I take a moment to pull myself together before going back inside. Just like every other time I give in to my Dad’s demands, I feel sick. Used. Dirty. But the little girl in me rejoices that I’ve managed to keep him around. It’s only money, right?
As long as I have something he needs, he’ll never walk away.
Twelve
Cameron
Things are coming together. For the first time since I took this position, the UFL doesn’t look like a sloppy mess. The guys aren’t killing each other, they’re fired up and training harder to get on the big-card fights, and I’m seeing a revival of UFL pride within the organization.
With the holiday weekend approaching and the party on Friday to kick it all off, I’m feeling damn good about the progress I’ve made.
I’m headed to the weight room for a workout before I go home when I see our intern, Killian. He’s a great kid, and from what I’ve seen, Blake and the guys are going to turn him into an exceptional fighter. At seventeen, Killian’s managed to pick up on some basic holds and submission techniques. Which is why seeing him on all fours, his hand braced on his belly, gets my attention.
“Killer, what’s up?” I move toward him, and he pushes up to his knees, his face red. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Nothin’, Mr. Kyle. Just some of the . . . new guys playin’ . . . around.” He’s sucking in air, but trying to act unaffected.
I admire that.
“Don’t lie to me, kid.” He’s obviously had his helping of ass kickings and cover ups throughout his life, but I won’t tolerate being lied to.
His shoulders drop along with his chin. I put out my hand to help him up, but he shakes off my offer and pushes to standing. He’s taking deeper breaths and looks me in the eyes. “Reece and his boys were just razzing me.”
“They put their hands on you?” Adrenaline rockets through my veins. This isn’t the first time I’ve had issues with that punk Reece. Razzing is one thing, but bullying and assault is another.
“No, sir.” He doesn’t meet my eyes.
“You lyin’?”
“No, sir.”
“Killer, I’ll give you one more chance to tell me the truth.”
“I . . . There were too many of them, or I think I could’ve taken ’em.” He’s practically whispering. “Pretty sure they were just messin’ with me.”
Fuck. I get what’s happening. This kid wants respect, he’s looking to be accepted into the fold for being a man, and that’ll never happen if he’s ratting out the punks to the boss.
“Who’re you training with?”
“Blake, sometimes Rex and Caleb.” He bends over and picks his glasses up off the ground. When he puts them on, one lens is shattered. “Damn, that sucks.” He takes them off and studies them with a fire brewing behind his eyes.
Killian’s the kind of kid who’ll end up being exceptional given he’s shown some direction, but he also has that quiet crazy look that given the wrong direction could land his ass in prison.
“I’ll pay for new lenses.” Or I’m taking it out of Reece’s paycheck, that little fuck. “If you’re interested in earning some cash, I’d be happy to upgrade you from intern to employee.” I see big things happening with Killer, and being an official employee of the UFL should earn him more respect from the guys.
His eyes grow wide, and the battle raging behind them fades. “I . . . I mean . . .” A broad smile spreads across his face. “Yeah, uh, yes. Sir, yes. Please.” He shakes my hand. “Thank you.”
“No problem. When summer break is over, we’ll move you back to part-time, but you’ll remain on the payroll. Who’re you training with?”
His eyebrows pinch together. “Um, Blake. You already asked me that, sir.”
Shit. I did? “Right, well, I’ll talk to the guys you’ve been training with about getting more sparring in, getting you ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Ready for whatever you decide to do after graduation.”
His entire face lights up, and that slump in his shoulders is gone. “Thank you, Mr. Kyle.”
I nod and move to continue toward the weight room.
“Are the rumors true?”
I stop and turn. “Rumors of what?”
“You being challenged to return to the octagon by Rusty Faulkner?”
I should’ve known having that conversation in the lobby would come back to screw me, but I’ve got nothing to hide. “It’s true.”
“They’re saying he’s wants to put you out of commission. Permanently.”
They? “Not sure who you’ve been talking to—”
“It’s all over the Internet. His camp, even Faulkner himself, they’re posting on all the MMA sites. Says all it’ll take is one hit.”
That media-hungry motherfucker. He’s pitting me against the public before I’ve even officially accepted his challenge.
“Faulkner’s a no-good piece of shit. He’ll say anything to get me riled.”