Rowdy’s fight entrance song:
Wolf Totem by The HU feat. Jacoby Shaddix of Papa Roach
For my sister, who was brave in ways that I am not.
I miss you every day.
1976 – 2019
YOU THINK THIS IS A LOVE story. You’re wrong. It’s a massacre.
A massacre of who I think I am.
Where I come from.
And who I thought—hoped—I’d have a future with.
I set off from Texas to California, seeking my MMA dreams. I’d caught a glimpse of that dream, hitched a ride on the tail of a shooting star. Only it wasn’t a star at all. It was an angel.
And she wasn’t—isn’t—mine for the keeping.
She belongs to the devil.
And he has no intention of letting her go.
Like devils do, he took what was his—what had always been his—with no apologies.
And here I am wanting his angel, regretting she’s not mine, while at the same time lusting over the devil’s sister.
Ironic? Nah, it’s my own damn fault. There’s nothing ironic about it. I knew Frankie was taken the minute I laid eyes on her. The way she scowled at the sun for having the gall to be sunny and bright when all she wanted was dark and dreary, she was a kindred spirit after my own beat up heart. Only hers was locked up—tight. She denied it. Kinda.
She saw something in me, the same I saw in her: a dark, angry brokenness. A hurt that can only be caused by those you thought would love you, but don’t. The ones who should protect you, but chose not to. The ones who go out of their way to stomp on the only good we have in this world—love. Or at least the possibility of it.
For Frankie that was pretty much every guy in her life. Her father. Her asshole ex, Austin. And at the time, Gabriel, the devil himself.
Turns out, he really loved her. He punched through his own issues and came through in the end. Married her.
He makes her so fucking happy, it’s painful to watch.
He did that.
I offered, but she turned me down—flat.
She was holding out for the devil who planted his seed in her womb before he broke her heart.
I held her hair while she puked her guts out.
I held her as she cried over him.
I wiped her tears, bought stock in Kleenex, and had an endless supply ready at the waiting.
I did that.
She leaned on me.
I let her.
Because I needed her too, her light, her strength, and the simple joy it brought to feel needed. The fact she’s sexy as hell doesn’t hurt either.
I hadn’t felt needed in a long time. Maybe ever. I’d certainly never felt that tightness in my chest when Frankie looked at me. When she smiled. And when she laughed, I swear I heard angels sing.
Corny as fuck.
What I feel for her straddles the line between friendship and the ache to kiss the hell out of her.
What she and Gabriel feel for each other is far beyond friendship. They’re soulmates. He’s the devil to her angel; though, in the end, he resembles more his namesake, Gabriel the avenging angel, than the devil.
Now, months later in a Vegas hospital waiting room, I’m pacing, uneasy, unsettled, unhinged by the fact Frankie is back there somewhere with her husband, giving birth to their first child.
The one I offered to raise as my own, to love better than blood because I chose to love him or her. The one I was ready to pledge my life to as well as its beautiful mother.
Gabriel is the one holding her hand, not me.
He’s the one loving her with all his heart… Not me.
Fuck me and my stupid thoughts for believing I could be what she needed.
I need to punch something—someone. Hard.
Wrangling my wild-ass hair back into a top knot, my eyes land on the striking dark-haired beauty sitting only a few feet away.
Reese, the devil’s sister, who I long for in a way that’s a little frightening, considering Gabriel would punch my face in if he knew the thoughts that race through my mind at the mere sight or thought of her.
Dirty, dirty thoughts about an effervescent girl who’s entirely too innocent for a dark fuck like me.
Are you confused? ‘Cause I sure as fuck am.
On one hand my heart longs for Frankie and what we could have—almost—had.
On the other, my cock knows who and what it wants, and it’s Gabriel’s baby sister. Though we’re practically the same age, she’s a babe in experience compared to me.
She’s innocence to my sin.
Light to my dark.
Breath to my void.
One glance and my need to hit something calms, and my heart starts to gallop toward her, aiming for its own angel who looks at me like I could be her savior instead of a crush or a fuck.
I can’t.
I’m no angel whisperer.
I’m a fucked-up kid from Texas with my own darkness that will only sully her virginal soul and body.
But still, the aching muscles in my chest and the one in my pants think they’ve found their homing beacon…their salvation.
I’m so fucking screwed.
A rough grip on my shoulder has me tearing my eyes off Reese to land on Gabriel. His haggard eyes are glazed and barely focused.
“She wants to see you.” The gravel in his voice sounds painful, like every word is ripping up the lining of this throat.
No. Fuck, no. I can’t see Frankie like this—in labor—having the kid that could have been mine. Fuck. “Yeah, okay.” I’ll do it if she needs me to.
I follow the grim reaper through the maternity ward. The sign up ahead reads Labor and Delivery.
Each step feels like I’m leaving skin behind, parts of me falling off, sticking to the linoleum floor with each squeaky step.
I wipe my palms on my jeans, smear the sweat from my upper lip.
Jesus. It’s like I’m escorting myself to the gas chamber—voluntarily.
A quick knuckle-rap on the door and Gabriel is pressing through, holding it open for me to follow. As I step forward, he releases it and continues inside, forcing me to catch the door or faceplant into it.
My nails would claw at it if they were long enough. Fuck me till the cows come home, I guess I’m doing this.
On a deep sigh, I step inside.
THEY SAY IT’S CALMEST BEFORE THE storm. It’s really dark too, in my experience.
Bad things happen in the dark.
Things you don’t want to see… And can never unsee.
It’s dark outside, past midnight. I’ve been here for hours. Sitting. Waiting. Secretly looking at him. He barely notices me. On the rare occasion our eyes meet, a flash of something I can’t comprehend passes over his face before he steals it back along with his gaze. His blues are so much lighter than my own, pale like a well-worn pair of blue jeans that are soft from washing and fit like nothing else.
He’s like nothing—no one—else. I don’t fear his closeness. I don’t fear the darkness that shrouds him at times.
He’s the only dark I’m not afraid of.
Yet, in some ways I am terrified.
I fear the way he makes me feel. The things he makes me want to do. The thoughts that bombard my brain of the wicked things I want him to do to me. What I want to do to him. A shiver runs up my spine. I close my eyes and bite my lip.