Full Contact (Worth the Fight #2) - Sidney Halston Page 0,44
was not smart. Being on the offensive would tire Tony out far too quickly. He needed to size up the competition first. He was being self-indulgent and arrogant and was going to lose the fight.
Jacques easily avoided the punch, and the two men circled each other like two predators ready to pounce. The standoff went on for a minute or more, and the fans yelled, wanting to see action. Then Tony threw out a combination left-right punch kick. Jacques moved, evading both hits and throwing Tony slightly off balance. Slade could already see the sweat trickling down Tony’s face, and he knew his fighter was getting winded.
Slade turned to Francesca. “Do something, Frances!”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do?”
“Work your magic. You seem to be the only one who can get through to him.”
“Please, that was a fluke. I used his own macho caveman insecurity to fuck with his mind. He can’t be so stupid to fall for it twice.”
“Reverse psychology done by a woman in high heels and a tight short skirt works every time.” Slade gestured with his chin. “What you did in the hotel—do it again.”
She groaned and made her way closer to the cage. “Come on! Get him…kick him…,” she yelled.
Slade shook his head. That was the same thing he’d said. He needed her to do more. Much more.
“Frances, you need to do better than that. Come on!” Slade yelled.
Francesca tossed him a look over her shoulder, then turned back to the cage. “Round one, my ass! I knew you couldn’t cut it. Might as well pack up your shit and go home. Maybe Jacques will buy me that drink.”
Tony faltered for a second, and Slade wondered for a moment if Francesca had gone too far. But then Tony ducked out of the way of a jab that would have surely broken his nose, and simultaneously landed a roundhouse kick to Jacques’s ribs. And with that Slade saw, for the first time, a sliver of the super heavyweight fighter he’d seen on television.
The bell signaling the end of the first round sounded an instant later, and Tony made his way to his corner and plopped down. Travis came quickly with ice and water as Slade whispered advice to Tony, but soon Slade noticed that the fighter’s attention was elsewhere. “Are you listening to me? Tony, man, pay attention. You need to land another—”
“Where is she?” Tony interrupted.
“Who?”
“Francesca.”
“Oh, uh…” Slade stood and looked around. “Not sure. Why?”
“I don’t want her here. Tell her to get the hell out.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I don’t want her here,” Tony said, his voice low and firm. “I will walk the fuck out if you don’t get her out of here right now.”
“Uh…okay,” Slade said, befuddled. He beckoned to Travis. “Tex, go find Frances and tell her to wait in the locker room or outside. No questions. Just go.”
“Sure, boss,” Travis said, jumping off the cage platform and heading off in search of Francesca.
“Better?” Slade asked, then added, “You’re doing great. That last kick fucked him up. He’d be lucky to last another thirty seconds.”
“I don’t want to see or hear her. You understand?”
“Okay, okay, I got it. You just concentrate on the fight and I’ll make sure she’s not around.”
“Fucking first round,” Tony mumbled before the bell rang for the second round.
Slade’s brow furrowed. Was Tony’s pride wounded? Was that what all this broodiness was about? That he hadn’t knocked the guy out in the first round like he’d bet Frances? His partner was right: challenging that caveman ego was the key to success with Tony. It got you one pissed-off motherfucker, but it also provoked the exact kind of focus that Slade needed from Tony.
Fifty-two seconds into the second round, with one black eye and a swollen nose, Tony knocked out Jacques. The crowd roared and chanted his name.
“Good job, Tony. Seems like Scarface is back,” Slade said as soon as the reporters left the small makeshift press area where Tony had given a brief press conference. Tony was quiet and didn’t acknowledge Slade. Instead he grabbed his duffel bag and slipped out the back door.
—
“Congrats, man. Awesome night for WtF,” Jack said.
“Yeah, it was awesome.” Slade was lying on a lawn chair on his patio overlooking the ocean, a beer in his hand. “We probably shoulda gone out to celebrate our first victory, but no one seemed in the mood. Cain said he had plans, and Tony was just bitchy.”
“Well, we’re celebrating here. You think Jess will