Knockout: Wayward Fighters, #1

By J.C. Valentine

Life doesn't always give us second chances, but an evening out gives Alyson a front-row seat to a crippling past…and a volatile future.

 

Alyson Blake grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, relying on no one but herself—until the boy next door stole her heart with one electric first kiss, only to be ripped from her world by handcuffs and prison bars. Now an adult, Alyson has carved out a quiet, simple existence—until she attends an event that changes everything.

 

Jamison "Judge" Weston rules the boxing ring with fury, swagger, and powerful fists. Leaving behind a troubled past, his career is his salvation. But when Alyson reenters his life, racing to her side means risking everything his brutal childhood deprived him of—the money, fame, and independence boxing brings a man with his savage reputation.

 

Their attraction burns hotter than ever, but when Alyson's dedication to her job collides with a dangerous threat, Jamison faces the ultimate test: stand by while Alyson's life implodes or put everything on the line—again—and fight for the woman he loves, jeopardizing the disciplined existence he's barely keeping between the ropes. But she's his last shot at grace—if he can keep her safe so she can teach him the same.

 

Fans of Sienna Blake's Fighter's Kiss and Chelle Bliss's Hook Me will go wild for Knockout, book one of J.C. Valentine's Wayward Fighters series.

 

Scroll up and one-click to start reading this electrifyingly sexy fighter romance now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.C. Valentine
• Release date: Dec 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540160393

Book preview

J.C. VALENTINE

KNOCKOUT

Copyright © 2013 by J.C. Valentine

Cover and interior book design by J.C. Valentine

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Also by J.C. Valentine

Blind Jacks MC

Marked for Death

Fighting Dirty

Ace of Hearts

Blue Collar

Sweetest Temptations

Forbidden Trilogy

Dance for Me

Lie to You

Fall for Him

Forbidden Valentine

Haunted Real Estate

Haunted Real Estate: Where's Gary?

Night Calls

Stranded

That First Kiss

Surrender to Love

Trust

Roped by the Cowboy Duet

Finding Home

Spartan Riders

Grit

Mettle

Vigor

Brash

Cocky

Wayward Fighters

Knockout

Tapout

unDefeated: Spencer and Olivia

unShakable (Plus BONUS Takedown novella)

Standalone

The Affair

Her Only Salvation

Taken

Santa Baby

Indecent Proposal: A Reverse Harem Romance

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By J.C. Valentine

Knockout (Wayward Fighters, #1)

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

Sign up for J.C. Valentine's Mailing List

Further Reading: Tapout

Also By J.C. Valentine

Acknowledgements

For my husband, who first introduced me to UFC. I loved it from the start, even though there are some cringe-worthy moments that keep me on edge and completely ruin my manicure. For my children, who are just as proud of my work as my husband, and never hesitate to spread the word to their friends that Mommy is an author. You all bring a smile to my face each and every day.

As always, thank you to my editor, Rogena, for making Jami and Ally’s story shine, and for always hitting those impossible deadlines I toss your way! Thank you to Kim, my friend and partner in crime for sharing the same kind of crazy and never judging me for it, and for just being you. Thank you also to the wonderful group of women who volunteered to beta read—Toni, Regina, Mitzi, Tasmin, Jacqueline—for suffering through pre-edits and not laughing at me when you realized that I am the queen of omitted words, and for understanding my vision and helping to shape it into what it is now.

Finally, to you, dear readers, for reading. Whether you have been on board since the beginning with the Night Calls Series, or are new to my work, know that I cherish you. I couldn’t be where I am now without you. You give me the courage and drive to create these stories with your wonderful and kind words. I am always thrilled to hear your thoughts, and your feedback is important, so I hope you will consider leaving a review on your preferred retailer sites. xoxoxox

"It’s not whether you get knocked down, it’s whether you get up."

– Vince Lombardi

ONE

They were at it again.

Carefully, and as quietly as she could manage, Alyson peeled back the blankets and crept toward the door. Even through two closed doors, the sound of her parents’ fighting reached her as though they were standing in the same room.

He had been drinking again...among other things. It was the only time her father ever raised his voice or fist to her mother, and lately, he’d been doing it every day. Pressing her palms flat against the wood, Alyson worked to control her labored breaths, straining to capture every word.

I’m sorry, her mother’s shaky voice cried. I didn’t mean anything by it. A loud slap of flesh against flesh followed, and Alyson squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of her mother’s shrill scream. Every fiber of her being shouted for her to do something—call the police, run and get help, make him stop. Just please make him stop. But her instincts held her in place, listening, doing absolutely nothing to help. What kind of person did that make her?

Crash. The shouting and the crying grew louder as her father moved the fight into the hallway just outside her bedroom door. Terrified of what would come next, unsure of what to do, Alyson moved back, her gaze fixed on the shiny gold knob. Would she be next?

A scuffle followed by the thud of a body hitting the wall, and then the commotion began to move farther away, toward the front of the house. A mixture of relief and guilt washed over her as Alyson moved backwards until the backs of her knees hit the bed, and she dropped down to sit. And listen. And pray.

One day it would be better. That’s what her mother always told her. She didn’t know if she believed her anymore, but it was the only thing she had to hold on to, because if it didn’t get better, and soon, she had a terrible feeling that something much worse was going to happen.

A gasp erupted from her lips, and Alyson slapped a hand over her mouth, fearing that the small sound would call her father back. The only thing she knew to do when her father was having one of his fits was to become invisible. At least then, she had some hope of escaping his wrath.

Silent tears slipped one after the other down her cheeks, and her shoulders shook from the effort of holding it in. One day she was going to get out of there, and when she did, she would never look back. This she promised herself as she sat absorbing the sounds of her world crashing down around her.

The unexpected dip of the mattress behind her startled her for only an instant, and then she felt the warmth of his body wrap around hers, and she knew, despite the destruction that was her life, everything was going to be all right.

The soft melody of gurgling water and birdsong eased its way into her dreams, rousing Alyson from a restless sleep. Fumbling blindly for her phone, she swiped the screen and pressed it to her ear, grunting a weak Hello?

Hey, sleepyhead, what would you say if I told you that I just got us two tickets to paradise? The sound of her best friend, Olivia’s, voice jarred her awake the rest of the way.

Rolling onto her back, Alyson rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stared up at the ceiling, thoughts of her past still fresh in her mind’s eye. Blinking rapidly, she forced them back into their box and sealed the lid shut tight. I would say who did you steal the tickets from and where are we going?

To which I would reply, I totally ganked them from the top of my uncle’s entertainment center when he was in the bathroom and, joy of joys, they’re to this totally awesome, one night only event that’s being held at the Sports Arena downtown.

A frown began to take shape as Alyson dragged herself from her bed and into the bathroom. You stole tickets from your uncle? she asked as she squeezed toothpaste onto her toothbrush.

Oh, please, Olivia scoffed. He works at a printing press and has, like, a million of them just lying around. He probably stole them himself and was planning to scalp them or some shit. He won’t even notice they’re gone.

Spitting minty white foam into the sink, Alyson rinsed the basin and then turned her attention to the shower. Knowing that it was futile to argue with her friend, she said, Whatever. So when is this thing?

Tonight, Olivia replied. And wear something hot.

Define hot, and is there a reason I need to dress up? Alyson asked suspiciously as she leaned her hip against the counter, watching a cloud of steam begin to grow before her.

Do you need a reason to dress up? Olivia questioned, as if the question were absurd. "There are going to be hot guys, and I mean H.O.T. hot, so put on something as tight and short as you can make it and still be legal."

You mean slutty, Alyson corrected with a laugh. She knew how these things went. Olivia was gearing up to wrangle herself a man tonight, and wherever they were going, there would probably be a lot of competition.

You say tomato, I say tomahto, Olivia singsonged. So, I’ll swing by around six and pick you up.

With a resigned sigh, Alyson said, Sounds like a plan, and then she stepped into the shower and let the hot water wash her nightmares down the drain.

***

How’s that feel? Too tight?

Jami flexed his fingers, forming a tight fist and releasing it to test the bandages. No, they’re good. He met Don’s gray-blue eyes. Spencer here yet? He caught the flicker of disapproval on his face before his coach turned to begin putting the wrappings away. For some reason that Jami couldn’t puzzle out, Coach didn’t approve of his friend. Maybe it was his insatiable appetite for women, or his high-strung personality that made him stand out from the rest of the group. Whatever it was, Jami was just glad it hadn’t caused a big enough issue to put a crimp in their bottom line—winning the championship title.

He cast a look around the room at his ragtag group of friends that were more like family than his own family had ever been. In one corner stood his body guard, Dwayne, whose body was so big, he was fairly certain he was the one holding the wall he was leaning against up, rather than the other way around. Will, Bobby, and Collin, a dirty blond trio of brothers with deep southern roots, occupied a stretch of bench, in various states of repose. In comparison to Dwayne’s tatted up and menacing demeanor, they were less brawn and more bite, but each of them held their own in keeping him safe, and each had earned their place as his friend.

Don’s sandy voice called back his attention. Haven’t seen him. I’m sure he’ll turn up soon.

As if on cue, the locker room door banged open and Spencer’s excitement-filled voice echoed around them, and was chased by the muted roar of energized fans. You would not believe what Bonecrusher just did to that guy’s face! Rounding the corner, his cheeks flushed with excitement, a mile-wide smile greeted them. Standing at just under six-feet with closely cropped brown hair and facial piercings in his left eyebrow, and the center of his bottom lip, Spencer was easily the outsider of the group. His energy alone set him apart from the rest them, those who were so calm that no one would ever guess that they were preparing to put on a show in front of a packed house of diehard MMA fans. Spencer threw a left hook followed by a right into the air. Holy shit, dude, it’s fucking crazy out there.

It’d better be, Jami chuckled as he stood to embrace his closest friend. The show is sold out. Where the hell you been all night? I was starting to wonder if you were going to show up.

What the fuck are you talking about? I’ve been here, he said, pointing to the floor. You know I wouldn’t miss this shit for the world.

Only because I wouldn’t pay your lazy ass, Jami chided. Behind him, his coach held up his walkout shirt for him, and he turned to slip his arms and head inside the holes. This was the part he loved best—the moments just before he entered the ring. He could feel the adrenalin beginning to build—the anticipation, the high he got from a thousand people chanting his name. Coming from his background, the only people he would have expected to ever shout his name would have been a lynch mob, not a crowd of adoring fans rooting for him to succeed. It was something that would never get old.

Lazy? Spencer said, pulling a face. Dude, who do you think makes sure the bills get paid? How do you think you get to sleep in the fanciest fucking hotels in every city we travel? And what about that fancy fucking chef you got in your pocket cooking up those tasteless meals you seem to love so damn much? He jabbed a finger at himself. Me, dude. That’s all me.

Jami held up his hands. Chill the fuck out, man. We all know you’re the shit, right, Coach? He turned to look at him, but Coach didn’t seem to be paying any attention. In fact, with his head angled down and his eyes glued to his phone, he appeared to be actively avoiding the conversation.

Shrugging, Jami returned to Spencer. How’s it looking for the women? You pick anyone yet? Spencer was a player, and he used the events as if they were his personal fishing hole. While Jami fought in the ring, Spencer scanned the stands for females who fit the bill, which wasn’t that hard to do. The only qualifications they had to meet were ready, willing, and able with a nice face and tight body—and women like that were never in short supply.

Nah, not yet, Spencer said, his eyes darting away. I was taking care of some business, but don’t worry. By the time the final bell rings, I’ll have plenty for you to choose from.

Jami grinned and held out his fist, bumping it against Spencer’s. That’s why I pay you the big bucks.

Spencer huffed. Yeah, right, and pigs fly.

Jami’s brows pinched at his friend’s offhand comment, but before he could question him further, Coach’s heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder. Ready, son?

If at all possible, the crowd had grown louder. He could hear them chanting his name, and he felt the adrenaline spike in his veins. Tilting his head from side to side, he cracked his neck, then laced his fingers together and bent them back, cracking those, too. Bouncing on his toes, he shook out his arms and wrists, loosening his joints. And then the announcer’s voice boomed through the loud speakers, and as a group, they moved forward, out the doors, and down the darkened hallway toward the arena.

TWO

Alyson’s head pounded from the level of insanity she was witnessing around her. Never, never in her wildest dreams, would she have expected her friend to bring her to a place where men brutalized each other for a living. The sport was just so...primitive. Downright barbaric. What was the appeal?

You seriously like this? she shouted to Olivia. She watched her friend bounce around in her chair, her shoulder-length blonde hair jumping and falling with each movement, and screaming like a lunatic at the blood-soaked opponents in the ring.

Kill him! Punch his face in! Olivia turned to Alyson, her face glowing. "Bonecrusher is so effing hawt! She fanned herself dramatically, her fuchsia nails glinting. Isn’t he hot?"

Alyson glanced at the six-foot something man covered in blood and sweat and could honestly say she didn’t see the appeal, but to her friend she said, My every dream come true.

Sensing the lack of enthusiasm in her voice, Olivia’s glossed lips pulled down in a frown and she leaned in. Aren’t you having fun?

This really isn’t my scene, Alyson spoke honestly. When you said to dress slutty, I thought we were going to something with more of a party vibe, not a gladiator event. Since when are you into all of this? She flicked her hand out, indicating the ring and the women parading around it in skimpy outfits, the arena of bloodthirsty fans. Seriously, what was so fun about all of this?

Olivia shrugged. "I was up late one night and caught the tail end of a match on one of the sports channels. It was one of his fights, she said, pointing at the man she’d called Bonecrusher. I’ve been kind of hooked ever since."

Hmm. It seemed her friend was just full of surprises. At that moment, chaos erupted, pulling Alyson’s attention to the ring in time to see Bonecrusher land a solid punch to his opponent’s jaw. The man’s body dropped to the floor like a lead weight, and Bonecrusher followed. Alyson watched with a certain level of disgust and dismay as the fighter pounded his fists into the other man’s face. The hits were so hard, and there was so much blood, Alyson feared she had just witnessed a murder take place when the ref finally called it.

A team of men entered the ring and rushed to the downed man. The announcer came to a stand beside Bonecrusher, who wore a pleased look on his sweat-soaked face, and held up his arm. Ladies and gentlemen, at four minutes and thirty-two seconds of the fourth round, Referee Wilson stops this bout. Your winner by technical knockout, and still undefeated lightweight champion out of the red corner, I give you Adrian Boooonnnneecrusherrr Ramsey!

The crowd went wild and Alyson felt her ears tense at the sudden spike in noise. Soon after the celebration was over, the fighters left the ring and the lull in the arena as people filed out to hit the concessions and restrooms before the next fight allowed Alyson to take a moment to pull out her phone and check her messages. They were empty.

I feel so unloved, she said with a mock pout.

Olivia, who was busy touching up her hair and make-up in her compact mirror, didn’t even spare her a glance. Please, she scoffed, everyone loves you. And what’s not to love?

Rolling her eyes, Alyson tucked her phone back into her bra. Last time I checked, most men don’t date me for my brains.

Men don’t count, Olivia argued. They who have no brains shall not... Her blue eyes glazed over briefly. "Shit. I don’t know where I was going with that, but you get my drift. Everyone who matters loves you, because you’re awesome."

Aw, aren’t you sweet, Alyson said, pulling her friend in for a hug.

Like sugar, baby.

When the arena was filled once again, Alyson settled in for the—blessedly—final fight of the night. She was kind of disappointed that the evening hadn’t turned out as she’d expected, but she had to admit, it was a nice change of pace. Different for sure. Not that she’d ever come back. Fighting just wasn’t her thing.

The room was plunged into darkness and Bodies by Drowning Pool poured out of the speakers. A chorus of booing and cheers charged the air, and Alyson’s interest piqued. She stood up with the rest of the crowd, her gaze riveted on the corner where spotlights had been trained. Out of the darkness a figure emerged surrounded by a group of equally tall and burly men actively pushing grasping hands away from the man in the middle.

Her blood raced a little faster in her veins, the frenetic energy surrounding her making her insides come alive. This had to be what was referred to as pack mentality, she mused. She craned her neck to glimpse another peek as the audience gave way to the fighter and his entourage.

Glancing at Olivia, she grinned at her friend, who was jumping up and down. Her hands were cupped around her mouth as she shouted words that were immediately eaten up by the blaring music and hundreds of ravenous women clamoring for attention. Turning her attention back to the fighter, Alyson saw that he was coming around to her side of the ring where a group of men stood waiting for him.

As he approached, his head lowered, she felt her excitement ratchet higher, and her gaze turned piercing as she waited for his face to be revealed. His bodyguards circled around him, creating a barrier between the fighter and an unknown number of grasping hands, forcing Alyson to stand on her toes and lean precariously to see what was happening. A few short steps away from her, the fighter finally looked up, only to turn swiftly and hug each of the men on his crew. She caught only a glimpse of him, but it was all that she needed. Alyson’s breath froze in her chest, and she felt her eyes bug out.

Holy crap, it couldn’t be.

Considering the brevity of the moment, she couldn’t say with absolute conviction that she knew the man, but something about him struck a chord inside of her, telling her she did even though she knew it was impossible. When he turned back around, he stripped his shirt off, revealing broad shoulders and the most defined set of pecks and abs she’d ever laid eyes on. Mouthwatering didn’t even begin to describe the man before her, and whether or not she knew a single thing about him didn’t matter, because she was in love.

Watching him closely, her eyes roamed over his body, absorbing every detail. There was a tattoo on his right bicep that traveled halfway down his arm and looked almost tribal. Smooth skin encased a body of solid muscle—not an inch of fat anywhere that she could see. A thick, muscular neck lead up to a head of dark brown hair that was clipped short in the back and slightly longer in the front. Her eyes traced down to a set of strong cheekbones, full lips, and a squared jaw. The words total package ran through her mind.

Closing his eyes, the fighter tilted his head back and a man wearing latex gloves stepped up and began smearing grease over his eyebrows, nose, and cheeks. Then he was passed off to another man, who ran his fingers behind his ears, over his shoulders, then down his arms and the rest of his body in a quick pat down, finally returning to his hands to check his nails and gloves.

The whole process took less than a minute, and then he was walking up the short set of stairs and into the ring. She soaked him in as he danced around the ring, shaking out his long limbs, and then the arena went dark again. A new song boomed overhead, filling her ears with the hard hitting sounds of Disturbed’s Down with the Sickness.

She thought the audience had been loud before? Nothing compared to the roar they created when the man with the neon green Mohawk strode down the walkway, an air of superiority trailing behind him like a fog. When he pulled his shirt over his head, Alyson took note of the impressive collection of tattoos decorating his arms and chest. The one she zoned in on, though, was of a black, sinister-looking dragon-like creature that appeared to be crawling over his left shoulder, looking back at whoever dared approach him from behind with malicious intent.

She shivered. This man, whoever he was, scared her. Her eyes strayed to his opponent who stood in his corner of the ring, a bored look on his face. Wasn’t he concerned at all? 

The fighter with the Mohawk went through the same process as the one before him, and then entered the ring. He raised his arms in the air, circling the ring and riling the audience up even more. They shouted his name louder than ever, and Alyson felt part of herself shrink back in apprehension. A crowd this size, exuding this kind of energy, could get out of control in the blink of an eye.

Biting her lip, she fastened her attention to the men in the ring. The announcer stood in the center, microphone in hand as he addressed the room.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is the main event of the evening, he said, his deep, authoritative voice booming. He continued on, announcing the sponsors of the fight and introducing the judges, which Alyson couldn’t care less about. All she wanted to know was the name of the man who had stolen her breath.

This fight is scheduled for five, five minute rounds, the announcer continued, something which Alyson thought didn’t sound too bad. Twenty-five minutes in the ring? Sure, her petite female body probably wouldn’t last two minutes, but these guys were in peak form, their muscles honed to perfection for just this purpose. Twenty-five minutes was probably a cake walk for them. She sat up taller as the announcer began the introductions.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, in front of a packed house, the time has come. Fighting out of the blue corner, he said, his voice growing louder as he pointed to the man in question, the one Alyson couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from, this man is a jiu-jitsu artist. Standing at six-feet three inches tall and weighing in tonight at two-hundred and five pounds, he has a professional record of twelve wins and zero losses. Fighting out of Columbus, Ohio, please welcome Jamison—The Juuuuuuuudge—Westonnn!

As the roar of screaming fans hit its crescendo, Alyson sat in complete silence, too stunned to move a muscle. Holy hell, it was him. Jamison Weston, the boy from her past, the boy—literally—from her dreams, had returned. Beside her, Olivia was joining in the frenzy, shouting out cat calls and making idle threats to Jami’s opponent as the announcer introduced him. Through it all, Alyson stared straight ahead, at the boy turned man, the person she owed her life to, and the last person she should want to see.

***

Blood spattered the canvas and Alyson flinched, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to look away. It was the middle of the third round, and as far as she could tell, Jami was winning.

Oh, my God, oh, my God, Olivia chanted, sitting on the edge of her seat with her hands fluttering around her mouth.

The first round hadn’t been anything special—just a couple of guys hopping around on the canvas, occasionally lunging at one another, and occasionally making contact. By the second round, Jami sustained a split eyebrow, and he delivered a blackened eye to the guy they called simply Danny Doom. All in all, it was turning out to be a pretty average fight when measured against what she had witnessed earlier in the evening.

She glanced over at Olivia, shaking her head at the tense look on her face, the redness rising in her cheeks as she held her breath in anticipation. Alyson didn’t understand why her friend was so worked up. It wasn’t as if she knew either of the guys, but then her friend seemed to really like the sport.

In the ring, Jami stalked his opponent. In unison, they skirted each other left then right, their fists up around their faces. This was the boring part, and yet it was the most tension-filled—the moment when nothing and everything was happening, when the whole fight could shift in a matter of seconds.

And then it did.

Without warning, Jami struck out with his left fist, grazing Doom’s temple. Just as fast, his right foot came off the canvas, and with lightning speed, extended out, as he impacted first in Doom’s thick thigh and next at his exposed ribcage. Doom grunted, his face twisting in pain, and when he staggered back a step, Jami pounced.

With fluid grace, Jami launched himself against the other fighter, knocking him on his back. Covering his body with his own, Jami’s forearm jammed against the man’s throat at the same time his legs formed a complicated pretzel around his legs.

Panic streaked across his opponent’s face as he struggled to free himself. Twisting onto his stomach, Alyson felt her body tense, knowing instinctively that the man had made the wrong move. Instantly, Jami repositioned his arm around Doom’s neck, clamping down tight on his throat. Lower, his legs formed a vice around his middle, ensuring that he wasn’t going anywhere. Alyson’s teeth bit into her bottom lip as she watched, rapt, while Doom’s face turned shades of red. Why hadn’t anyone stopped the fight yet?

Tap out! she heard someone behind her yell.

Tear his head off, Olivia shouted, startling her with her ruthlessness. The last thing Alyson wanted to see was a man’s head torn from his shoulders, not that she thought they’d allow something like that to happen. Would they?

On the ground, Jami appeared to be trying to do just that. Arching his back, he cranked down harder, and Alyson’s hands covered her mouth in horror as she watched the man’s face turn purple, and then something happened, and it was all over.

The ref rushed up, waving his hands. A bell sounded, and then Jami was pushing his opponent—who wasn’t moving—off him, and rolling to his feet. Triumph was written all over his face, in his wide smile and dark, glittering eyes.

After a moment to confer with the judges, the announcer reentered the ring. By then, the medics—she assumed that’s what they were called—had managed to patch Danny Doom up enough to get him standing on his own two feet. He stood on one side of the ref, while Jami stood on the other.

Ladies and gentlemen, at three minutes, fifty-one seconds of the third round, Referee Wilson stops this bout. Your winner by technical knockout and the new ISCF amateur light heavyweight champion out of the blue corner, Jamison The Juuuuuudge Westoooonnnn! Grabbing Jami’s wrist, the announcer jerked his arm into the air, and the crowd went wild.

Despite her earlier worries about mob mentality, Alyson was too preoccupied with the brilliant, darkly sexy smile Jami wore to give it much thought. Watching him up there, blood oozing from a split in his left eyebrow, a bruise already forming around one eye, she had never felt more proud of anyone than she did at