“You can do whatever the fuck you want if you wear that button down with the sleeves rolled up,” I said as I started to massage him through the fabric, making him roll his hips towards the friction.
“Deal,” he agreed, his breath hitching.
Media went by at lightning speed, and quickly rolled into the live show. Cal, myself, and Evan didn’t have much to do in the way of the live show tonight, just a promo that would lead to us all brawling for a few minutes, firing up the crowd with anticipation for theWrestle Empirematch.
Leading up to this, Creative had officially changed me to a heel. My gimmick was no longer this likable man; I was now a vengeful motherfucker with a chip on his shoulder ready to take back everything he lost. And I was arrogant about it, a stark contrast from my actual personality, which Evan and Cal found hilarious. Creative wanted me to be considered “The Prince,” and that was exactly what people were referring to me as.
“I still can’t believe they turned you heel,” Evan laughed as we stood in Gorilla, the three of us waiting for our segment to roll around after the current mid-card match. “You realize you’re actually… good at it? Like, scary good. It’s unnerving.”
“Maybe I was just meant to be an asshole all along,” I joked, adjusting my wrist tape. “Playing the good guy is exhausting. Being angry? It’s surprisingly therapeutic.”
“Just don’t get too used to it,” Cal smirked. “I prefer you when you’re nice.”
“Liar,” I shot back. “You like it when I’m mean.”
My music hit first. I walked out, not slapping hands, not smiling. I wore a black coat with a high collar, looking down my nose at the people booing me. It felt weird, being the bad guy, but god, it was freeing.
I got in the ring and picked up the mic.
“You people talk aboutWrestle Empirelike it’s a celebration,” I sneered, pacing the ring. “You talk about Evan Wilder. You talk about Deadlock. But you forget one thing. Who built this new era? Who laid the foundation for it so you people could have something to watch?”
The boos rained down. I smirked.
“I am the prince of this industry. And come Sacramento… I’m taking my crown back.”
Evan’s music hit. The crowd popped huge. He bounded down the ramp, sliding into the ring, snatching a mic.
“Silas, Silas, Silas,” Evan mocked, leaning against the ropes. “You sound miserable. You talk about crowns and princes like this is a fairy tale. But the reality is,youleft.Youwalked away. And whileyouwere gone?Iwas stealing the show every. single. night.”
“You were keeping my seat warm!” I shouted back.
Then, the lights cut. The heavy, distorted guitar riff of “Death March” hit.
The arena shook. Callum walked out. He didn’t run. He didn’t pose. He just walked down the ramp with the World Heavyweight Championship over his shoulder, looking like a man who owned the building.
Hegot in the ring, standing between me and Evan. He looked at Evan. He looked at me. He raised the mic.
“You two can argue about who stole the show and who built the show,” Cal said, his voice calm, dangerous. “But as long as I’m holding this title? I am the show.”
I stepped into his space. “You’re a placeholder, Deadlock. You always have been.”
“Is that right?” Cal stepped closer, until our noses were almost touching. “Then why can you never beat me? Why are you begging for a second chance?”
I shoved him.
That was the cue.
Cal dropped the belt and tackled me. Evan tried to pull him off, but I kicked Evan in the gut. It turned into a three-way brawl. I threw a punch at Cal’s jaw, working light, but making it look stiff. He sold it perfectly, stumbling back before rebounding off the ropes and hitting me with a Spear that nearly cut me in half.
The crowd lost their minds. Security rushed the ring. Referees were pulling Cal back. Producers were holding me against the turnbuckle.
In the chaos, Cal broke free. He lunged at me again, grabbing the front of my shirt, pulling me close like he was going to headbutt me.
“Fighting you turns me on,” he whispered in my ear, breathless and hot, hidden from the cameras. “God, do that again.”
“Fuck you,” I whispered back, shoving his chest while fighting a smirk.
We were dragged apart, the segment ending with the crowd going feral.
