Beautiful Fiend: A Dark Enemies to Lovers Romance (North Shore Stories Book 1)
Beautiful Fiend: Chapter 6

Jab. Jab. Right hook. I take a step back, sliding to the side to avoid her attempt to hit me back. The bitch is almost done. I can see her jumping and shaking her arms, exhausted and trying to keep up.

She has no chance against me.

I give her a kick to the ribs, and she falls on her side. I can barely hear the crowd cheer, too focused on my chance to win.

Jumping on her, I sit on her hips and throw my fists at her face. Her arms come up to try and protect herself, but she’s done for. I put all I have into my punches. When she protects herself too well, I go for the ribs and the stomach.

Caden’s face comes to my mind, and I hit harder. I’m dying to take back control for what he did last week and two years ago. I just want to hurt someone else’s body as he hurt mine. I just want to force her to take what I have to give. I’m struggling to breathe. Raining punches on her is taking all the energy I have left, and if she doesn’t tap out soon, I’ll have used all my strength for no reason.

I hear Dickie shout something in the background. I think he’s telling me she’s not tapping out. But it’s too late now. I’ve come this far and need to dig up more energy and finish this. I hit her with a hook, somehow avoiding the arms in front of her face and getting her in the jaw. Blood spurts out of her mouth, and her eyes roll to the back of her head.

“End it!” Dickie roars. The girl’s coach follows with the same order to the ref. If he doesn’t end it now, she will get seriously injured. She’s unable to defend herself anymore, and he needs to call T.K.O.

Is it my problem, though? Absolutely fucking not. This bitch will take until I’m forced to stop.

It’s not until her arms fall to her side that the ref is on me. He pushes me off her and signals that the fight is over. Next thing, he kneels next to her, checking whether she is still conscious or not, but I don’t care anymore. The crowd’s cheers are bringing life back to my exhausted body and I get up, running around the cage and lifting my arms up to encourage them. I spit my mouthguard out and go to the side of the cage where Dickie is waiting for me. I climb up and bend over the edge as he takes me into a hug.

This is a shit cage. The crowd must be thirty people at best. The judges are sitting on broken plastic chairs, and the mic the announcer uses to inform us of the winner screeches into the air, rendering us all deaf for a few seconds. We’re in a worn-down gym with not much at all, and I know that even the changing rooms barely have any water pressure.

Yeah, it’s all shit, but it’s a win. And as I come down from the grill of the cage and go by the ref so he can announce the winner—perfectly knowing it’s me—I imagine the crowds of people who will cheer for me when I become a UFC fighter. I imagine the cameras flashing when I lift the belt high up in the air. I allow myself to escape the North Shore, to escape Silver Falls.

I see myself in a place where I don’t know anyone, but everyone knows me for being the most ruthless fighter they’re ever seen. They’ll look at this 115-pound tiny girl who barely makes it into Flyweight, and they’ll drop their jaws to the floor when they see me win.

There will be no drugs, no pressure, no lack of money. There will be no Kings crew trying to hurt me. Caden will never make it out of here, and I will be far away from him and his gang before he can harm me beyond repair. I know it. I feel it with the way the music and uproar make the floor of the cage vibrate.

The ref takes both my hand and my opponent’s as the presenter speaks. He’s not actually a presenter, more a guy who loves putting on a show for a few bucks.

“Tonight’s win goes to the tiny fighter we’ve started calling unbeatable,” he shouts into the mic. He’s done many of my other fights, and everyone is starting to know my reputation in Silver Falls, South Bank and North Shore alike. “This is her fourth win this year and her third T.K.O., ladies and gentlemen.”

My heart is beating so hard that I struggle not to tremble with excitement. My whole body is burning, emotions flooding my chest, and I almost want to cry. There is no better feeling than what comes next.

“The winner of this fight by T.K.O. is…Billie the unbeatable Scott!”

The cheers and screams make my knees weak. Apart from my family, I know none of these people. Dickie wraps me in his arms before lifting me on his shoulders. I raise my fists to the sky as he does another round of the cage. My huge bear-like coach has the personality of a marshmallow when we’re outside the gym, and as I look down, I see him wipe a tear of happiness.

Dickie is a war veteran. When he returned from Iraq, his wife left him and took his two daughters with her. He had nothing left except fighting. She would only let him see his daughters when she needed money from him.

He was not a good man back then, though no one on the North Shore judges anyone on their past, especially me. He took his anger out on poor guys who looked at him the wrong way in bars. He lost his money and visited jail more than a few times. One day he got a call saying his ex-wife and kids had been in a car accident and were all dead. Two little girls, four and seven years old, gone, because his ex-wife had started dating a maniac who couldn’t control his anger. He never got to say goodbye. All he could do for closure was kill the fucker. No one ever found out. He didn’t get convicted or do time, and I think that was fate telling him it was his chance at a new life. He had nothing and no one. So, he became a boxing coach.

I met him in L.A. The year the Bianco family was backing up our crew, I was sent to fight illegal fights for three months. A way for us to show our loyalty. That, among many other things. If big organizations keep us as low-class criminals, they always have something to hold over our heads.

Dickie saw the potential in me right away. He was working for Bianco too back then. When I went back to North Shore, he followed me. And when Bianco got put away, he took the rundown gym that’s on North Shore Crew turf and told me to drop all illegal shit I was involved in.

I have no doubt he sees his little girls in me. With every win, I see the pride in his eyes and the tears shining. Every time I get into fights outside the gym and kick some Kings Crew bitch’s ass, he looks at me with that disappointed expression that silently tells me to do better.

He knows I want to get out of this shithole. He knows I want not only my UFC fame but a nice life far away from here. Make good money from fighting as long as possible, and when I’m done, move to some nice small town where people gossip about who took two parking spots at the grocery store. About whose kids are bad because they once saw them smoke weed. A humble marriage, possibly some kids. Some white picket fence and a small house. Waving at my neighbors when I leave for the boxing gym. I’d discuss how I used to be part of UFC over a glass of wine with them and shock them with YouTube videos of my best fights.

I simply want to be somewhere else. Anywhere that isn’t here.

Dickie knows that, and he’s trying so hard to get me out of this life. I dread disappointing him. But on nights like this? When I see him wipe a tear at how proud he is of me, I feel light as a feather. I feel like I can fly so far away from here North Shore of The Falls would just be a small dot on a map and bad memories.

Grabbing me by the waist, Dickie lifts me off his shoulders and sets me down. He hugs me so firmly that I feel a ball of emotion gather in my throat as my face hides against his belly. He truly is a gigantic man.

Some random local journalist takes a picture of both of us. I’m going to make the local news. Probably on that last half page, the one they dedicate to sports. I don’t care. My stomach flips with excitement, and I raise one winning fist to the sky. My face is probably bruised from the few punches the other girl got in. They call her Feisty Cathy. She didn’t stand a chance against me, although I do feel blood trickling down my eyebrow from when she punched me hard in the first round. That was before I annihilated her. She lasted three rounds. The third was obviously cut short by the T.K.O.

“Come on. Let’s get you showered and changed. I need to check that eyebrow again,” Dickie says as he nudges me.

Before I make it off the ring, the presenter, who loves to put on a show, comes to me with the mic and asks the same questions UFC fighters are usually asked. Instead of having a cameraman with him as most professionals would, he’s just got his phone, filming himself. “Billie, Billie! This is for my YouTube channel FollowTheFight. My subscribers saw you live tonight, and they love you! You only have one more fight to win before facing the current local Flyweight champion. We have no doubt you’ll get there, but she’s never lost a fight. They call you ‘Unbeatable Billie’, but they call her ‘Killer Clover’. How do you feel about that?”

I laugh at how serious he is about this. He points his phone camera at me, and I love it, so I play the game. “I’m coming for you, Clover.” I stop at that, not wanting to say something I’ll regret.

I follow Dickie to the changing rooms, and he gets his first aid kit out as I go to the showers. I untie the tight French braids I have on when I fight and relish in the warm water trickling down from my skull to my toes. Once I’m out and dressed back in tight jeans and a tank top, I replace a bottle of water and some Advil next to my gym bag. I keep the towel on my shoulders as my long, light brown hair dries.

“It’s stopped bleeding,” I tell Dickie as I pop an Advil in my mouth and down half the bottle.

He still comes to observe me, leaning down with a penlight as he checks for severe injuries.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he says in his low grumbly voice. ‘Your cheek is a bit swollen. Let’s put some ice on it.” He cracks an icepack taken from his kit and gives it to me so I can apply it against my cheek.

“Alright,” he says. “There’s someone who’s been waiting outside to meet you.”

He walks to the door and opens it to a man in a suit. He looks rich. The kind of rich that either means he’s up to no good or he has opportunities for small people like me. Maybe both.

He walks into the room with a confidence I could never have and extends his hand to me. I look at it for far too long, wondering who he is, noticing the stark difference between him and us. I’m wearing the same clothes I always do and Dickie the joggers and hoodie he can’t live without. The man’s wearing the kind of suit that costs the amount of money I could only ever dream of.

Shit, I bet it’s tailored.

“Hi, Billie. I’m Taylor Davis.”

Taylor in the tailored suit.

Shaking my head, I try to bring myself back to reality. “Um, hi,” I finally blurt out. I awkwardly put the ice pack down and shake his hand, realizing too late that my hand is wet from the ice. Feeling self-conscious, I take the small towel from my shoulders and tie my hair in my usual ponytail.

“Taylor is an old friend of mine. He’s a professional MMA agent, and he came to see you fight tonight.” Dickie can barely hold back the smile spreading on his face.

I blink up at Taylor, not believing what I’m hearing.

“Sorry, what?” I finally say.

“You’ve got some real talent there, Billie. You’re a fighter if I’ve ever seen one, that’s for sure. Dickie’s been begging for me to come to one of your fights for months. I regret not coming sooner.”

It takes me a minute to pick my jaw up off the floor.

“Bil’s,” Dickie smiles. “What T. is trying to say is that he wants to represent you and put you forward for professional fights.”

“What?” I whisper. I grab the bottle of water I’d put away and down the rest before squeezing it past its limit. “W-what do you mean by professional fights?”

“Well,” Taylor finally says. “We’ll start with some small local pro fights. Earn you a reputation within the East Coast and—”

“Wait,” I choke. “By local, you mean East Coast?”

“Yeah, we won’t be able to get you to the West Coast this year. But who knows, maybe we can get you a fight for King of The Cage or Elite Xtreme Combat next year. Who knows, we might even get you to Road FC by the end of next year.”

“Road FC.” I inhale in shock. The South Korean lower league has seen some of the best women fighters, including the current UFC champion.

“Of course.” He nods like it’s no big deal. “You’re small and skinny, though. So we have a lot of work ahead of us. We might need you to change weight class, so be prepared to put on weight.” He smiles softly at me. “I’ll take good care of you, Billie. I’m one of the best in the game, and if you let me, who knows where you’ll be in two or three years. UFC is on the table for you, girl. You just have to put in the work.”

Put in the work. So I can go to the UFC.

This is what I’ve dreamed about for as long as I can remember. Making money out of my passion. Getting away from the North Shore.

“Well,” I huff as I fall back on the bench. “Shit.”

Dickie cackles a laugh. “She’s not used to good news, T. Give her a minute.”

“Alright,” Taylor smiles. “I will, but time is money. So, I’m going to give you my card and you can call me if you’re interested.”

I snatch the card off him and practically shout, “I’m interested!”

He joins Dickie in the amused side of the room and taps his shoulder. “I like her already. Email me, Billie, and I’ll send you a draft of my contract. If you sign, I’m yours. In the meantime,” he gives Dickie a serious look before looking at me again, “no drugs, no alcohol, no fights outside the gym. And absolutely no involvement in illegal activities. Keep training hard, and don’t injure yourself.”

I gulp at the mention of illegal activities, even though I nod.

“Our contract will have a clause that states I will only take you on if you win this local amateur championship,” he continues. “I need someone with no losses, or you’ll have no credibility out there. I’m not worried, in any case. You’re going to give Killer Clover her first loss, aren’t you?”

I nod, but I know he can see the hesitation in my eyes.

“This is the real deal now, Billie. You go for it, or you’re left behind. There are thousands of great fighters out there. Show me you’re more than great. Show me you’re exceptional.”

He nods at Dickie and finally heads out of the room.

“Oh my god!” I shriek as I jump up and into Dickie’s arms. “How long have you been planning this? Why didn’t you say anything? Oh my god…oh my god!!”

I release him and stare at him with tears in my eyes. “Thank you,” I finally drop quietly. “Fuck, Dickie. Thank you.”

He messes my ponytail and cracks a smile. “It’s all you, kiddo. But you heard him. Time to take this shit seriously.”

“I know.” I nod enthusiastically, even though I realize it’s impossible for me to stay out of trouble for now. But I won’t get caught. I know I won’t get caught. I need this like I need air. I’m going to win, and I’m going to become a professional MMA fighter.

I fucking deserve this.