Page 3 of Sucker Punch Drunk Love

* Excuse me, I think you owe me a drink. Because I dropped mine after seeing you

* If you cook as good as you move, I’d eat the entire menu

CHAPTER TWO

Josue

It was a good thing I’d arranged a driving service from the Velvet Rope Vendetta tonight because for the first time in a long time, I was officially drunk. I never indulged when I was actively competing, since I valued my performance over hubris, but tonight had been a complete waste of my time.

Well…maybe not acompletewaste of my time. I did get to watch a few fights. Even meet a few fighters who seemed to still value what I had done in the cage. But coming home to an inbox full of offers still up in the air, rejections—hell, even offers for me to make a comeback, wasn’t my idea of a win.

If I were to be honest with myself, nothing would have made me feel more alive than to return to that cage, even if it were just foronemore fight. But I’d be the boy who flew too close to the sun if I did. It was a fucking miracle I could even still see out of my right eye, that last fight did a number on me.

Mendez versus Vega. I’d already been three titles in, nothing to prove. But having the heart of a fighter meant I always thought I had one more fight in me. The most watched fight of my career and I…lost. It was humbling to say the least. Definitely took more out of me than it was worth. Required too muchsurgery, too much rehab.Somuch therapy. To this day I’m surprised I didn’t eat a bullet.

But I owed it to myself to actually live. Not everyone is lucky enough to reach their thirty-eighth birthday. My mother sure hadn’t. But for a while I was directionless. I’d had more money than a man knew what to do with, but no focus. Nothing ever drove me like fighting did, and nothing ever let out my aggression like my time in the cage.

Which became my motivation for the birth ofHouse of Beast. The gym I co-owned with a friend. At this point, more like family. But you couldn’t have a gym without a champion to go with it. Reaching for the stash of coconut water I hid in my den, I regarded my three titles hanging on the wall, a reminder of better times.

Flashing lights. Strangers screaming my name. A feeling of invincibility. My life had been anything but easy, but I’d managed to make it anything but boring. I’d had my shotfourtimes. I’d been lucky to win three of them. Most fighters never got a chance to getone. Considering that, finally gave me purpose.

I was going to make it my life’s mission to make sure every fighter who I mentored at the very least got their shot. Theirfirstshot. Maybe theironlyshot. And I knew I was going to set it where I grew up, because for a lot of boys and men, when you had no direction, you just ended up on the streets.

The only problem was, it was hard to secure fighters when half the bodies I was trying to procure were being poached by my competition. I wasn’t too worried;House of Beasthad only been open six months, and thankfully due to offering seminars, summer and holiday programs for kids, we’d managed to diversify the income enough to keep things running.

House ofBeast just needed a face. Someone they could associate with winning. I’d almost had Edgar Martinez. Hewas young, but experienced. A record of 11-2, but I could’ve mentored him into never experiencing another loss. But Vega got to him first. And honestly, I didn’t blame him.

Sebastian Vega. Otherwise known as the Venezuelan Landslide, was the only man to actually best me during the height of my career. He was a good fighter. He certainly hadn’t cheated me out of a fourth title, it was just unfortunate to have lost to someone with half my speed. His power had been impressive. I had a detached retina to prove it. But beating me had been the highlight of his career, something he knew he could never replicate, so instead of further competing, that Venezuelan fuck opens his own MMA gym.

And it was like the fucker was psychic, because every time I was interested in a potential fighter, in record time, he’d be offering them empty promises that I refused to match. I couldn’t promise a fighteranything. But if they were willing to do the work, I could help them become a champion. And whatHouse of Beastneeded was a champion.

***

From the time the doors opened for the day,House of Beastwas rarely quiet. It wasn’t always full, but even at the start of a new day, there was sure to be athletes grinding. The mix of leather and disinfectant were always the two things I associated with opening up, but by midday, the scent of sweat and hard work definitely added to the atmosphere.

Doing an afternoon walk through, I met up with Héctor in the strategy room, the space we referred to when it came to our shared office space. “Hey, how is Eidan and Mickey on their dues?” following up with two kids who showed up every day for the after school program but whose parents didn’t always pay on time.

“Honestly, I just waved Mickey’s fees for the month. Eidan’s parents are usually good for it, they just don’t always pay on time.”

Mickey I understood. I had a little sympathy for teenagers in foster care, given that’d been my entire childhood. I was just mentally taking note that I may have to phone up Eidan’s parents and ask them to consider a payment plan.

“Who we really need to be worrying about is Victor. Or consider letting Remy go for constantly waiving his member dues,” Héctor later advised.

“I’ll get on that. How is the main floor for tonight’s class?” I wondered out loud.

“It should be good, but I’ll double back just to make sure it’s ready for six tonight.” Héctor was my right-hand man. I’d met him after my second title, when he’d been experiencing poor management, and ultimately had to retire early after a torn ACL made a career in MMA unsustainable.

Originally from Washington Heights, he didn’t leave the world of MMA lightly. Having still made longtime connections in the industry, where I was better at the hands-on part, such as coaching and training, Héctor was all personality, able to charm and maintain his vital ties with corporate sponsors, matchmakers and other faces behind the scenes.

In theory, together, we could make a star out of the right person. Héctor had a great eye for talent, and I had a thing for guiding talent, so we made great business partners. I’d never had a brother, but in this life, he was the closest thing I had to it.

“What you catching up on?” noticing Héctor’s attention had wondered elsewhere, in the form of a match on his phone.

“Just catching up on a local match from last month. Girl fight. Just seeing what’s out there,” he articulated.

“You need more date nights with the wife,” I joked. “Then maybe you wouldn’t need to focus on women’s fights.”

“See that’s the difference between me and you. To me talent is talent. It’s 2026, female fighters bring out a much bigger draw than when you were coming up,” he defended.