
Tommy went to the locker room and cringed at his reflection. His eyebrow was split open. Purple was already staining the skin under the eye, promising a pretty impressive shiner come tomorrow. A bruise was forming on his jaw. He looked as if he’d just come out of the cage. And even though the mesh wiring hadn’t been around him, he figured he had.
He’d just fought the most important fight of his career, and hadn’t even known it.
An assistant taped up his eye. After a quick shower, he yanked on his clothes and headed for the office.
Mike sat behind his desk and Ethan sat in a chair in front of it. Tommy took the other seat. The tension in the room was thick. And only got thicker as Ethan sat there staring at him without saying a word.
Mike cleared his throat. “So, Ethan has a proposition for you.”