Page 72 of Dominate

Tonight, peace.

23

ZANE

The thought hits me before my brain fully processes the morning light.

Today is the day.

Tonight, the whole world finds out.

Tonight, the entire foundation of my life crumbles.

I open my eyes. The ceiling of the rented studio bears that same faded water stain, spreading toward the light fixture. The hum of the cheap refrigerator in the kitchenette fills the quiet room. My body aches. A deep, bone-weary throb settles in my joints. The severe dehydration from yesterday’s weight cut leaves my muscles feeling like stretched rubber bands, tight and ready to snap. My mouth tastes like copper and cotton. I’ve spent the hours since the weigh-in eating and drinking on schedule. My legs still feel heavy when I stretch them.

I know how to handle the physical pain. The fear is harder.

I turn my head on the flat pillow.

Micah is already awake.

He lies on his side, his head propped on his hand. The early sun bleeds through the cheap plastic blinds. He watches me. His dark eyes hold a quiet, steady warmth that completely contradicts the violence we are scheduled to inflict upon each other in exactly fourteen hours.

“Morning.” Micah shifts his weight. The worn springs of the mattress groan under him.

“Morning.” I stretch my legs out, cataloging the residual pain in my shoulders and knees. My body is ready for the fight. My heart is a completely different matter. It beats a frantic, chaotic rhythm against my ribs.

“How do you feel?” Micah drags his thumb across my bare shoulder. The heat of his calloused skin sends a familiar jolt straight down my spine.

“Terrified.” I sit up, resting my elbows on my knees. The cool morning air hits my skin. “Determined. Ready to get this over with.”

Micah sits up beside me. He closes the distance, sliding his body across the tangled sheets. He cups my jaw, his palm grounding the electric anxiety spiking through my veins.

“Whatever happens tonight,” Micah speaks the words into the narrow space between us. “Win or lose. Cage or cameras. I’m proud of you. For getting here. For choosing this.”

My throat tightens. A hard knot forms right at the base of my vocal cords. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You have done everything.” Micah leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. He tastes like sleep and certainty. “Now you just have to finish it.”

I let out a ragged exhale, resting my forehead against his. The reality of the impending explosion looms large. I have to leave this sanctuary. I have to go back to the arena hotel and perform the role of the undefeated king. I have to look Dan Kendall in the eye and swallow his manipulations. I have to nod while Jason Ortega threatens my legacy.

I have to do all of it knowing I plan to burn their empire to the ground before midnight.

We move to the tiny kitchenette. The space requires careful navigation for two massive welterweights. Micah moves with that fluid, inherent grace, stepping around me to reach the faded cabinets.

He makes coffee. The old aluminum percolator rattles on the gas burner. The aroma of roasted beans cuts through the stale apartment air. I pull on a pair of gray sweatpants. The fabric feels rough against my dry skin.

Micah moves to the refrigerator. He pulls out two large plastic jugs of electrolyte water. He unscrews the cap and hands one to me.

“Drink,” he orders. “All of it.”

I take the jug. The cold plastic shocks my warm skin. I tip it back and swallow the pink liquid. Artificial cherry coats my tongue, instantly soothing the dry ache in my throat. I take several swallows, then lower the jug, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

Micah downs his own water with practiced efficiency. His throat works rhythmically. I watch the muscles in his neck flex, remembering the taste of that exact spot from the night before. The stark contrast between the brutal violence we prepare for and the tender intimacy we shared on the mattress short-circuits my brain.

We sit at the small, two-person table tucked against the peeling wallpaper. Micah slides a plate of scrambled eggs and dry toast in front of me. Fight day fuel. Familiar food. Nothing new to upset my stomach before the fight.

I chew the dry toast. It tastes like sawdust.