I point to the screen when Curran the cop edges my way. “Is this, um, common?” I ask.
I really don’t have to ask seeing how wide his eyes are. “Nope. I’ve never seen so much shit go down in one night.” He hurries out the door when someone knocks, shutting it behind him.
“Bad juju,” Angus says. “That octagon is cursed or some shit.”
“Nice, Angus,” Wren says, rolling her eyes.
I start to pace, only to determine I’m better off sitting. But as soon as my butt touches the couch, Curran rushes back in and I’m back on my feet.
“Finn, it’s time,” he says. He turns my way. “If you’re going to watch, now’s the time to take your seats.”
Almost silently, and stoically, Finn’s brothers and the girls start piling toward the door, stopping only to hug Finn, murmur words of encouragement, and cross themselves as they step away! I know they mean well. I was raised Catholic, too, but this whole funeral vibe they have going on is doing little to soothe me.
I walk cautiously to Finn, trying to work up my courage to say something inspirational. But when he grips my hips and yanks me to him, all my words become jumbled beneath that stare I so adore.
“Hey,” he says, resting his forehead against mine. “How you doing?”
My arms tighten around him. “I’m scared,” I admit.
Like always, he grins. “You worry too much, you know that?”
His easy tone lifts my mood slightly, yet it does nothing to stop the tremble in my voice. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, or this face.”
He chuckles. “I’m not sure about my face, but I’ll be all right. I promise. Just promise you’ll be waiting for me when I’m done.”
“You know I will,” I assure him. “No matter what.”
Finn kisses me then. It’s not quick, nor is it innocent. It speaks of our time alone in bed, those moments when the world stops spinning with problems and angst and all that matters is our bare bodies merging as one. At first I was shy about his show of affection in front of his family. But as we grew closer it just seemed right, becoming something I expect and desire.
“I love you,” I whisper when he pulls away.
“Cool,” he tells me once more. But as he continues to hold my gaze and catches sight of my fear, his smile vanishes. He knows I’m terrified. “It’s going to be all right,” he tells me softly.
He means what he says. Yet as I leave his arms and walk out with his family, I can’t be sure it’s a promise he’ll be able to keep.
CHAPTER 18
Finn
MMA followers in general are loud, fanatical, and so full of energy you can feel it. Tonight is no different. Everyone is pumped and eager for more action and blood, their need for it luring me to the octagon like a predator to its prey.
I’m ready. I’m willing. I’ve got this.
The moment I yank my T-shirt on, I head for the door. I know Sol’s scared, and I hate that she is. But right now the best I can do to assure her is to step into the octagon and get the job done.
I don’t get far.
Kill steps in front of me, blocking my way. His expression is hard, bordering on pissed. “Look, Finn. I don’t believe the shit Angus says about tonight being cursed.”
“Good,” I tell him. “Cause I don’t either.”
He doesn’t move, and suddenly Curran is there, too. “What’s the problem?” I ask. Jesus, the adrenaline pumping through my bloodstream has me jumping in place. I need to move, not keep still and hear more of Angus’s superstitious bullshit.
Kill works his jaw. “I don’t want you to put on a show tonight.”
“What?” I ask, thinking he’s lost his mind.
Here’s the thing, MMA isn’t staged, it isn’t fixed, but the promoters like the drama. It stirs the crowd, gets fans talking, fills seats, and makes everyone more money. Men, they have to show what they’re made of, they have to show off their moves, bash skulls, and talk trash. The women, that’s a whole different level of drama. They get personal, vindictive, and nasty. But either way you slice it, you’re putting on a show.
“It could cost me the title match,” I point out.
Sumar Okafe just moved up from ninth to fourth for the lightweight title. When I win tonight, it will take me from seventh to the number one spot based on my opponent’s rank. Technically this puts me next in line for the belt. The problem is, Sumar has a big mouth and a bigger attitude.
Following his win last week, Sumar ran out into the audience and called out the champ, the champ’s woman, and his mother in front of a capacity crowd. Fans and fighters alike lost their shit all over social media, calling Sumar disrespectful, which the asshole is. But because of what he did―and because he stole the champ’s belt during the press conference that followed, fans of the champ are demanding he pummel his ass―which means they’ll pay big money to see it. If I don’t put on a big enough show, asshole or not, Sumar is going to get that title bout before I do.