Zel: Markovic MMA (14 page)

When the bell rang to end the first round, Sara practically collapsed in her seat. She watched anxiously as Ivan got in Zel’s face, wiping away the sweat and a trickle of blood on his chin with a towel. He pressed a small metal rectangle on Zel’s cheek and talked to him, his expression calm but his delivery forceful. Another trainer offered Zel water. He drank a mouthful, swished it around and spit it out, all the while nodding and listening intently to whatever coaching Ivan was giving.

Too soon, Zel was on his feet again and fighting. Sara noticed that Zel seemed light on his feet and full of energy while Mace looked heavy and slower. He looked like a car about to run out of gas, surging forward but held back by an empty tank. Was he sick? Was he injured?

“He cut too much weight,” Erin called over the roaring din of the crowd. “That’s what you’re wondering, right?” Sara nodded, and Erin said, “He needed a fight. He needed a win. His coach and the league pushed him to drop a weight class.” She shook her head. “And now look at him.”

Even fighting at less than one-hundred-percent, Mace was still a bruiser. His hits were nasty, and he seemed to match Zel in skills. By the time the second round ended, both men were bleeding and panting. Mace dropped like a sack of rocks onto his stool while Zel walked back calmly and sat down easily.

Again, Ivan was in his face, wiping away blood and sweat and treating the swelling while giving him pointers. Ivan seemed wholly focused on Zel, completely unaware of anything but his fighter. Some of Sara’s anxiety fled at the realization that Ivan would do whatever it took to protect his men.

The massive screen above them caught her eye. The live view of the mat showed blood stains and spatter. It was a brutal reminder of the vicious combat happening right in front of her. Unable to stomach the sight, she glanced away and found herself locking eyes with Besian. He seemed pleased by the fight so far. No doubt the longer this went on, the more money he would make. If Zel’s odds had stayed at the rate she had taken earlier that morning when she had placed her bet, Besian was going to make a fucking fortune tonight.

The third round began. By now Zel’s face was in full bloom. His left eye was swelling shut. A gash split his left temple. He was injured, but he wasn’t slowing down. If anything, he seemed to have a burst of energy as the bell clanged. He attacked Mace with his fists and took the other fighter down to the mat with a kick.

“Sweet Jesus,” Sara whispered as Zel pounded Mace with his fists. Mace threw back his elbow, narrowly missing Zel’s nose. When Zel leapt back, Mace clambered to his feet. They circled one another, bobbing and weaving as they waited for the next opening.

Sara glanced around helplessly. She didn’t know how to read the scoreboard. Was Zel winning? How many rounds were left? How much longer would this go on? Judging the intensity of the crowd, Sara guessed the fight was in its final minutes. She closed her eyes and prayed silently.
Please let Zel win.

A shocked gasp rocked the crowd. Sara’s eyes flew open just in time to see Mace land a vicious kick to the side of Zel’s head. He teetered on his feet before falling forward in what seemed to be a jaw-rattling landing. Sara nearly puked at the sight of Zel’s lolling head and the blood dribbling down his mouth. The smirk on Mace’s face filled her with fury.

“GET UP, ZEL!” Sara shouted manically, as if he could hear her over the din. “GET UP!”

Mace approached Zel with a predatory grin. Sara realized he meant to land the final blow. Her stomach nearly turned itself inside out as he pulled back his leg in preparation for a nasty kick. She could see the muscles flexing in his bulging thighs as Mace drew back and whipped his leg forward.

“NO!”

At the very last second, Zel leaned just far enough to the left to avoid the deadly blow. In a flash, he grabbed Mace’s ankle and jerked the man off balance. Mace slammed into the mat so hard his head bounced twice. Zel was behind him in an instant, his forearm locked around Mace’s head in a viselike squeeze. It was a repeat of last night. Mace flailed and clawed at Zel’s forearm but to no avail.

Zel popped him once in the temple, his fist battering Mace’s head like a hammer—and Mace was out.

The arena exploded as Zel gently lowered Mace to the mat and staggered to his feet. Zel thrust his gloved hands high in the air and dropped his head back, shouting his elation. Bloodied, bruised, battered—but he was a winner.

Ivan surged across the mat and wrapped his crazy huge arms around Zel, hoisting him high as they both laughed and shouted with joy. Sara’s knees gave out and she crumbled into her seat. Tears of relief flooded her face. With trembling fingers, she shielded her face.

It was over.

Zel won.

Zel was safe.

And now he’s free…

Chapter Ten

Forehead against the tile, Zel let the hot, pounding pressure of the shower ease the tension in his shoulders and neck. He felt as if he’d been hit by a semi. Every muscle in his body ached. The slightest movement sent waves of discomfort through his stomach. His med check had ruled out any severe injury, and while that knowledge pacified his usual post-fight anxiety, it didn’t do much to reduce the soreness. Only the sweet taste of victory lessened the pain.

And what a victory it was!

Zel couldn’t have asked for a better retirement fight. He could walk away from this life satisfied he had made his mark on the world of mixed martial arts and done his very best. Mace had rung his bell in those final seconds, but somehow Zel had managed to summon forth the last remnants of that primal energy deep within him to win it all. From this moment forward, he would hold his head high.

He switched off the shower and cautiously crossed the wet tiles. Zel snatched a towel from the bench and wound it around his waist. Grabbing another, he used it to dry his hair and wick away the moisture clinging to his upper body, his bare feet leaving heat marks on the concrete floor as he walked to his locker. As he applied his antiperspirant, Zel heard the door behind him open.

“You okay?” Ivan’s voice boomed inside the cavernous locker room.

Zel cringed. “I’d feel better if you weren’t shouting at me.”

Ivan laughed. “This might be my last chance to yell at you. I decided to get it all out while I can.”

Zel glanced over his shoulder at his longtime trainer and confidante. “Just because I’m not going to fight for you anymore doesn’t mean you can’t call me up to yell at me every now and then.”

“Or maybe you can come back to the gym and work with me,” Ivan suggested.

Zel was taken aback by the offer of employment. “Are you serious?”

Ivan shrugged. “We’ll talk about it when we get back to Houston. You need some downtime to recover before you make long-term decisions, but yes. I think you would be a strong addition to our team.”

“Thank you. I’ll think about it.” Surprised by the offer and thinking of all the possibilities, he turned back to his locker and grabbed his antiperspirant. “The warehouse had a good night.”

“A very good night,” Ivan agreed. “Your night is about to get better.”

“Oh?”

“Sara is outside with Erin. If you want to see her—”

Zel spun around so fast he banged into his open locker door. “I want to see her.”

Ivan smiled. “I’ll send her in to see you.” He retreated toward the door but paused. “You two need to save the makeup sex for later, okay? You have a press conference in about twenty minutes.”

“I can do a lot in twenty minutes, Vanya.”

Ivan’s laughter echoed in the locker room. Zel gulped as anxiety invaded his belly. At the sound of the door opening and the unmistakable clack of heels against the concrete, Zel’s heart raced with anticipation.

He had forgiven her the moment he had walked out of her hotel room last night. She had been scared—both for herself and for him. Sending him away, ending things so abruptly, had been her way of protecting him. She had been trying to shield him from all the trouble that seemed to follow her.

At first glance, her decision was a selfish one, but later, on reflection, he had seen it as a sign of selflessness. She was willing to give up a chance at happiness to keep him safe. That made him want her—love her—all the more.

Like that first night, she took his breath away. She was so beautiful and that dress highlighted every luscious inch of her gorgeous body. He was proud of her for coming back, for being brave enough to make things right.

The sight of her puffy red eyes made his chest tighten. “You’ve been crying.”

She nodded.

“For me?”

Sara’s lower lip trembled. “Your face…”

Zel barely heard her distressed whisper. He self-consciously touched his swollen left eye. “It’s fine. The swelling will be gone in a few days. You’ll see.” She didn’t look convinced. He fought for the right words. “You came.”

Tears dripped down her cheeks. “Yes.” Sara stepped forward hesitantly and then stopped. “I’m so sorry, Zel. You were right, and I was wrong. I never should have sent you away. You and I do have something special, but I got scared. I started thinking about all my mistakes and all the ways I’ve hurt people—”

Zel quickly crossed the distance between them. He gently cupped her face and kissed her more passionately than he ever had. “I don’t care,” he murmured against her soft, sweet mouth. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

Sara’s shoulders sagged with relief as he tightly hugged her to his chest. For a long time they simply embraced, content with just being together again. Eventually Sara pulled back and looked up at him. “So what happens now?”

“Now? I go to a press conference and then I get something to eat. After that, we go back to my room or yours, and we sleep.”

“Just sleep?”

He shot her an amused smile. “I’m no good after a fight, baby. Give me a few days to recover and then I’ll rock your fucking world.”

Sara laughed and tenderly kissed his jaw. “And what happens after you recover?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

She bit her lower lip before asking, “Come with me?”

He wasn’t quite sure what she was asking. “Where?”

“Everywhere,” Sara said. “Travel with me. You have a passport?”

“Yes.” He didn’t like to admit it but it needed to be said right up front. “I’m broke, Sara. I don’t have two nickels to rub together.”

“You do now.”

He narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “What does that mean?”

“It means I put some action on your fight with Besian. You earned that money protecting me.” She lovingly touched the cut on his neck. “It’s yours. It’s your starting over money.”

“Sara…” He had never taken a dime from anyone. He wasn’t sure he wanted to start out their relationship with a gift like that, but he sensed this was non-negotiable for her. There were no strings attached that he could see, and he didn’t think she would ever hold it against him. He would probably end up spending it all on her anyway…

“I have shows lined up all across the US, Canada and Japan for the next three months. After that, I’m free. We can do anything you want. We can go back to Houston. We can go live in Europe. We can rent a beach house in Turks and Caicos and live off rum and whatever you catch and cook.” Clearly nervous that he would reject her, she repeated, “If you want to come with me, I mean.”

Zel had never seen her look quite so vulnerable. His heart swelled with love for her. Like him, she had seen so much in her life and deserved a fresh, clean start.

For the first time in years, he was filled with hope. With Sara’s help, he would write the next chapter of his life.

Smiling, he interlaced their fingers and touched his forehead to hers. “Wherever you go, I’ll be right there beside you, Sara.”

The End.

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Ivan

Her Russian Protector #1

By Roxie Rivera

Book One in the bestselling
Her Russian Protector
series

Desperate to find her sister, Erin goes to the only man in Houston who can help her:  Ivan Markovic. The intimidating, tattooed Russian operates one of the most elite mixed-martial arts training centers in the world but it’s his shadowy past and reputed connections with Houston’s underworld that interest her most.
To find her sister, she’ll need the help of her big, scary Russian protector—but asking for help from a man like Ivan carries a steep price, one that might just include her heart.

Dimitri (Her Russian Protector #2)

Yuri (Her Russian Protector #3)

A Very Russian Christmas (Her Russian Protector #3.5)

Nikolai (Her Russian Protector #4)

Sergei (Her Russian Protector #5)

Sergei II (Her Russian Protector #5.5)

Nikolai II (Her Russian Protector #6)

Kostya (Her Russian Protector #7) Coming 2016

Alexei (Her Russian Protector #8)

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Chapter One

"Erin, please don't go in there." Sitting in the front passenger seat, Vivian wrung her hands. "This is way too risky."

My gut clenched at her desperate tone. "I don't have a choice. I have to find Ruby."

"We'll do it some other way." Lena twisted in the driver's seat of her red beater and shot me a pleading look. "Vivi's right. Don't go in there."

I glanced out the rear window of the cramped car. My stomach pitched with anxiety at the sight of the warehouse. Stained with rust, the rundown warehouse sported such a deceptive front. That awful looking place housed one of the finest mixed-martial arts training centers in the world. Men desperate to be champions flew into Houston from all over the world to compete for one of the few open spots every year.

But I wasn't here to join a training regimen. No, I was here because I needed help. The kind of help only a man with his fingers deeply submerged in the murky waters of Houston's seedy underbelly could provide. "I need help."