Untamed: Bad Boy Fighter Romance (Fighting for Gisele #2) (8 page)

Gisele giggled. “Yes, I see what you mean.”

While waiting, Gisele cruised around looking at the posters on the wall, staying out of the way of the fighters who were still training. Abby followed her, reading some of the names on the posters. When Luke arrived, they both turned to look at him.

Luke was handsome in a white polo shirt with jeans. He had a beard, neatly trimmed, and his brown eyes were expressive. When he saw Gisele, he smiled. “Nice to see you…I heard the coach let Micah off for good behavior.”

Gisele glanced at Abby, who was staring at Luke. The man’s charisma was palpable, and her friend was clearly charmed. “Hello,” he said, and Gisele was sure she saw Abby blush.

“Luke this is my friend…Abby.”

When Luke took her hand, he gave her a winning smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I hear you’re a fighter,” Abby said, “and it seems…a gentleman, too.”

Luke grinned. “I used to be a fighter. These days it’s usually punching some guy that mouths off, but my days in the ring are over.” He crossed his arms, his biceps bulging. He may not be competing, but he hadn’t lost his fighter body.

“I’m Micah’s support crew now,” Luke said, “which suits me fine.”

“I love fighting,” Abby blurted out, then glanced away as if she’d shared too much.

Without missing a beat, Luke said, “I agree. You reminded me of a Sugar Ray Leonard quote:
Boxing is the ultimate challenge. There’s nothing that can compare to testing yourself the way you do every time you step in the ring.
”

Abby looked absolutely dreamy-eyed.

“And he was right,” Luke said. “There is no sport quite like it as a combination of discipline, artistry, and violence.”

It was clear that Luke won Abby over with that poetic statement, and she began chatting with him, asking questions about his fighting career. Gisele wandered over toward the locker room, waiting for Micah to come out.

When Micah emerged, Gisele opened her arms and he strode over and put one big arm around her waist, lifting her off the ground. He spun around, then put her down and leaned over to kiss her. The warmth of his lips against hers reminded Gisele of how much she’d missed him.

Micah spotted Luke. “I see he’s met Abby.”

Gisele saw Abby with her arm laced through Luke’s. It hadn’t taken long for them to warm up to each other. Luke started walking toward them. “Where to, Micah?”

“Drinks before dinner?”

“I’ll follow you,” Luke said, guiding Abby out of the gym.

Micah lead them down the Strip to a hotel entrance underneath a cross bridge. It had a small sign that said:
Mandarin Oriental
. They went into the lobby and took the elevator to the upper-level bar. Gisele had been there before. It was a great date spot, with dazzling city views and a low-key atmosphere, more relaxed than many of the nightclubs on the Strip.

The table was next to the window, and Gisele glanced out at Vegas stretched below. “This is the place to be at sunset,” she said.

Gisele and Abby each ordered a Berry Bellini, a decadent cocktail made with white peach puree, blackberries, and sparkling wine. Luke had bourbon on the rocks, and Micah a pale ale.

Leaning close, Gisele said, “Are you supposed to be drinking before a fight?”

Micah rolled his shoulder. “Beer isn’t drinking.” He wore a cotton shirt that fit snugly across the chest, with tight sleeves that hugged his biceps. Gisele ran her hand over his big shoulder and let it drift down his pecs, then rested her palm on his strong thigh. Her body responded to the feel of all that muscle.

Luke and Abby found a lot to talk about. Gisele heard her friend tell him about breaking into dancing and her dream to make it big. She even mentioned her family in the Midwest, and Luke chatted about growing up in Jersey.

Micah was content to drink with Gisele’s hand on his thigh. He leaned back and glanced at her throughout the conversation. She let him enjoy the relaxation and recover from a hard workout. It would have been a perfect evening, but one thing disturbed her.

Gisele thought about what she intended to tell Micah as soon as she had the opportunity, and it was unsettling. It would be easy enough to tell him that her father had set up a trust for her. But that would elicit questions. The problem was that Gisele didn’t have many answers.

Over the years, she had wondered why her father had gone to such lengths. After all, he would have expected to be released from jail. If there had been a reason he felt the need to arrange her future so far in advance, Gisele didn’t know what that was.

Until now, it had been easy to brush aside any misgivings. Unresolved mysteries didn’t matter. What had happened so long ago didn’t affect her anymore. Yet there remained the matter of the trust, and soon Gisele would find out exactly what was in it.

Micah looked over, and she gave him a nervous smile. “Anything wrong?”

Gisele shook her head. “I’m just thinking too much.”

Luke interrupted them. “So did Micah tell you about the big fight?” When his question was met with silence, he continued, “It’s only a couple of weeks away.”

Gisele looked over at Micah. “An underground fight?”

“Yep, should be challenging. It’s a Leo Chernov event.”

“I’ve heard that name,” Gisele said. “He runs a big operation, and rakes in profits to match. My brother has mentioned him—with admiration, I might add. Although I don’t know that I’d think much of the guy.”

“You don’t have to like him,” Luke said. “But it is a lucrative scene. We could come away with some significant cash.”

Gisele frowned. “Those fights are brutal. I’m not sure it’s worth the money.”

Micah didn’t react.

Luke put his arm around Abby. “You should come too. It will be safe.” He looked across at Gisele. “I hired Zeke again, so he will be with you…watch out for you.”

Gisele was about to discourage Abby, but couldn’t get her warning out quickly enough.

Abby beamed at Luke. “That will be fun. With that much notice, I’m sure I can get the night off.”

Micah put his arm around Gisele and nuzzled her temple. “It’s just a fight,” he said. “I’ll be ready.”

Gisele hoped so, since the stories she’d heard about Chernov fights were alarming tales of blood and gore. But she had no control over Micah; he did what he wanted. She prayed he’d survive it, and committed to attend that night, knowing that seeing her in the audience boosted his morale. It was a tiny edge, but if it would make the difference then Gisele would endure watching Micah battle it out.

Chapter 8

When the day of the fight arrived, Micah was keyed up. For the past couple of weeks, he’d been immersed in preparation. He ate, slept, and breathed boxing, keeping his focus on winning. The hardest part was not seeing Gisele.

Other than the one evening he’d spent with her, Micah lived in the gym. He had to forgo his tendency to violate the coach’s instructions, and follow some strict rules instead. The upcoming combat in the ring would take all the skill and strength he could muster.

Each night before he passed out from exhaustion, Micah called Gisele, just to hear her voice. Unless she was playing hostess at a poker game, she answered on the first ring. If she wasn’t able to answer, she called back and left a message. It helped to feel close to her, even if he couldn’t see her.

On the day of the event, Micah took a cab with Luke. The location was at a warehouse on the outskirts of the city, formerly a tow yard. The property was paved, and the perimeter secured with razor wire. Chernov’s men ran the show, and had guards to keep watch over things.

Although Micah had met Leo Chernov before, the boss didn’t attend all the matches. He had a crew to handle the boxers and the crowd, and funnel the money through the place. His crew’s beefy muscle and menacing scowls deterred any troublemakers.

It was June and the temperature was above a hundred degrees. That scorching day the asphalt was so hot, Micah saw the heat waves rippling over it. He got out of the cool car and stepped into the blistering heat.

When they entered, Luke headed off to attend to something. He’d already dealt with the money end of things, as that was handled in advance. Micah was glad to see that the place was air-conditioned. Ceiling fans blew from above, instantly cooling him off when he walked underneath them.

The space looked well used; this wasn’t the first Chernov event to occupy the room. The graffiti on the walls, plus the stench from sweaty bodies, smoke, and booze, was a giveaway. The crowd hadn’t arrived yet, but people milled about under the watchful eye of the Russian lieutenants, who were no doubt paid well to make sure there was no interference with the night’s profits. The seating was set up in rows around the ring.

Attendees expected brutal matches between ruthless opponents. Micah knew the faction of the Russian mob that organized the fights under Chernov’s direction wasn’t above rigging fights. Or they brought in their own fighters, brutes that were a solid bet, still the closest to a sure thing.

Part of Micah’s training had been serious education about his opponent. Harlan had commandeered video taken on some attendee’s phone of a Rudi Lopez fight. The boxer was known as the Iron Fist, and with good reason. If he got in a solid punch, the opponent felt it. He had an impressive record of knockouts.

That night Micah was scheduled to fight the Cuban, and he’d prepared for it. Movement in the ring expended energy, and Rudi was a pro at using that energy to gain advantage. In the film Micah had watched, the boxer’s pattern was to strike when his opponent moved toward him. The added force of his opponent’s forward momentum made the punch more powerful, capable of inflicting more damage.

Over the weeks of training, Micah had developed tactics designed to throw Rudi off, and to avoid being the man’s punching bag. The coach had customized Micah’s training to enable him to conquer this Cuban beast. Now he just had to pull it off.

Heading for the locker room, Micah nearly ran straight into Nadia Jelinek. She swerved to avoid him, then turned. “Micah Rinaldi.” She scrutinized him from head to toe, her attitude sexual at first, then disapproving.

“I hear you’re fighting Lopez tonight. Are you sure you aren’t out of your league?” Nadia said. “The last I heard, you were an amateur.”

The barb had no effect on Micah. He knew Nadia. She was Czech, not Russian. In fact, the Russians had cut in on
her
business. The woman was statuesque, with breasts men drooled over. She wore a tight-fitting top with shorts that left little to the imagination. Her cleavage was pushed up so high Micah thought it might spill out the top.

That was the idea. Nadia was an attractive woman, and it was her role to manage the betting. She drew customers with her exotic beauty and her razor-sharp mind. The Eastern European look was very potent with men, especially Americans. She had high cheekbones, a narrow nose, and full lips.

Micah wasn’t the least bit attracted to her. Nadia was a viper. She was all business, no matter how much grace she exhibited as she strutted around boxing venues. But he did admire her. On her own, she’d created a thriving business from the ground up. And when the money flowed like a fountain of wealth, the Russians had wanted in on the action.

And you didn’t say no to the Russian mob. It was just business. Nadia had a good thing going, because she was pretty and attracted customers. A while back, the mob had offered her their protection for a healthy share of her income. Micah suspected the protection was largely from their enforcers, but Nadia had struck a deal anyway. As a result, the Russians had assisted in expanding her business, so it hadn’t been such a bad arrangement.

“I suggest you go talk to Rudi. He might need a few words of encouragement,” Micah said.

Nadia narrowed her pale green eyes. “We’ll see about that. You’re as cocky as ever, Rinaldi.”

Micah moved past her and continued down the hallway. When he entered the locker room, it was busy and noisy. Fighters, coaches, and support crew were moving about, getting ready. Harlan was at the back wall with one foot up on a bench, studying his clipboard.

When Micah came over, the coach looked up. “Any issues getting in?”

“No…I just said hello to Nadia.”

The coach didn’t take the bait. “Yeah, I’m sure she’s a big fan.” He waved his clipboard toward a room. “Go get a massage. I want you loosened up for this.”

Wisely, separate spaces had been set up for the fighters. There was a lot of macho posturing, and it wouldn’t do to have fights break out in the back room. To avoid such incidents, it was best not to have the competitors face off until they got in the ring.

Micah walked through an open curtain, then the masseuse closed it behind him. He jumped up on the table, and the guy started working Micah’s shoulders. After the massage, the coach came in to wrap Micah’s hands and give him a pep talk.

“Kick some ass today,” Harlan said, and slapped him on the back.

A big part of winning was mental, so while Micah waited for his turn in the ring, he prepared. Boxing operated within a gray area, on the dark fringes of competitive sport. There was a sense of spectacle to it, and the crowd would roar over a punch that bloodied Micah’s face as much they would if his fist connected with his opponent’s jaw.

It was men fighting in the ring, possibly to the death. The nature of the underground circuit magnified the audience allure; the rawness of a brutal match provided a glimpse of truth. A fighter was either ready or he wasn’t, and that would be evident to all attendees.

Micah was confident in his skill and fighting ability. But he had respect for his opponent’s skill as well; it would be foolhardy not to. In those pre-fight moments, all doubt or uncertainty were swept away, so negative thoughts had no foothold in Micah’s mind. He felt like a champion, and that was exactly what he intended to be out in the ring.

Several bouts were scheduled before Micah’s. A few minutes before his match, he stood in the hall, looking from a vantage point where he could see out to the ring. The shouts of the crowd were deafening, and the lights blinding.

Luke came up behind him and stood looking out at the mayhem. “You ready for this?”

Micah nodded. His thirst for fighting took over, and like a horse behind the starting gate, he was impatient. He hopped from one foot to the other and swung his arms overhead, then side to side to stay limber. Two fighters staggered by, sweaty and breathing hard.

Then the music started up, booming through the speakers. The coach stood just outside the ring and flagged Micah to enter. He jogged along the walkway out into the main room. The crowd cheered, anxious for another bloodbath.

The coach opened the ropes and Micah got in the ring. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, making him feel like a lion after its prey. There was no fear, no pain, only the challenger who had to be taken down.

The announcer shouted, “In this corner, Micah
Thu-u-under Pu-u-unch
Rinaldi!” Fisting the air with his gloves, Micah jumped around the ring, showing off. Then he retreated to his corner, where his coach waited with Luke.

Micah looked into the crowd, spotting Gisele in the front row with Zeke on one side and Abby on the other. She stood up, wildly waving her arms to show support, and he grinned at her. Seeing her there meant a lot. He felt that he was fighting for her, and that was strong motivation.

All attention shifted to the other man who climbed into the ring. The Cuban was solidly built. His dark, curly hair was short. He had no tattoos, earrings, or other adornments to detract from his form. He was all honed muscle and confidence.

“And in this corner…Rudi
Iro-o-on Fi-i-ist
Lopez!”

The referee conferred with the two boxers in the center of the ring, reminding them of the rules. Underground fighting protocol followed the form of amateur boxing, even if the enforcement of violations was lacking. The bell sounded and the fight started.

Micah danced around his opponent, anticipating the first punch, which was delivered in rapid fashion. That strike let him know a lot about Rudi and how he fought. Now engaged, Micah went with his most powerful weapon, his instinct.

As blows were traded, Micah’s ability to adapt kicked in. He was patient, calculating, and looked his opponent in the eyes. For the first few rounds, neither fighter gained much advantage. After each break, Micah returned to the ring, fought smart, and moved with the flow.

Harlan doused him with water between rounds, while dabbing away any blood to make sure he wasn’t badly injured. Shouting some words of encouragement, the coach shoved him back into the ring.

Boxing and blood went hand in hand. Fighting was about mental toughness; it was a test of strength and will. Micah looked at his opponent’s body, deciding which part to target. He imagined breaking his ribs, or sweeping him off his feet to drop him on his head. Testosterone surged, and Micah went on autopilot, not thinking, just fighting.

At the next break, the crowd’s raucous yelling echoed in Micah’s ears, but he was only vaguely aware of it as he sagged on the stool in his corner. The coach muttered, “Shit,” and quickly stopped the bleeding by his eye. If it stung, Micah didn’t feel it. Pain was muted; only the heat of battle existed.

Again and again, Micah went into the ring. His opponent did his best to beat the crap out of him, but Micah fought back equally hard. Lopez came at him with a murderous look in his eye. Several times a foul should have been called, but wasn’t.

Lopez struck below the belt and kicked, yet the referee let it go. The Cuban had some heavy bets on him, and those that wanted him to win had the reins. It would get a lot worse before the referee would intercede.

And it did. Lopez got him in a headlock. An appropriately placed kick got the asshole off him, but Micah could have been in worse shape. Late in the rounds, the fighters threw everything they had into the fight, which turned into an all-out slugfest.

At the break, Micah could barely see where he was going. Blood and sweat dripped down his face and into his eyes. He guzzled water and swabbed his face with a towel while the coach patched him up as best he could.

Lopez was breathing hard, but looked strong. Back in the ring, Micah moved in various ways to cause reactions in his opponent. A strong punch was effective, but a sudden step or wave of the arm also had an effect. Micah used his talent to get a reaction and wear down the Cuban.

Even subtle movements had the desired effect, such as a slight tilt of the head, a quick pivot of the foot. Instead of wearing Lopez down, it pissed him off. Micah was like an annoying fly that he couldn’t swat, and his level of aggression soared.

Lopez punched and Micah countered. Then his opponent began to wrestle, grapple, and hold on to him excessively. Yet the ref didn’t call the foul. On break, Harlan shouted at the referee, “Call the foul, goddammit, you useless piece of shit.” Then he turned to Micah. “Don’t let Lopez get away with that crap. It’s time to knock him to the ground where he belongs.”

The bell rang, and the two men returned to the center of the ring. Then something went wrong. The ref retreated into the background, and the crowd stilled. Micah held his ground as Lopez came at him. When the Cuban attacked, Micah ducked punches to annoy him and tire him out.

Lopez went crazy, striking with elbows and even knocking Micah down with a head-butt. Continuing to defy the rules, his opponent kicked him when he was down. Finally, the ref broke it up and Micah got to his feet. The crowd’s shouts were a continuous roar in the background.

In the blink of an eye, Lopez punched hard, one iron fist plowing into Micah’s gut just before the other one landed on his jaw. Tossed against the ropes, Micah put up his gloves to defend against attack. Like a crazed animal, Lopez breathed fire and continued to pound.

Micah thought of Gisele, her horror at seeing his face pounded and bloodied. It ticked him off that some asshole hired by the Russians thought he could win by cheating, breaking every rule in the book.