“Ah, so Slate’s always been a fighter?”
“No, he was never a fighter, but he trained daily with Jax and Zeke. I think he did it because his brothers needed it. In some way, it helped them stay connected to their father.”
“I get that,” Lurlene says, as she opens the door. As predicted, the barn-like establishment is rockin’. There’s a decent-size bar in the front, and the MMA ring is located in the back of the rustic building.
Like every other time when I enter this place, I do a thorough scan, searching for Slate. He’s nowhere in sight. I don’t get it. He’s part owner, but he’s never around. It’s strange; I’ve been back to the Bayou for about a month now and nobody has said much to me about Slate. They only boast that he’s the best fighter at JZS, which is certainly not the Slate I remember.
In all the years that we were together, I only saw him fight once. It didn’t last for more than a few seconds. That’s all it took for him to put down the guy who had assaulted Emmie on prom night. I swear that I blinked a few times, and it was over. I remember feeling weird about the charge I got from seeing him like that—a fierce savage in total control of his every movement. And the confidence he displayed...God, it was hot. Not that he wasn’t confident; he just never showed it off. Now, if only he’d been like that in bed, or showed me a bit of that when we argued, things might have turned out differently for us.
He was easygoing, such a calm and gentle person. He didn’t like to fight; if we started to argue, he’d just walk away. A part of me wished that he stayed and stood up to me. Of course, each time that we did argue, I easily forgave him. You couldn’t help but love a guy like Slate Declan. Up until the time I caught him cheating on me, which was totally out of character, he’d been nothing but kind, thoughtful, and caring.
“There she is,” Lurlene says, pointing to Emmie at the bar.
“Good. Let’s go get our girl. The fight should be starting soon,” I say, hooking an arm into Lurlene’s.
Maybe Slate will fight tonight. I want to see him, even if it is behind the cage. I need to confirm that what I felt the other night while looking at him from a distance was nothing more than remnants of our relationship. Leftovers. Then again, there is some unfinished business between us. After finding him in bed with Krissy Sykes, the bitch, I abruptly left the Bayou, and I haven’t been back since.
Finally, we make it into the fight room, minus Emmie. Jax managed to keep her with him a little longer at the bar. But I don’t complain. She deserves happiness.
I smile over at Lurlene. At least I have her by my side. And that doomed feeling in the pit of my gut—well, it’s warning me that I might just need her.
Over the loud speakers, the announcer introduces the first fighter. With well over six feet of muscles, the man rightfully named the Hulk walks to the ring and, following a show of some biceps, takes his corner. Then the place turns pitch black. The spotlights flicker on and flash around the room to the beat of the music until they stop at the back door. It opens. A dark figure stands in the doorway. I can’t tell if it’s Slate; the fighter has the hood of his hoodie pulled up. He’s about the same height as Slate, but yet, his body appears too big.
My heart slips down to my toes when I hear the announcer’s voice blast out through the loud sound system, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for JZS’s very own, Slate Declan!” The cheering begins and continues to escalate as the shadowy figure gallantly moves toward the ring. I grab Lurlene’s hand, squeezing it tight. With his head lowered, it’s difficult to see his face. I want to see his face. I need to see those beautiful, distinctive Slate Declan eyes. He enters the cage, and with all the whistling and hollering that’s going on around me, I can barely think. I glance at Lurlene with a weak smile then take a quick look around. The crowd loves him. Hands fisted in the air, they’re chanting his name.
I turn back to the stage. Slate moves over to the corner of the ring. With his back to me, he reaches down and swiftly removes his hoodie. The cheering becomes even louder. And holy shit! His body is loaded with muscles; every visible body part perfectly defined and sculptured by them. He shifts to the right, and I sway to the left, trying to catch a glimpse of his side profile as he walks to the center of the ring to meet the other fighter. As the ref recites the rules, the Hulk bounces on his feet, but Slate remains completely still.
They bump gloves and then both fighters take a few steps back from each other. The Hulk’s shoulder flinches and Slate gyrates forward, like a jackhammer; his arm jabs forcefully at the man. The Hulk attempts a kick, but Slate gets a hold of his leg and takes him down. They wrestle on the floor, limbs entwining into a ball of viable muscles. Heart racing, I tip on my toes trying to get a better view. Slate’s on top of the guy. The Hulk’s got his legs wrapped around Slate’s hips, but it doesn’t deter Slate from relentlessly jabbing his fist into the guy’s side. The Hulk manages to flip Slate onto his back, and he starts to jam his fist into the side of Slate’s head. I cover my mouth to hold back a scream. Oh. God. Baby, get that hulky piece of shit off you!