Heath whirled around and glared down at them, heaving breaths silently. They both looked back up at him, their faces wearing a mixture of slight fear and defiance. After a long moment, Heath stalked out of the ring, out of the arena, and back to his dressing room. He refused to allow anyone to enter or speak to him until it was time for his next bout.
He didn't have to wait long; his next card was called sooner than he'd anticipated. He was facing off with Richie Marsden, one of the two most prolific fighters there, other than him. If he beat Richie, he would move on to fight against Clay "The Punisher" Cavasso in the final round. These two were the ones he had been most concerned about, but he just knew he sincerely needed to be at the very peak of his game right now. He couldn't be distracted by thinking about Drew or paying attention to the two asshole commentators behind him.
He wanted to knock Richie out as soon as possible, but the man proved to be quite a challenge. He was a little faster than Heath, though Heath knew he was stronger, and he seemed to have tireless energy, where Heath felt himself growing weary. Though whether it was mental exhaustion or physical was hard to tell. The first three rounds between them were brutal; they both shed blood, they both were getting lumped up, and both were trying to go for the knockout punch that would end this dance and allow them to progress to the final round. But Heath refused to get knocked out; it had never happened, and it would never happen as long as he had any control at all over the situation.
Finally, in the fourth round, when Heath's back was pressed against the mesh wiring of the cage, he tucked his chin and ducked a lightning fast left jab from Richie even faster, and as Richie's fist connected with the wiring, Heath's shot up and out in a brutally forceful and knife-sharp uppercut. Richie's head snapped back, his eyes rolling, and blood and at least one tooth flew from his mouth as he stumbled backward and finally toppled over on his back.
"A knock out!" he heard either Bryan or Drew shouting from behind him. "Praise Jesus!"
"Not exactly a one-hit quit," the other taunted, "but it'll do. Heath Riley advances to the championship round and one step closer to that two-million dollar purse."
"And there he goes, storming out of the cage as he always does," the first taunted as Heath slammed the door open and ran down the steps. "Can't be bothered to stay and appreciate the fact that he has fans."
Heath snapped his head over and found them both looking at him. He gave them his middle finger and hustled off to his dressing room, wishing they would both get in that cage with him for five minutes.
***
In the end, it was Heath against Clay "The Punisher" Cavasso.
Clay reminded him a lot of himself. He seemed to be very quiet, keeping to himself and avoiding the reporters and the fans. He also chose not to have any walk-out music, and was silently focused on Heath the second they went eyes-on with each other.
Now, they studied each other across the ring intently. There was no real animosity, no anger, no misdirected violence. They both knew they were there to do a job, to get paid, and to leave it at that. Heath intrinsically knew that Clay regarded him the way he regarded Clay—just another man there to go to work. Nothing more, nothing less.
That made Clay his most challenging opponent yet.
Five five-minute rounds, with a minute break between each round. The next thirty minutes wouldn't define Heath's future, but with his recent decisions and overall goals, they damn sure would have a heavy impact. Thirty minutes until he found out which direction his life would take, unless he could get in a knock-out. However, he knew from the hours he'd spent intently studying Clay that it wasn't going to be easy. In fact, Clay, much like him, had never been knocked out. Clay did a whole bunch of knocking out, but he'd never been on the receiving end of it before.
The bell was rung, and Heath and Clay went to war.
After the first couple of rounds Heath knew that Clay was the last one standing with him for a reason. After ten minutes, Heath was already tired, and he could tell Clay was flagging too. They were equally matched in strength, speed and skill. Heath hated to admit it, but this match seemed like it was going to come down to pure luck—whoever was truly the best man, would win.
Heath heard the shouts of the audience, heard the voices of the commentators, but he blocked out the details of what was being said. He could not focus on it, was unable to focus on anything but the man in front of him. However, as the third round went underway, he became aware of a figure at the base of the ring, hands clutching through the mesh wire of the cage.
Connor.
He was right there, encouraging Heath with wordless shouts. Sometimes he shouted words but Heath couldn't make them out—he was too busy fighting against himself. Clay was like his mirror; they punched the same way, they predicted each other's moves accurately. It was turning into an exhaustive stalemate as they struggled to land punches and kicks and block others.