“That’s right, you little dragon fuck.Anythingcan happen in this sport. You just remember that, Hollywood boy. Your day of reckoning is coming,” Marcos gritted out.
“You’re lucky you didn’t hit anyone with that bottle,” I told him.
“Hey!” Brendan and Sam hollered in unison.
“Get out of here, Silva!” Vin shouted as he hurried over with the others. Marty wrapped his arm around my shoulder and Fletch put his hand on my chest. They were protective moves, but ones to make sure I wasn’t going to do anything.
Vin and Brendan grabbed Marcos by his biceps and escorted him into the lobby where hotel security met them. Steve and the rest of my security team came into the bar. As Steve listened to Marty explain what happened, other fighters were quite vocal about Marcos.
“Man, fuck him!”
“What was he doing here anyhow?”
“He came to create problems.”
“It’s all he does.”
“TCF is a better place without his ass.”
“That’s for sure.”
“Hey, you okay, Hollis?” Frank, one of my trainers, asked me quietly.
“I’m fine.”
Patrick came into the bar and hurried over.
“What the hell happened?” he asked.
“That prick Marcos Silva was here trying to stir up shit,” Frank said.
Worry settled on Patrick’s face, and quickly I tried to assure him that things were fine.
“It’s over. He made a mess with a bottle, but hotel security were quick to intervene,” I said. I looked out into the lobby and saw Marcos talking with security. My grappling coach, Leo, spoke up, which ended up drawing the attention of everyone from my team.
“Did he threaten you, Hollis?” Leo asked.
I glanced at Patrick and quickly tried to make light of it by saying, “He’s all talk.”
“Silva did threaten him,” Marty spoke up. I glanced at Steve and then Patrick again. Out of everyone, Patrick was the one I was most concerned about worrying.
“Hollis—” Patrick began.
“Marcos is just all talk. That’s all he’s ever been,” I told him.
“What did he say?” Patrick asked.
“Nothing worth repeating,” I said.
“He told Hollis that his day of reckoning is coming,” Fletch said. Patrick ran his hand through his hair and then clutched some strands.
“Again, Marcos is all talk,” I said while my eyes locked with Patrick’s.
“Marcos has had a chip on his shoulder since you kicked his ass and stripped that title from him,” Marty said.
“The asshole never held the title again,” one of my conditioning trainers, Herb, added.
Herb high fived Frank when he said, “Hollis kicked his ass three times.”
