Worth The Fight (Hard To Love Book 1)
T.a. McKay
Worth The Fight
Copyright © T.a. McKay, 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Cover art by Kari March designs~ https://www.facebook.com/Karimarchdesigns/?fref=ts
Formatting by: T.a. McKay
Editing by T.a. McKay and Ellie from The Cosy Reader Author services
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or used factiously and any resemblance to actual people, dead or alive, business, establishments, locales or events is entirely coincidental. Any reference to real events, businesses or organizations is intended only to give the fiction a sense of realism and authenticity.
All right reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording or otherwise – without prior permission in writing from the author.
Pirating an author’s work is a crime and will be treated as such.
Dedication
To everyone who has ever had to hide who they are. To the people who have to live a life that isn’t theirs just to keep other people happy.
This is for you, may you find the courage to be who you really are.
Authors note:
As much as I’ve tried to keep the facts in this book as real as possible, it remains a work of fiction so I took artistic license with parts of it. It may not be fully true to life, but sacrifices need to be made for the sake of the story. So on that note, read on … and I hope you enjoy!
Prologue
Zeke
I pound my fist into the bag, enjoying the feeling of my muscles flex as I release the power that’s built up in them. My muscles contract as I pull my fist back, getting ready to strike again. This is what I love most about training, the control, the precision, and the power. There’s no better feeling in the world than connecting perfectly with the punch bag, knowing that if it were flesh, it would have left some serious damage.
People think that fighting is all about anger and rage, but it’s not. There’s a rhythm to it, a reason for every movement, it’s almost like a dance. You need to be light on your feet, agile, and have the skill to dodge every hit thrown your way. After that comes the strength and how much power you can pack into every single punch.
I feel pressure on my wrists and a burning sensation in my knuckles that lets me know that this workout will leave marks. I smirk to myself before throwing my body into a full round house kick. I apply as much force into my leg as I can and the bag jolts away from me, swaying as I feel sweat dripping down my back. I jab and duck, avoiding my imaginary opponent.
Jab, jab, duck.
Jab, jab, uppercut.
I’m lost in my rhythm, concentrating solely on making sure my form is better than perfect. I’m so consumed in what I'm doing that I don’t hear the footsteps behind me. But I don’t miss the hand that grabs onto my shoulder though. The sudden contact makes me turn and instinctively pull back my fist to punch whoever’s touching me. I manage to stop myself just before I connect with a face that’s full of shock. Ethan. He stands still as all the color drains from his cheeks and a look of panic flashes in his eyes. I would feel bad if the guy didn’t annoy me to the point of distraction.
“What?” I know there are people who might think I'm being rude if they heard me, that I'm an asshole, but little do they know that I’m being as nice to him as I can possibly manage. If I had my way and could do whatever I wanted, I would punch him every time I see his annoying little face. Especially now that he’s interrupting my training time, this is as nice as it’s going to get.
“Coach wants to see you.” He mumbles as I turn away from him and get in a couple more hits on the bag before I remove my wraps. Ethan tries to help me but with one glare he quickly moves away. I throw my wraps at him when I pass and head towards Coach’s office. Coach’s name is actually Eddie, but I don’t think I’ve ever called him that, he even introduced himself as Coach the first time I turned up here. I can’t remember ever hearing anyone calling him by his name either, not even the guys who are older than him.
I knock on his door and enter before he can respond. He’s called me to his office so he knows I’m coming. He’s sitting behind his desk with a huge diary laid out in front of him and I know he's checking out the scheduling for the upcoming fights.
“You wanted to see me, Coach?” He looks up from the diary with a start like he’s almost shocked to see me standing in front of him. That’s when you see the fighter he used to be. He might not have the body or stamina to be in the ring anymore, but when he focuses on a task it’s the only thing in existence. That’s what every fighter needs, there’s nothing as important as your concentration, your composure and your form. You need to have that one single goal, that drive when you get into the ring. The moment you step through the ropes the world could go up in flames and you wouldn’t notice.
“Yeah, Zeke. How’s the training going?” I sit in the chair across the desk from him and lean back, putting my feet up on his desk. He stands and walks to the corner of his office, grabbing a towel from the rack on the wall. He throws it to me before knocking my feet off the desk. It’s our usual routine and one we’ve done a thousand times but it doesn’t make it any less comical to me. I take the towel from my lap where it landed after it hit me in the chest, and wipe the sweat from my face and shoulders as Coach walks back round to his side of the desk.
“S’all good. I’ll be ready to face Man-eater next week. And while I’m on the subject, what a stupid fucking name? How can he expect anyone to take him serious with that?” I watch Coach take his seat again, his eyes never leave me as he lowers himself onto the chair.
“You’re still dropping your left shoulder, that’s gonna lose you the fight.” I use all my strength to try and resist rolling my eyes. It’s the same critique I’ve been getting since I started fighting years ago, and well, this year I haven’t lost a single fight yet.
“You know who could probably help you with that? Ethan. You know, since he's your coach and all.” I grind my teeth, my jaw aching from the sudden pressure.
“Trainee coach, and one I never asked for. You know I think the guy’s an ass. He doesn’t know how to do his job and I have absolutely no need for him.” Coach sighs and he leans forward towards me with his arms resting on the desk.
“Zeke, he’s going to be your coach one day. When you hit the big time I won’t be able to give you the time you’ll need. You need someone who will be there for you, no one else.” I’ve heard this speech so many times now and, as usual, it falls on deaf ears. I don’t want Ethan as my coach, I want Eddie and I'm pretty sure when I hit the big leagues he’ll give in and train me. After all, I’ll be the one bringing in the big money. All I need to do is win the fight next week and I’ll be one step closer to hitting the UFC. That’s the dream, and the one I'm planning on living very soon. I’ve spent my entire life training for this so winning is the only option. I was good at school, and smarter than anyone realized, but when my dad made me fight I knew I had found my passion. Suddenly, there was nothing more important than my next fight.
I look out the office window and see Asha walk past, throwing her long dark hair over her shoulder as she catches me looking. She smiles at me, biting her lip and giving me that shy look that won her my attention last time. I don’t even know why she’s here, all she seems to do is strut around in her very tight gym clothes. I haven’t seen her use any of the equipment, the only thing that she seems to do is the fighters. I rise from my seat and walk to the door, more than ready to get a little relief for the day.
“It’s not something I want to talk about. The guy isn’t my coach, he never will be. You will be following me into the big leagues, old man.” I walk out of his office just in time to see a smiling Asha walk into the locker room and I feel my body harden in anticipation. I start to follow her when I hear Eddie hollering behind me.
“Hey less of the fucking old, and I'm not going anywhere, boy. You hear me?” I smirk. It’s the same answer every single time.
Chapter One
Zeke
My knee bounces in time to the music playing through my headphones, the built up tension from my nerves is too much to keep in. I'm always like this right before a fight, the need to get out into the cage overwhelming and it’s even worse tonight. This is the night, this is what all these years of training have been for. Tonight is the final fight with Rage, and when I win, it will pave my way into the bigger arenas, into the main stream and hopefully into the ring with the UFC. That will mean bigger fights, more money, and a lot more respect. It will take just this one win to change my life.
I hold my hands out in front of me as Ethan tapes them up. I hate him doing it, this isn’t his job and I don’t want him touching me, but the cut man is late and the officials don’t want to hold up the fight. Both fighters agreed to allow our coaches to tape us up and let the ref check them before we leave the locker room. I wanted Coach to do it, but he's already ringside which leaves me stuck in this situation with Mr. Incapable. I zone out, trying not to focus on the clusterfuck that this fight is becoming. There’s been so many things go wrong already and I haven’t even left the locker room. This isn’t helping my focus at all. I close my eyes and listen to my music, trying to clear my head. I want to be able to block out the world, but the only thing I can concentrate on is Ethan and the fact that he isn’t using the right wraps. I think all sportsmen have silly traditions once they get a winning streak, a routine that they don’t deviate from. My red Meister wraps are something I’ve been using all year and they’re not the ones currently being wound around my hands.
“They’re the wrong wraps. Take them off and get the right ones.” My voice is so loud that even I can hear myself over my music. Ethan jumps slightly and I can’t help the slight smirk of satisfaction. He doesn’t stop what he's doing so I pull my hand away and push the headphones off my head so they sit at the back of my neck.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me right. Let me explain it just one more time. You are using the wrong wraps, now go get the right ones.” Again he doesn’t acknowledge me and he also doesn’t move to do what I ask. This kid is seriously starting to piss me off. He’s actually only a few years younger than me but with his lack of confidence I swear he acts more like a nervous teenager than a peer. I’ve tried to tell Coach that I can’t have someone like Ethan training me, the guy jumps at his own shadow and I can’t take advice from someone like that, but he won’t listen. When Ethan finally finds his voice it comes out as a squeaky mess and I'm not sure if it’s that or his next words that nearly send me into a tailspin.
“I don’t have your normal wraps, I forgot to pick them up from the training room.” I stare at the top of his head, trying to calm the inferno that’s suddenly raging inside me. I’m a second away from ripping the little fucker’s head off when Coach walks into the dressing room. He must sense the tension and see that I’m one breath away from losing my shit, because he walks over and places his hand firmly on my shoulder.
“What’s up boys? I thought you would be finishing up by now. You don’t have much time until the intros, Zeke.” I just glare at Ethan, hoping my eyes are burning holes through that thick skull of his. I don’t ask him to do much, I’m pretty self-sufficient when I train. The only thing I need him to do is fucking sort all the fight prep. Is that really too much to ask?
“I would be finished, but someone forgot to bring the right equipment.” I make no effort to hide the anger that seeps into my tone, letting everyone within listening distance know just how pissed I am. The hand on my shoulder tightens momentarily before letting go.
“Well those look a lot like red wraps to me.” I know he can see they aren’t the right ones, the tone of his voice making it sound like he's trying to placate a two year old who isn’t getting their own way. I know that it’s a silly ritual that I’ve gotten into the habit of doing but I don’t care. It’s been working for the last ten months and I don’t want to change it now. I look at Coach, clenching my jaw as I bite my tongue. I need to stay calm, I need to keep my focus for the real fight. I hold my hands out to Ethan again and let him finish his job. I'm not happy about this and it’s the final straw. I don’t care what Coach says, the incapable fucker will be gone after this fight if I have anything to do with it.
I feel my headphones being put back onto my ears and my nose is filled with sickly sweet perfume, alerting me to the fact that Asha has arrived. I was so intent with my glaring at Ethan, that I didn’t even notice her arrival. I close my eyes, determined to block everything out until my fight is called. I start to take deep breaths, letting the hard beat of the music thrum through my blood.
I jump slightly when I feel strong hands on my shoulder and I realize it’s time. I remove my headphones and hear the beat of the music from the main arena. I stand and stretch my back, feeling my spine crack as I move. I bounce lightly on my feet as adrenaline floods my body. I punch out in front of me a few times, letting my breath whoosh out as I spar with the air. I need to get into the cage, I need to hit someone. I hear Coach talking to me but he sounds distant, I know I should listen to his pep talk, but my head is filled with everything that’s going on around us. The intro music is playing and the shouting from the spectators is almost deafening.
“Don’t take him down in the first round, you need to give everyone the show they came for. Keep that shoulder up and don’t let him get a shot in. Control the fight. You got this one in the bag.” I nod as I make my way down the dark tunnel towards the bright lights of the arena. I hear the announcer over the loud speaker and look at the opposite tunnel. Behind those doors is the guy I need to beat, the one I'm going to pummel into the ground tonight.
“Up first … let me hear some noise for the only man brave enough to go up against the man mountain that is defending his title. Unbeaten in all his fights this year … the guy who knows how to please the ladies.” I hear women screaming and a smile flickers over my lips. This is where I belong, this is the life I want. I hear the first few beats of my entrance song, P.O.Ds ‘Boom’.
“The storm that comes to rain down the blows onto his opponents. Watch as tonight he brings that storm to our cage … its Zeke ‘The Storm’ Raaaaaaiiiiiinnnnnnneeeeeee.” The place explodes with cheers and the sound of the audiences stomping feet echoes through the arena like thunder. I think it was after my fourth win that this started, it’s how I got my nickname, The Storm, and soon the roar of thunder started following me around every fight. I walk down the aisle, not looking at the screaming crowd around me, all my attention is on the cage in front of me. I can feel the hands of fans all over my body, rubbing over my arms and shoulders, but I don’t let it distract me from my goal. I reach the cage and bounce up onto the edge around the net, ignoring the steps completely. I pace around the canvas, my energy levels rising as I focus on the door my opponent will come through.
“Let me introduce to you to the fighter who’s here to defend his title of the best fighter at Rage ... let me hear some noise. Unbeaten in his last fourteen fights, he’s the man you don’t want to go up against unless you want chewed up and spat out. Let me hear it foooooor … Dwayne ‘The Man-eater’ Wyatt.” The arena erupts into a barrage of shouts and hollering. I can feel the floor vibrate under my feet and excitement hits me
square in the chest. I watch as the spotlight finds Dwayne exiting his tunnel. He holds his hands up in victory like he's already won as he stalks towards the ring. I feel my anger rising just from looking at him, I need to wipe that smug smile off his face. We haven’t met in the ring before but he’s been sending me messages at the end of his previous fights, telling me that I’ve no chance in beating him and that he will break me. I don’t do trash talk, I let my skill do the talking for me, and my unbeaten record is there for everyone to see. I’ve won more fights this season than Dwayne, and I think that pisses him off. When I walk away from here today wearing the championship belt, he will see who’s the best.
I watch as Dwayne gets closer, and the urge to lash out as soon as he enters through the open side is the only thing I can think of. The clang of the door behind him makes my heart thump in my chest and the rest of the arena disappears. My eyes are only focused on one thing, ‘The Man-eater’. I’ve been waiting for this day for months, praying he would win all his bouts so I could finally get here and finish him. From the moment he won his third round he’s been talking shit about me, telling the world that he’s going to put me in the ground. But I'm going to create a different ending for his story today, and I'm going to love every second of it.
The referee calls us together, giving us the usual rules and I only half listen to him as I size up the man in front of me.
“Let’s keep this fight clean boys, give them a good show. I will let a lot go between you since it’s the final, but the usual rules apply. No groin attacks, no strikes to the back of the head or the spine, no head butts. Stay away from the eyes and no fish hooking. No biting. No hair pulling, and no strikes or grabbing of the throat. Stay off the side of the cage. As I say … keep it clean.” It’s the usual speech and I know that Dwayne won’t be listening, the guy is a dirty fighter and I need to play by his rules today. I look at him standing in front of me, flexing his muscles like he's ready to pounce any second. His body is bigger than mine and the muscles would be intimidating to most people, but not to me. I’m faster on my feet and have height on my side. My body isn’t overly built but my muscles are lean and full of power. I think this is why I’ve won so many matches, people underestimate my strength since I’m smaller than the usual fighters.