“Kloey!” I gasped, pushing off the wall as a figure appeared at the back door of the burger joint. “Get back in here and do your damn job!”
“Coming,” I shouted back, staying where I couldn’t be seen until he was gone. I had several hours left on my shift, and the odds were in my favor that Nixon would be there when I finished.
I grinned.
He was always there, so tonight wouldn’t be any different. Right?
Wrong.
I was so wrong.
I’d searched for him when I walked out of the locked-up burger joint, but he hadn’t been there.
Still though, I’d held onto hope that he was staying well hidden. So I started the walk to my apartment like usual.
Only...every time I turned back, there was no one there. Not a single noise, not a feeling...nothing.
He hadn’t come. He hadn’t slipped into the darkness and watched me like he had every other night.
I told myself the entire walk home that he’d turn up, but when I walked inside and kept the lights off so I could peek outside without anyone seeing, he still wasn’t there.
I knew it wasn’t normal for someone to want to be followed. But...it was different with him.
My body craved him to watch it, and my brain needed his attention.
“Fuck,” I spat, staring out of the window and not seeing a single soul on the darkened sidewalk. “Where are you?”
I didn’t look away, expecting him to appear any second, but he didn’t. He wasn’t here, and I had no idea where he could be. I’d only ever seen him coming out of the gym. And today was the first time I’d learned his name.
Dammit. What if I never saw him again?
I backed away from the window, my eyes widening. I had to see him again. There wasn’t a choice in the matter. And if he wasn’t going to come to me, then I was going to go to him.
I yanked my cell out of my pocket, then typed Nixon and the name of the gym into a search engine. Several links appeared, but it was the one with his face next to it that I clicked on.
Nixon Deacon may be dubbed the destroyer, but can he hold onto his newly won title?
Nixon Deacon destroyed his opponent in his first ever title match only three weeks ago, but today we had confirmation that he would be defending it in only two day’s time.
For MMA, this is a quick turnaround, but if anyone can do it, Nixon Deacon can.
I had the good fortune to talk to Nixon after he won his title match, and I can attest to the fact that only one bruise marked his face. He was in great condition, so it’s no surprise to me that he’s already defending his title.
But is it too soon?
On the outside he may have looked fine, but what about the inside? The body takes a beating when preparing for a fight; it’s not just about the hits for that night.
But Nixon’s statement released only an hour ago confirms the new match. I know I’ll be there, will you?
Landon Copeland
MMA Sports Co.
He was a fighter.
An MMA fighter.
It made sense now.
And I knew just the place to find him.
Chapter Thirteen
Nixon
The chanting started while I was in the locker room warming up. Normally I wouldn’t let it into my head, but today was different.
Coach wasn’t happy with my decision to fight, but it was me who had the last say. And I needed this. I needed a distraction. I needed something to occupy my time. I needed something to stop me going to Kloey.
Fuck. I was thinking about her again.
I’d gone too far; done things no sane person would do. Yet I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Tonight was meant to be a Kloey thought free zone, but even she pushed through the chanting from the main room.
“You okay, son?” Coach asked, bending down in front of me.
I didn’t meet his gaze as I ground out, “Why wouldn’t I be?” and stood. I was ready to defend my title. Ready to let out all of my stresses in a place where it was allowed.
I jumped up and down on the spot as I heard the announcer call out my opponent's name. I didn’t even remember what it was until they called out Jay “the machine” Meetan.
Pulling my hoodie over my head, I exited the locker room in my bare feet and sweats. It was a quick walk to the main room, and as I stood at the edge of the door waiting for my name to be announced, all my thoughts quietened.
I grinned, reminding myself I hadn’t put my gum shield in yet, so I did so. The last thing I wanted was to lose any teeth.
“And now, defending his title, Nixon “the destroyer” Deacon!”
Cheers roared out with a few boos thrown in there, but I didn’t look at a single person as I made my way to the cage. I was on a mission, one that no one could pull me away from.
I yanked my sweats down at the edge of the cage—leaving me in just a pair of skintight shorts—then handed them to Coach.
“You got this,” he said, giving me a nod.”
I didn’t reply as I took the steps to the cage two at a time. Then finally it locked behind me, leaving just me, the ref, and the man who I was about to take my frustrations out on.
The ref did his usual speech and then the bell was ringing, and we were off. Two minutes per round didn’t sound like a long time, but when you were trapped with a guy hitting on you, it felt like forever.
He got in several good punches, but so did I. The first round was always about testing who your opponent was. It didn’t matter how many tapes you’d watched; you
