I nodded, trying to remember the few times I’d seen Brock fight. He’d been banned from the UFC for sucker punches and a rumor that he’d accosted the UFC president. It had been a while, but he was a notoriously dirty fighter and pulled blatantly illegal shit just out of sight of the ref. The key would be to not get in that position. If he locked his legs around me, it could go downhill pretty fast.
“You’re gonna play this safe, Trav. Let him attack first. Kind of the same way you fought the night you were trying to win your bet with Abby. You’re not fighting some varsity wrestling reject. This isn’t the Circle, and you’re not trying to create a show for the crowd.”
“The hell if I’m not.”
“You’ve gotta win, Travis. You’re fighting for Abby, don’t forget that.”
I nodded. Shepley was right. If I lost, Benny wouldn’t get his money, and Abby would still be in danger.
A tall, large man in a suit and greasy hair walked in. “You’re up. Your trainer can join you on the outside of the cage, but the girls . . . where’s the other girl?”
A lined formed between my eyebrows. “She’s coming.”
“. . . they have reserved seats on the end of the second row on your corner.”
Shepley turned back to America. “I’ll walk you there.” He looked to the suit. “Nobody touches her. I will fucking kill the first person that does.”
The suit offered a ghost of a smile. “Benny already said no distractions. We’ll have eyes on her at all times.”
Shepley nodded, and then held out his hand for America. She took it, and they quietly followed me through the door.
The announcers amplified voice echoed through huge speakers placed at each corner of the vast room. It looked like a small concert hall, easily seating a thousand people, and they were all on their feet, either cheering or eyeing me suspiciously as I walked out.
The gate to the cage opened, and I stepped inside.
Shepley watched the suit seat America, and once he was satisfied that she was okay, turned to me. “Remember: play it smart. Let him attack first, and the goal is to win for Abby.”
I nodded.
Seconds later, music blared from the speakers, and both the motion and volume from the stands exploded into a frenzy. Brock McMann emerged from a hallway as a spotlight in the rafters illuminated the severe expression on his face. He had an entourage that kept the spectators at bay while he bounced up and down to stay loose. I figured he’d probably been training for this fight for weeks if not months.
That was okay. I’d been beat up by my brothers my whole life. I’d had plenty of training.
I turned to check in with America. She shrugged, and I frowned. The biggest fight of my life was minutes away, and Abby wasn’t there. Just when I turned to watch Brock enter the cage, I heard Shepley’s voice.
“Travis! Travis! She’s here!”
I turned, desperately searching for Abby, to see her running down the steps at full speed. She stopped just short of the cage, slamming her hands into the chain-link to stop herself.
“I’m here! I’m here,” she breathed.
We kissed through the space between the fence, and she held my face in her hands with the few fingers she could fit through. “I love you.” She shook her head. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
I smiled. “Yeah, I do.”
“Let’s do this, Romeo. I don’t have all night,” Brock called from the other side.
I didn’t turn around, but Abby glanced over my shoulder. When she caught sight of Brock, her cheeks flushed with anger, and her expression turned cold. Less than a second later, her eyes returned to mine, warming again. She smiled an impish grin.
“Teach that asshole some manners.”
I winked at her and smiled. “Anything for you, baby.”
Brock met me in the center of the ring, toe to toe.
“Be smart!” Shepley yelled.
I leaned over to whisper in Brock’s ear. “I just want you to know I’m a big fan, even though you’re kind of a prick and a cheat. So don’t take it personally when you get KTFO’d tonight.”
Brock’s square jaws worked violently under the skin, and his eyes lit up—not with anger, but with stunned confusion.
“Be smart, Travis!” Shepley yelled again, seeing the look in my eyes.
The bell sounded, and I immediately attacked. Using every bit of force, I let the same fury free that I’d unleashed on Benny’s goons.
Brock stumbled backward, trying to position himself to guard or kick me, but I gave him no time, using both of my fists to run him into the ground.
It was an extraordinary release not to hold back. Relishing the pure adrenaline ripping through me, I forgot myself, and Brock dodged my blow, coming back with a right hook. His throws had a lot more bite than the amateurs I went up against at school—and it was fucking awesome. Fighting Brock brought back memories of some of the more serious disagreements I’d had with my brothers, when words escalated to an ass whipping.
I felt right at home trading punches with Brock; in that moment, my rage had a purpose and a place.