Page 79 of Dominate

Dan’s voice disappears from my ear. The cameras, the blinding lights, the thousands of screaming faces fall away into the dark.

The world narrows to the canvas between us.

Just Micah. Just Zane. Just the heavy truth we hide and the violent moment we built toward for four agonizing months.

I love you, I think, projecting the words across the distance.

Micah’s chin dips. The smallest, barely perceptible nod. I know. I love you too.

The ring announcer steps to the center of the cage. He pulls the microphone down from the ceiling. His booming voice echoes through the stadium, introducing the judges, the referee, and the stakes of the world welterweight title fight.

I don’t hear a single syllable.

I keep my eyes locked on the man across from me. I map the lines of his body. I remember the exact texture of his skin under my hands. I remember the ruined, breathless sounds he made in the dark.

“Introducing first, fighting out of the blue corner!” The announcer points directly at Micah.

The Oath MMA corner erupts. Victor Kaine claps his massive hands together. Micah steps forward. He raises a single taped fist into the air. He doesn’t smile. He maintains the fierce, impenetrable glare of a challenger hunting for the crown.

“And now, fighting out of the red corner!” The announcer spins toward me. “The reigning, undefeated world welterweight champion...”

The crowd loses its collective mind. The noise reaches a deafening pitch, rattling my teeth in my skull. I step forward. I raise both arms, acknowledging the roar. I play the role one final time. I give the Ironside faithful the arrogant king they paid to see.

The announcer finishes the introductions. He exits the cage.

The referee waves us to the center canvas.

I step forward. Micah meets me on the painted sponsor logo in the middle of the mat.

We stand inches apart.

He’s close enough that I can feel his heat. I smell the sharp tang of his sweat mixed with the petroleum jelly smeared on his face. I see the rapid, shallow rise and fall of his chest. The pulse beats a frantic, visible rhythm against the side of his neck.

I have to tilt my chin down a fraction of an inch to hold his gaze.

“Fighters, you received your instructions in the back.” The referee holds his hands up, creating a small barrier between our chests. “Protect yourselves at all times. Obey my commands at all times. We want a clean fight. Touch gloves if you want. Head back to your corners.”

I extend my gloved fist.

Micah taps it.

The leather crashes together harder than necessary. A sharp, violent smack rings out over the crowd noise.

The impact carries a promise.

Give me your best. The demand burns in his dark eyes.

You will beg me to stop. The arrogant reply flares in mine.

We step backward. I retreat to the red corner. I press my back against the chain-link fence. Dan shoves the plastic mouthpiece past my lips.

“Hands up,” Dan barks, his voice tight with anxiety. “Head movement. Don’t let him back you up.”

I bite down on the molded plastic. The rubber tastes bitter on my tongue. I nod once, shutting Dan out completely.

The referee points to Micah. “You ready?”

Micah nods, sinking low into his fighting stance. He raises his hands, protecting his chin. The coiled spring pulls taut, ready to snap forward and inflict maximum damage.