“Also, if we don’t go find Lena soon, she’s going to use that spare key and find us in a very, very compromising position. Again.”
24
MARCH - AUSTIN, TEXAS
Now playing: Drown - Bring Me The Horizon
Thelightsinthearena dropped to a deep, blood red.
A low, mechanical groan echoed through the arena as the structure began to lower from the rafters. It wasn’t a cage; it was a fortress. Tons of chain link, steel grates, and plexiglass pods descended slowly, swallowing the ring whole.
The Devil’s Playground.
That’s what Creative called it. The boys in the back called it a career shortener. Once that structure touched the floor, there was no way in or out until the match was over.
I stood in Gorilla, bouncing on the balls of my feet, trying to shake out the adrenaline that was making my hands tremble. I wasn’t wearing my usual gear. Tonight, I was in full length black tights that hugged every muscle of my legs, black knee pads, and black boots. No colors. I wasn’t “Timeless” tonight. I was the dark horse.
“You look dangerous.”
I turned. Cal was standing there. He wasn’t in gear; he was in a suit. But not just any suit, a fitted black shirt, black tie, black jacket. Black on black. He matched my energy perfectly.
As the Heavyweight Champion, he wasn’t wrestling tonight. In a rare move for a pay per view, Creative had him on commentary for the main event. He had to sit out there for an hour, wearing a headset, calling the match that would decide his opponent.
He looked impeccable. But his eyes were tight, scanning me with a mixture of professional assessment and personal terror. He hated this match. He hated the structure.
“I feel dangerous,” I muttered, adjusting my wrist tape, the adhesive pulling tight against my skin.
Cal stepped into my space, his broad shoulders blocking the view of the producers behind us. He reached out, straightening an invisible crease on my shoulder, his fingers lingering over the black KT tape protecting my surgery scars. It had become a part of my look to tape over them; it made me feel better knowing they were covered, hidden from the millions of HD cameras.
“You know you’re going to have to get in my face later,” Cal murmured, his voice low and rough, barely audible over the hum of the arena. “Better make it convincing, Reed.”
I looked up at him, a smirk tugging at my lips despite the nerves. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got a lot of pent-up aggression to work out. You might want to loosen that tie, Champ.”
Cal’s eyes darkened, a flash of heat replacing the worry for a split second. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise,” I whispered.
Cal leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “Good. Because I’m not going to go easy on you just because you look good in those tights.”
He pulled back before anyone could clock the intimacy, his mask sliding back into place. He gave me a sharp, professional nod. “Watch Martinez. He’s been running his mouth all day. He’s going to try and make a name for himself tonight.”
“I know,” I said, my jaw tightening. “I can handle Rico.”
“See you on the other side,” he whispered.
“See you out there.”
Mymusic hit.
I walked out into the blinding lights. Fifteen thousand people roared. The sound was physical, a wall of noise that hit my chest. The structure finished lowering with a final, earthshaking boom.
I walked up the steel steps and entered the structure through the small door before the referees locked it. The sound of the deadbolt sliding home echoed like a prison cell closing.
I stepped into the ring. The referee patted me down. Through the chainlink wall, I saw the announce table. Cal was putting his headset on, settling into his chair, but his eyes were locked on me. He looked at me with cold calculation, but I knew he was watching every move, praying I didn’t fall.
The match began.
I started off against Jackson Pierce, a twenty-year veteran who moved like a freight train. He was stiff, but safe. He slammed me into the chain link, the steel biting into my back, but he kept his hand behind my head, protecting me from the worst of it.
