Maverick didn’t get to fight Remy in Chicago. But he beat every single man put in his path.
We’re in Chicago now, and he’s shot up in rankings from 148th (where he started, with no record) to thirty-ninth (after his first five match nights) to seventh now. Everybody is talking about the way Cage “cages” his opponents against the ropes, then knocks them out with what they’re calling the Maverick Jab because of his long arms and incredible reach.
The question on everyone’s mind is if he has it in him to stay there and make semifinals and win against the experienced fighters he’ll be facing.
But the main question is if he has it in him to beat Riptide.
“I’m telling you, he does. You need to stop training with him,” Coach said that night after the fight.
“The more you tell him not to, the more he’s going to do it,” Pete advised Coach Lupe when Remy stayed mum.
“Why, Rem?” Coach demanded.
“Because he’s unstoppable, and I’m challenged to see if he’ll stop . . . or not. I’m hoping not.” He lifted his fist and looked at his bruised knuckles that reminded me exactly of Maverick’s bruised knuckles.
“So you help Scorpion leave a legacy rather than protect yours?”
“He’s less the son of that bastard than he thinks he is,” Remy answered. “All he has of his father is the scorpion on his back. Scorpion was never this good this early on. Hell, ever. And he was never this clean.”
“I still don’t agree with you mentoring him,” Lupe growled.
“You don’t have to agree, Coach.”
“FUCK, RIPTIDE, LISTEN TO ME! That kid IS POISON! He’s a SCORPION IN THE MAKING.”
“Coach.” Remy’s voice turned threatening.
Coach quieted down. And Remy just sent him a look that said to drop it.
“I like Cage. He’s got fire burning in that soul,” Riley said.
“Saying he was on fire in the ring tonight is an understatement,” Pete said.
Coach Lupe shook his head. “Talent like that, untamed, can go wrong in so many ways. Like it did with the father. One trigger, and it snaps, and he’ll be the worst nightmare you’ve ever encountered up there. Anyone has ever encountered up there,” Coach warned.
I was so sick of spying on the men to hear about the Underground that I headed over to Brooke’s bedroom, where she was lying on her stomach on the bed reviewing the flight schedule. “Brooke, is there somewhere online where I can watch the fights?”
She sat up and reached for the pad and pen on the hotel nightstand. “Oh, of course. Sometimes, not always, depending on the location. Here, I’ll list a few sites.” She tore off a page and scribbled down half a dozen web links. “Try those,” she said, handing over the page.
I headed to my room and did a search on my phone, trying to see if the latest match was being replayed. I found an image of Maverick’s broad, muscled back with his phoenix tattoo, and there were hundreds of comments on it. This guy fucking scares me but I can’t get enough of watching!
I kept scanning for the fight when he texted me. For the first time ever.
Hey Reese Where are you training tomorrow?
And let me just say that those elusive little butterflies, the ones I’d always overheard girls talk about but I had personally never met until Maverick, they have found a new home in me.
I can’t tame them when I think of him. Hear his name mentioned. They’ve become a part of every thought of him. Of remembering him in my room, of bending down to kiss the beak of his phoenix. Wanting more. So much more.
Trying unsuccessfully to tame them, I text him the gym I planned to be at, and he replied, I’ll look for you.
I spent all night watching the matches, wincing when he caught a few hits. Most of the time, I winced for the others.
Maverick is an intimidating force, slowly and surely overtaking the Underground.
? ? ?
NOW I’M STARING at the doors of the gym as I push myself hard on the stationary bicycle.
Chicago is windy, but Brooke tells me to enjoy it because Miami—our next stop—should be blistering. I’m blistering now in the crowded gym. I’ve grown addicted to exercise, the endorphins, the way my body reacts to the stimuli. Sweat beads on my forehead. My body’s hot and my muscles burn. I’ve never felt stronger. My muscles are getting so firm and lovely. Even breathing is easier now: my lungs becoming more efficient these past few weeks. Same goes for my heart. It takes more to agitate it, much more.
I keep pushing, breathing in and out, in and out, and then I breathe in and hold it and my heart definitely gets the kick it needs when Maverick “the Avenger” Cage steps inside.
The gym quiets.
Really, the more people hear about him, the more scared they become.
I’m scared of him too, but in a wholly different way.
I’m scared of the power he has. Not in his fists. But over me.