"You got this, baby. Come on." I mumble nervously under my breath, hands folded together and resting under my chin in silent prayer, as Jaxon and Ridge face-off for round two.
I'm not sure what Jaxon's initial plan was for the match but based on the slightly shaken and wary expression on his face and dad's anxiousness, I'm guessing they're going with an improvised plan. Ridge definitely kicked off the match with his offence, jumping into round one with confident punches, but Jaxon was able to hold his own. I guess Ridge's skills were underestimated when he came out even fiercer than he was when the match began and he landed some serious damage on Jaxon. I had to close my eyes on a wince as I watched dad pop Jaxon's nose back in place on the huge jumbotron. The talk that followed looked heated enough that it didn't take much to guess the match was not working in Jaxon's favour and he'd have to change his plays. I don't think Jaxon has ever had to go with a plan B before and right now I'm thinking I'm just as nervous as he is to see how well this works out.
Sanders strikes first, again, and goes in with a left jab to Jaxon's cheek. Jaxon ducks low, but still above the belt line, putting him in perfect line with Sanders' gut, where he lands a satisfying power punch that causes Sanders to hunch over. Jaxon rises from his crouched position and knocks Sanders' chin back with a right hook that sends him stumbling back. A swift kick behind the knee and Sanders goes down before the audience has a chance to blink. The crowd jumps to their feet, coming alive from the change of direction, and I'm amongst them as I clap wildly and jump and down.
"Yes, yes, yes! Fuck yes!" I pump my fist animatedly, ignoring the horrified looks I get from my seat mates. Jaxon skirts his eyes over to me and while I doubt he can hear what I'm saying, he presses his lips together as if holding back a laugh.
The amusement is short-lived when Sanders' jumps back to his feet and is delivering another punch before he's even straightened himself up. Jaxon ducks and barely misses the blow but is able to twist out of the way. I plop back in my seat and grip the edges, nerves consuming me all over again. My fingers lose feeling in them when I tighten my hold on the chair as I watch Sanders suddenly strike a hook behind him and successfully have it land on Jaxon's cheek. How in the hell did he get so good? The crowd absolutely loses it as they all jump out of their chairs and cheer wildly.
"What a fucking hit!" The commentator booms and I know his excitement is uncontainable because he didn't even bother sensoring himself. "Have you ever seen such a flawless execution of a backwards blow?"
I don't know what shocks me more; the move Sanders just pulled or his lack of a reaction to all his fans. Suddenly I'm more than worried about how this match will end because I thought for sure Sanders' ego would be his downfall. Little did I know he's completely in it to win it and his ego is nowhere to be found. I can see Jaxon's demeanour slipping up and my stomach tightens in a ball of dread.
"Stay calm, baby. You can do it. You can do it." I repeat it like a mantra under my breath and hope like hell we have yet to see the best of him.
Jaxon and Sanders lock eyes and the sheer focus of their gaze quiets down the arena. We can all feel the intensity they're feeling and the crowd practically buzzes with anxiousness. I glance over at my dad, who's staring so intently at Jaxon I'm convinced he's trying to telepathically speak to him. My eyes make their way to where the rest of the crew is gathered, looking equally anxious as the rest of us. Cameron meets my eyes and gives me what's probably meant to be a reassuring smile but he's biting on his nails so hard I'm surprised he doesn't draw blood. God, is it really only round two? This has to be the most intense match I've ever witnessed.
Jaxon rolls his shoulders back and the camera zoomed in on him displays the wince he gives on the jumbotron. I can tell he's in pain and his bruises are only darkening by the minute. The crowd seems to hold their breath in unison when Jaxon surprises us by finally striking first. His swift punch lands on Sanders' rib in a speed I don't think any of us could have seen coming. He's barely pulled his arm away before his other fist is travelling towards the side of Sanders' head, hitting hard enough that the snap of his head to the side causes the audience to flinch. And then he's pummelling Sanders, fists flying and gutting Sanders in his stomach punch after punch after punch. Sanders goes down and Jaxon follows suit, landing on top of him, continuing his assault on Sanders' face. Sanders brings his arms up to block the punches but it's no use, not with the ferocity on Jaxon's face as he delivers constant jabs. Sanders manages a punch just under Jaxon's chin and it gives him a moment to roll out from under Jaxon's assault. He doesn't get very far before Jaxon pounces on him again, nowhere near deterred.
"Holy shit!" I start slapping the arm of the guy next to me in excitement. He shoots me a dirty look and I give him an apologetic smile, clapping and squealing like a total fangirl.
The ref pulls Jaxon off of Sanders and they both stand up and stumble away from another. The camera pans between their faces dramatically, zooming in on how they're breathing heavily. It seems the whole arena is on the edge of their seat when Sanders delivers yet another punch. Jesus, this guy has stamina. But then I just about fall on my ass because Jaxon catches his fist mid-blow and pulls Sanders forward, lifting up his knee and burying it in Sanders gut. A collective gasp sounds around the arena when Sanders coughs out and splatters blood onto the canvas.
"Christ." The announcer mutters. "Who else felt that? I'm practically clutching my own stomach."
"Holy shit." The man next to me whispers, this time slapping my arm. I don't object because I get it. I totally get it.
"That's my boyfriend." I lean over and say to him in pride.
"Holy shit." He repeats with wide eyes.
I nod, because holy shit is right.
Sanders inhales so roughly his breaths look like a wheeze and while he's hunched over, Jaxon raises his elbow above Sanders' neck and brings it down just shy of a 12-6. And then the crowd is screaming all over again because the bell trills and alerts the end of the round and there's no question that Jaxon took this one home.
"Let's get a replay on the finishing move." The announcer calls to the tech guys handling the cameras.
Jaxon and Sanders make their way to their corners and look up at the jumbotron with the rest of the crowd. The camera shows a slow motion replay of Jaxon's elbow strike, a red arrow making a line that imitates the direction of the hit. It's a close call but it doesn't look like a 12-6.
"Foul!"
"That's a foul!"
"Fuck that!"
A good portion of the crowd erupts in protests at the move, several "boo's" ringing out angrily.
"That's a fucking foul! Eliminate that shit!" A man at the end of our row yells out.
"Hey, shut the fuck up. That was clearly legal. Are you blind?" The man besides me calls back to him.
And then the entire arena seems to be arguing back and forth, angry shouts and insults hurtling towards one another. The announcers try to shush the crowd down but it's no use. Everyone has caught on to the buzz and pretty much the entire crowd becomes invested in heated arguments. I look over to where the judges are fiercely involved in their own argument, gesturing dramatically at the playback on the jumbotron and pointing to their scoreboards in front of them. My ears are starting to hurt from the loud atmosphere. Unable to contain my nerves, I jump up from my seat and run over the where the boys are gathered at Jaxon's corner of the cage. Jaxon and dad are discussing something in low voices and I watch up at them anxiously from down below the ring.
"That wasn't a foul." I grab Cameron's arm in worry.
"No, it wasn't." He shakes his head, looking serious as ever. "Let's see what the judges say. This is out of our hands."
I turn to the boys who are all watching the judges table silently. I bite my lip and send out a silent prayer that they won't call it a foul and eliminate Jaxon from the match. My heart pounds in my chest as more nerves overtake me. Feeling Jaxon's eyes on me, I look up and meet his gaze. He seems cool and composed but I know better so I nod at him reassuringly. He nods back, the nerves on his expression finally giving way, before he swallows and looks over to the judges table with the rest of us. The judge sitting in the middle sits up and taps the microphone repeatedly, causing feedback to break out. I wince and cover my ears at the screeching noise of it. It does the trick though and the crowd quiets down. I clutch Cameron's hand so hard I'm surprised I don't break bone but I don't think he has it in him to notice that right now. Please don't be the end, I think silently. Please don't be the end for him.
The stern looking judge looks down at his paper, eyes scanning the words hurriedly, before looking back up. He exhales deeply and my stomach plummets. Shit. The urge to throw up is barely containable and I cover my mouth quickly. Shit, shit, shit. The judge looks over to his peers on his left and right, and both other judges nod silently at him. The decision has been made. He leans forward and speaks into the mic. We all hold our breaths disbelievingly at his words.
"Not a foul."
I erupt in a wild scream but it's easily drowned out by the thousands of spectators now exhaling their own cheers in victory. I fling my arms around Cameron who catches me, laughing like mad the entire time. The guys are whooping and rattling the cage and shouting nothings at Jaxon with wide smiles. My eyes fly up to him where he clutches his head in his hands, head shaking almost disbelievingly. The jumbotron shows the stoic faces of Sanders and his coach and they're quick to start discussing something when they realize they're being filmed.
"Oh my, God." I breathe out. My hands are trembling from nerves and I'm still reeling. "It's okay. It's going to be okay. He can win this."
"He will win this, sweetheart." Cameron grasps my face with conviction and I nod. He's right.
Dad grips the back of Jaxon's neck and shakes it. I don't think I've ever seen him smile that big. He looks over to me, probably feeling my gaze, and I give him a cheeky thumbs up. His laughs causes Jaxon to lift his head and follow my dad's gaze until he locks eyes with me. My stomach tumbles at the residual intensity in his gaze, the overdrive of his emotions making his eyes appear more green than I've ever seen them. What I wouldn't give to jump into his arms right now but with the crowd watching on I manage a smile that I hope conveys my pride. He gives me his own smile in return, the kind that makes his dimple appear, and it gives me goosebumps. My entire being seems to be lit up by my love for him in this moment and I know there's no way anyone looking at us can't see it. That includes my dad, who I hesitantly look towards, and almost groan at the way his lips are thinned. We're gonna have some explaining on our hands after this match.
The ref starts walking towards the centre of the ring and the audience quickly sits back in their seats as round three nears. I wave a quick bye to the boys, avoiding both Jaxon and my dad's eyes, and hurry back to my seat. I sit down and share an excited look with the man next to me, the both of us squealing. Any other time I would have laughed but I'm too relived to care about the obscenity of my newfound friendship.
Dad ducks out of the ring just as the ref blows the whistle and the overhead bell rings three times. Round three is on and the crowd erupts. Jaxon and Sanders knock fists and take a few steps back, legs spread and fists ready. Sanders doesn't look particularly confident this time around and the asshole in me cackles a bit. Jaxon remains passive as ever but his maturity doesn't faze me. I want my man to kick ass and I'll laugh like the little shit I am when he succeeds.
Jaxon makes his move first, left arm shooting out towards Sanders' right. Sanders moves out of the way but a right jab is waiting for him when he attempts a dodge. Jaxon moves so fast it's nearly impossible to detect his faux pass. Before Sanders can dodge a second time, Jaxon delivers a harsh punch into Sanders' left rib. Jaxon's fist curls upward with a force that causes Sanders to scream and duck away from. He clutches his ribcage as he staggers back, breathing roughly through bared teeth. Jaxon shakes out his fist a little and there's no doubt the force of his punch did some serious damage to both of them.
"I've seen enough matches to recognize Sanders is most likely sporting a broken rib right now." The announcer's words spurs the cameraman to zoom in on Sanders' now bruising rib, the flesh a bright purple and blue and the skin sunken in a little. I wince in sympathy. I'm pretty sure a punch that hard could kill me.
Sanders' mouth curls from one edge and he shakes his head at Jaxon. He looks pissed as fuck but I'm surprised at how he's maintained his cool. He's a completely different fighter than what he was from their first match.
"Admittedly I was doubtful about Cage's fighting abilities after all the rumours but seeing him now, it's becoming hard to believe their first match was rigged."
"Thank you." I mumble sarcastically at the announcer's words. Took them long enough.
Eyes going back towards the fight, I'm just in time to see how Jaxon strikes out again with a left hook. Sanders ducks and surprises us all when he charges forward, head butting into Jaxon's stomach and driving him back until his back slams against the cage. Jaxon's arms seem to shoot out and grab the holes in the fences on instinct to balance himself and Sanders uses that opportunity to begin one hell of an offence. His punches come in fast thrusts, one after the other, propelling into Jaxon's stomach and ribs. Jaxon knees Sanders back but Sanders locks one arm around Jaxon's neck and uses the other to continue his punches on Jaxon's ribs. A scream leaves Jaxon's mouth and I clutch the arm of the man next to me, the backs of my eyes stinging. This is what sucked about him fighting. Seeing him get hurt was something I'd never be able to bear. Jaxon tries to remove Sanders' arm but his grip must be strong as hell because it doesn't budge. His face has become so red I have to wonder if he's even breathing and my leg starts bouncing in worry.
"Get out of there, baby, get out." I slap my thigh, needing to hit something, and keep my eyes on Jaxon as he attempts to get out of Sanders' hold.
Finally, Jaxon reaches behind him and locks his arms around the back of Sanders' knees, lifting him up on to his back. He runs a few steps back before throwing himself back so that they both land on the canvas. With Sanders crushed underneath Jaxon, he's quick to sit up and lock his knees around Sanders to hold him in place as he delivers an angry blow to his face. It lands right on his nose and blood spurts out as Sanders screams. He pushes his hand under Jaxon's chin and when that doesn't make Jaxon let up, he goes for a right hook. It does the trick and Jaxon rolls off of him and on to his knees, spitting out blood from the side of his mouth, and Sanders attacks him from behind. They both go down again with Sanders on top this time, his right hook landing on Jaxon's eye. Jaxon clutches his eye with his hand reflexively and grits his teeth. He uses his free hand to throw a left jab that lands on the jugular of Sanders' throat. His hands fly to cover the spot protectively when he coughs out and Jaxon uses the moment of vulnerability to throw another punch at Sanders jaw. Sanders throws a blind punch back and it catches Jaxon on the cheekbone, the skin breaking to reveal a slight gash.
They both roll away when the ref blows the whistle and the bell rings three times. Both are on their hands and knees, heads ducked and backs rising up and down with heavy breaths. The match is sucking the life out of them and it's only the end of round three. I sag back against my seat as my nerves momentarily calm and my heart rate returns to normal. I feel exhausted just watching the match and wonder how much more anxiety I can possibly handle watching these guys fight. Jaxon and Sanders knock fists before they make their way to their respective corners and the mutual respect brings a smile to my face. At least the match is civilized.
I gather my open hair in both hands and tie it up into a ponytail, fanning my now exposed neck. I think I actually broke out a sweat. Feeling someone watching me, I catch Jaxon running his eyes over me lazily and my body heats up under his scrutinization. I press my lips together to suppress a smile and shake my head in exasperation. He's battered up, caked in dried blood and covered in bruising, including a swollen eye, but is somehow unable to get his mind out of the gutter. Thinking that the both of us could use a break, I take my purse and stand up.
"I'm gonna run to the bathroom and maybe grab something to eat. Would you like anything?" I ask my seat mate. The man shakes his head politely and thanks me.
I sling my purse over my shoulder and walk out of the stadium, following the hall that leads to the exit.
"Em!" I hear called out behind me. I turn to see Cameron jogging my way and stop walking.
"Hey." I smile when he's caught up.
"Where you off to? You realize you can't just up and leave when your boyfriend is the biggest overprotective alpha."
"Oh, God." I roll my eyes. "I'm just going to the bathroom."
"I figured as much but have very serious instructions to come with you."
"Cameron, that's ridiculous. Go back to Jaxon and help him prep for the next round."
"Your boyfriend will kill me."
"And I'll kill my boyfriend if he actually sends you to act as my shadow."
"Don't do this." He groans. "Just go with it, please."
"No." I say sternly and park my hands on my hips. "Go back and tell him I'm more than capable of using the bathroom on my own."
"Listen. Babe." He takes hold of my shoulders dramatically and my mouth twitches with reluctance. "You know that. I know that. But Jaxon? He doesn't know that. So please, for the sake of my future existence, let me accompany you."
"You are unbelievable." I shrug his hands off with a laugh.
"Come on, Em. Not like you have any other ideas."
"Hmm." I tilt my head in contemplation then snap my fingers when another solution comes to mind. "Give me the keys to his room."
"Okay?" He draws the word out like a question and pulls the key out of his pocket slowly. I take it from him and beam.
"Good. Now tell him I used the bathroom in his private room so there's nothing to worry about."
"Ohh." He nods, catching on. "So if anything happens it's on him." His hands go up in surrender and he runs off before I can get another word out.
I roll my eyes again and make my way to Jaxon's room. The hulking security guy there looks at me in question. I show him the key and an ID and explain I'm Greg Resnick's daughter in answer. He gets a sort of awestruck look in his eyes and starts rambling about how he's a major fan and how he'd sell his left nut to be related to the Greg Resnick. I just nod my head politely and act like that isn't the most disturbing thing I've ever heard. He finally lets me through when I point out how round four is about to start and he apologizes over and over, letting me pass. I use the key to open the door and throw my purse on the couch once I'm inside. I open the bathroom and take a few sacred seconds to gawk at the size of it. You could fit two of my apartments into this bathroom alone. Suffice to say, my experience using the bathroom was oddly cherished.
Grabbing my purse, I start to head out when it vibrates against my side. I pull out my phone from inside and unlock it to read the text I got.
Unknown: This match won't be the only thing he loses tonight.
"Oh, God." I breathe out against my hand where it's covering my mouth, dropping onto the couch in a daze. Not this again. And right in the middle of Jaxon's match too, where I can't tell him or anyone else about this for fear of distracting him.
"Damn it!" I throw my phone angrily on the floor and swipe the lone tear that escaped. I was sick of being violated like this and by some skank bag that couldn't take a fucking hint if it bitch-smacked her.
Beyond impatient, I bend down to retrieve my phone and stalk out of the room with furious steps. The security guard outside of Jaxon's room eyes me warily as I pass him but I ignore it. I need some air. My eyes detect the back exit and I practically run the last few steps to the door before throwing the door open and stumbling into the cool January night. I suck in lungfulls of air, hands on my knees, and head ducked. This was so, so stupid. Why couldn't I just love someone without being threatened about it?
It doesn't take long before I'm silently crying, arms tucked around my waist to shield from myself from the cold. The winter air whips my hair against my face so I duck my chin into my neck protectively. I allow myself a few moments of weakness, exhausted from running left and right just to peacefully be with the one I love, before sniffling away the last of my tears and putting my game face back on. The noises of the crowd cheering and screaming drift to my ears and alerts me that round four has probably started. I tuck my phone into my bra and rub my frozen hands together to gain some feeling back into them.
And then I'm on the ground.
What the hell am I doing on the ground?
Somehow my hands and knees are on the cement, the residual ice from the previous night's snowfall cutting into my skin until there's blood on my palms. How did that happen?
It only takes a second after that to register the burning pain at the back of my head. I reach up and gingerly touch the sore spot, wincing when I feel wetness coat my fingers. I bring my hand back to my face and the blood covering my fingers shock me. And then that same pain flares on my side and the force of it causes me to roll over and land on my back. It hurts like a motherfucker and the blow to my back is hard enough that no sound leaves my mouth when I open it to scream.
I can't breathe. I'm trying to breathe. What's happening?
Something just kicked me. Somebody is doing this to me. My eyes dart around but it's too dark to see anything and my head feels like it weighs a ton so I can't move it. I stare up at the sky as I lay on my back and will my body to move. I feel immobilized. Suddenly, a gloved hand covers my mouth at the same time another gloved hand wraps tightly around my neck. Too tightly. I scream and struggle against whoever's pinning me down but with the pain in my body and how fast I'm losing oxygen, my adrenaline isn't strong enough. I use my free hands to strike out a fist blindly above me and register my knuckle hitting what feels like an eye. A grunt meets my ears so I try again but this time the perpetrator catches my wrist before I can inflict any more damage.
"You bitch." The voice hisses.
I know that voice. I recognize it. But I can't fucking place it because I'm barely conscious. Whoever it is, they're still choking me and it's taking my entire being to attempt to take in a breath. From my peripheral I see the bottom of a shoe hover above my face. My eyes widen and I thrash my body wildly, crying and trying to scream against the hand covering my mouth, silently begging mercy. The foot comes down hard on my face and the pain is unreal, causing tingles to break out on my face and what feels like a stream of blood running from a cut on my cheek. The foot lifts and comes back down, landing on the same place as before and it hurts so much more that the scream emitted from me can actually be heard.
"Shut the fuck up." The voice hisses again.
"Please." I cry against the hand.
I scream and kick my leg up wildly. My foot definitely meets something and then suddenly the person falls back from the force. I don't even give it a second thought before I'm pushing to my feet despite my body screeching in protest. I limp but run as fast as I can to the door and open my mouth to scream for help. Before I can make a sound, something hard hits the side of my head and I go down. My head lands on a piece of ice and the resulting pain darkens my visions. God, that hurt. My vision is dotted and I can't see. I can't breathe either and my hand reflexively flies to my throat, which is pulsing as if it's still being choked. I try screaming but it won't work. My voice isn't working. I can barely make out the dark figure looming above me and I manage the slightest shake of my head in protest, a task so difficult because I can't even so much as lift it, and the figure's foot digs into my wrist. I hear the crunch of bone before I feel it. I'm immobilized. Tears are running down my face but it's numb from the cold so it makes no difference.
My head is suddenly encased in a bag and I can't see anything. I throw my weight back in an attempt to get away but whoever is handling me is stronger than I am in this moment and drags my numb body away. My shirt lifts up as my back drags against the cement and the gravel digs into my flesh painfully. I grit my teeth in pain, still unable to make a sound. I think something happened to my voicebox. The sound of a car door sliding open meets my ears and then I'm hurtled into a warm space, landing on something carpeted. The car door slides again but this time it clicks in place. I'm in a car. I'm in somebody's car. I start kicking wildly, raw fear starting up my adrenaline once more, and hear a growl of protest.
"Stubborn bitch. You've cost me my patience."
It's the last thing I hear before something hard hits me right in the forehead with even more force than any previous hits.
And then everything goes black.
______________
A/N
DO I EVEN NEED TO SAY ANYTHING? DON'T KILL ME FOR THE CLIFFHANGER AND JUST KEEP READING.
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