Chasing What’s Mine by Ava Gray
Dax
Iknow that people think what happened was bad, but I haven’t been this focused in weeks. Getting Gemma and Stash out of my system proved to be just the thing I needed to get back to being the prime fighter I always was. It’s two days after I fought him, after she walked out on me, and I’ve been hitting aces with my training.
Sure, the part about Gemma sucks and I want to call her pretty much all the time, but with the title fight around the corner, this bit of pain is worth it. Besides, there’s no way I can explain why I went to fight Stash that night. Or tell her what could be so important that I’d risk so much to do it. That would just drag her deeper into this thing when I’m supposed to be protecting her.
But when I got that text from him, telling me that either I fight him street style or he goes after Riley, there was no other option for me. He’d seen them together at the arena and knew that I’d failed to get them to break up the way he asked I should. The only thing I don’t get is how he could’ve forgotten about Ciara so easily. After all those threats he made, one fight with me and it was over. Or so it would seem, anyway. Still, I don’t want Gemma mixed up in any of it.
Miles comes into his office and sits behind his desk. “PR is on top of the reporter’s video. It’s harsh, but no news is bad news when you’re gearing up for a fight.”
He props his feet up, looking as happy as a clam. And why wouldn’t he be? He’s getting everything he wants from me and he doesn’t give a damn about collateral damage.
I lean back in my chair opposite him, drumming my fingers on my knees. “What do you want me to say out there?”
He’s arranged a press conference so that I can give a statement about what happened with Stash, and also address the whole debacle with the reporter in the gym. There are also rumors on Twitter about Gemma and me, but he hasn’t mentioned it, so I’m not going to go there.
“Talk about how great your training’s going, how you’ve never felt fitter in your life. Crush Menendez all you want, and then end by announcing your next challenge. Easy as pie.”
My next challenge. It was PR’s idea to have me do another fight to redeem myself in the eyes of the fans and the press alike. I’m not crazy about it, but I’m also not in any kind of position to upset management.
“Does it have to be Oggy again?” I ask.
“What do you mean, again?” He scrunches up his face. “You never fought him the first time. This time you’re going to give the people what they paid to see and didn’t get it. Which is why it’s going to be free. Got it?”
I nod.
“Good,” he says, getting up. “Now let’s get out there and do this thing.”
I rise slowly from my seat to follow, but before Miles opens the door to his office, he turns and puts his arm over my shoulder.
“We’re making this the turning point. Play it up, okay?”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
He slaps my back, and then pauses again. “Hey, where’s your, uh—” He motions at his chest, and I know immediately what he’s referring to.
I haven’t seen my necklace in days. I’ve turned my penthouse upside down looking for it, I’ve asked everyone at the gym if they saw it lying around here. Nothing. The last time I remember even thinking about it is the night Gemma and I were talking in my bathroom after the last fight with Oggy. But I can’t be thinking about that night too much, and I can’t exactly call her up to ask her if she has it.
“Oh, it’s at home.” He frowns at me, obviously knowing that it’s the one thing I never take off unless I’m in the cage. “It broke,” I say then, hoping that’ll be enough to get us out of here and in front of other people’s burning questions.
It works, and Miles wrenches open his door, leading me to take a seat in front of about a dozen reporters who’ve been gathered in the gym.
Right off the bat, questions about my past start flying at me. They want to go over the reason I got put away, how I got into illegal street fighting as a kid—all the stuff I already shared with the press when I first turned pro. Miles keeps trying to steer the interview back to things like nutrition and my training, but they’re not having it.
I’m biting down on the inside of my cheek to keep my anger in check and respond to their questions in a polite way. But when they start down the road of Gemma and me, things get a little hairy. The last thing I want is for them to start hounding her, infringing on her life the way they do with mine. She doesn’t deserve that. So, I do my best to kill whatever rumors are out there, and after a few dead responses, they finally give up.
“So, you think you’re ready for Menendez?” a lanky looking reporter asks.
Finally, we’re on the track we set out for.
“I was ready for him three months ago when I made the challenge,” I say.
A murmur of hushed voices starts up, and a few flashes pop in my face. I know I’ve got them eating out of my hand now.
“What about his take on your mixed style of fighting?” another one asks.
I shrug. “What about it?”
A rumble of laughter ripples through the small group, and the guy tries again. “Do you have anything to say in defence of your personal style?”
“It doesn’t need defending. The way I fight will speak for itself when I’m in the cage with him.”
I look over at Miles and he gives me an approving nod. I’m winning all the gold stars tonight. But that anger from before is still bubbling underneath the surface. It’s like Stash woke something in me the night he called me out. Like he knew exactly what he was doing when he provoked me to fight him out there in the street, like the old days.
It’s that untameable beast that used to be with me every second of every day when I was a kid. A hunger to hurt, to rage. No rules and no one holding me back. At first, the feeling scared me. Not because it was there, but because it felt so damn familiar. Like a long-lost friend coming home. What scares me is how, after all this time, I still love it.
“Will we get a preview of this new mixed style at your make-up bout?” the only female reporter in the room asks.
Her question pulls me out of my head, and I blink stupidly at her for a second before nodding. “Sure, why not? But I won’t be giving too much away, as I’m sure you can understand.”
They laugh again, and the woman asks, “What about your signature move? We haven’t seen that since your fight with Chekhov last year.”
“The lady wants The Guillotine, then that’s what the lady shall get.” I flash her a smile that I know has a certain effect on her type and watch her quickly avert her eyes as she self-consciously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
One of the guys lets off a suggestive wolf-whistle that gets everyone laughing again. The woman goes beet red. I almost feel bad for putting her in that position. But like Miles is always reminding me this is a show, a game, and this is the way to play it.
“So, who will you be challenging at this make-up fight?” a reporter asks, raising his voice over the general din.
August Randall. Oggy. That’s who I’ll be fighting. Because I didn’t bring it the first time. Because that’s the way Miles planned it.
I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and say, “I’m challenging Stash Lombardi.”