“These kids think they can step to a Legacy? They think they can walk into my house and take my spot because management thinks they’re shiny and new? Please. They aren’t fit to lace my boots. They are guests in my kingdom. And if any of these hopefuls want to step up, I’ll remind them exactly where they belong. In the garbage.”
The crowd was furious. It was perfect heat.
Then, the lights cut.
A spotlight hit the stage. Evan’s music hit.
The place popped, a solid reaction for the rookie. Evan walked out, mic in hand, looking every bit the star. He stopped halfway down the ramp.
“You talk a lot for a guy whose last name did all the heavy lifting for him,” Evan said, his voice cutting through the noise.
Dante looked furious. “Who invited the kid?”
“Nobody invited me, Dante,” Evan said, walking down to the ring. “But somebody has to tell you the truth. You’re right. Your family built this place. But you? You’re just the landlord collecting rent on a building you didn’t construct.”
The crowd shouted an
Ooooooh!
“You talk about the future,” Evan continued, climbing the steps. “But you’re scared of it. You’re scared because guys like me, guys likeus, we didn’t get here because of our last names. We got here because we work harder than you. We want it more than you.”
Dante’s crew swarmed Evan. It was a beatdown. Evan fought back, but the numbers were too high. They stomped him into the mat.
“Let’s go,” Cal growled beside me, pulling his hood up.
We moved. Through the back hallways, through the crowd entrance. We were shadows until we hit the barricade.
When we hopped the rail, the noise was deafening.
I vaulted first. The adrenaline hit me like a drug, wiping away the panic, the exhaustion, everything. I hit the ring with the speed of a bullet. I took out Madden Smith with a springboard clothesline that defied gravity, my body corkscrewing in the air before connecting. The crowd erupted, confusion mixed with excitement.Who are these guys?
Then Cal hit the ring.
He moved differently. He didn’t fly. He stalked. He caught Drew Aldridge, a man with fifty pounds on him, and leveled him with a lariat that sounded like a car crash. It was brutal. It was efficient. It was pure Deadlock. He wrestled witha grounded, violent style, sharp elbows, heavy strikes, and a disregard for his own safety that made him terrifying to watch.
But the moment that changed everything. I was backing up, catching my breath, when Carlos Manta charged me from the blind side. I didn’t see him. But Cal did.
Without a word, without a signal, Cal grabbed Manta by the back of his trunks and whipped him toward the ropes. As Manta bounced back, Cal dropped to one knee, clasping his hands together to create a step.
I didn’t think. I just reacted. I ran at Cal, stepped onto his hands, and launched myself into the air. I caught Manta on the way down with a spinning heel kick that nearly took his head off.
The Step Up.
We hadn’t practiced it. We hadn’t even talked about it. It was instinct. It was the kind of chemistry that takes tag teams years to build, and we just did it on live TV without looking at each other.
The crowd went absolute nuclear. It was a roar that rattled my teeth.
Beside me, Cal had Dante Andrews in the corner. Dante tried to throw a punch, but Cal caught it. He twisted the arm, hoisted Dante up onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, and then dropped him, driving a knee straight into his face.
Dante crumpled like a ragdoll.
We stood tall in the center of the ring, me, Cal, Evan, Andre, and Julian, breathing hard as the “legacy” stable retreated up the ramp, clutching their ribs and jaws.
We had arrived.
Backstage, the adrenaline was crashing, but the high was still there. We walked through the curtain to applause from the producers.
“Holy shit!” Evan yelled, grabbing me in a headlock. “Did you see that pop? They went nuts for that double team move! When did you guys even come up with that?”
