Page 23 of Unbreakable Thread

As I walk through the tunnel, the crowd goes absolutely crazy. My walkout song blasts throughout the arena. Shouts come from the stands. “Master of Disaster!” “Lights out.” My heart pounds against my chest. Thump. Thump. I’ve waited for this moment for so long. The number of people is impressive when you see it from my standing view. My somber blank face meets the gaze of Patrick “Double-decker” Ferraro. That arrogant son of a bitch has been running his mouth to every reporter with a microphone, claiming he’ll knock me flat before the bell even rings for round three. I’d like to see him try. He’s all talk and no bite. I’ve watched his fights several times. He’s good, but not that good to knock me out that quickly. He can put his money where his mouth is. I might be a cocky bastard, but I’m all action. I’ll show my opponent what I’m made of instead of talking shit.

The announcer’s voice booms through the arena, and seconds later, metal clangs against metal as the bell signals the start. Patrick wastes no time. His fist cuts through the air toward my jaw. I raise my arm just in time, deflecting his hook while pivoting to counter with a punch.

He’s so determined to knock me out that he’s gassing out. We are already in the fourth round.

My fist connects with his jaw, a dull crack sending him staggering backward. His body hits the ropes. I throw another blow, this one catching the right temple where sweat has plastered his hair to his skull. Patrick sways and then falls to the side. His body makes a meaty thud against the floor. The ref rushes, getting on one knee. My pulse races.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.” The referee counts Patrick on the floor. He tries to stand but falls back. The referee steps in and waves it off. The sound hits me before the referee’s hand finds mine. The voice of the crowd cheers for me. So many of them. Adrenaline courses through my body. Sweat soaks my entire frame. The nick in my right eye stings, but it is nothing compared to the Underground fights. Something swells in my chest that I don’t have a word for yet. I’ve worked my ass off to get here. It’s only the beginning, but I’m here. I won.

Bob materializes at my shoulder the second the referee raises my hand. He has to shout over the crowd to be heard.

“Barreca’s team called ringside. Isaac wants you next.”

I’m still catching my breath. Still tasting copper from the cut above my eye. I look at Bob, my promoter. “Tell them yes.”

Henry, my manager, is by my side and nods.

Bob grins like he’s been sitting on that answer all night. “Already did.” Isaac and his team have been running their mouths for a while, apparently. I already knew Barreca was coming. He’s been on every sports network for two weeks—the next generation hasn’t been tested; anyone can look good fighting unknowns. If Cano is real, he’ll prove it against someone who’s headlined. The kind of talk designed to get under your skin. It works. Not in the way he intended. It doesn’t rattle me. It focuses me. What Barreca doesn’t know—what the recorded world doesn’t know—is that I have more fights in me than his entire career. Just none of them on paper.

Carlos, Xander, Leo, Bliss, and the other guys jump in the ring to congratulate me. The only person I’m searching for is my girl. Rainey is jumping up and down, tears streaming from her beautiful face. I wave for her to come, but she doesn’t see me. The announcer steps in front of me.

The announcer’s voice booms through the arena: “Max ‘Master of Disaster’ Cano!” He rattles off my record while blood pounds in my ears. “Max, word is, Isaac Barreca has formally requested a match. Any response?”

I look at the camera. Still sweating. Still bleeding a little. “I’m ready. Just tell me when.”

When the announcer moves on to my opponent, I flash my win in the air, searching for Rainey. Nessa is hugging Carlos, but I don’t see R⁠—

“Max!” Rainey shouts, sliding under the ropes.

“Baby.”

She runs to me, and I lift her in the air, wrapping my arms around her. She kisses my sweaty face. “You did fucking good, champ. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, tesoro.” My emotions catch in my throat. “I’m glad you’re here.” What I want to say is I’m so fucking happy you’re alive, and you’re by my side.

I can’t figure her out. One minute she’s herself—laughing like Sol, sharp-tongued like Rainey—and I think we’re getting somewhere. Then she’s gone. Not physically, but might as well be. Then she went back to being happy, talking about old times. It finally felt like she was opening up, but this week she became distant. Or maybe I’m imagining things. I have been very busy. In this moment, I put it all aside and kiss her like crazy.

“Give me a minute,” I bark to Carlos, who’s trying to pull me away. Annette stands next to him. She won her fight as well earlier today.

I go back to kissing Rainey, and I don’t give two fucks who’s around. My sweetest victory will always be her.

She grins when I pull away.

Damn, she’s gorgeous. I don’t know what it is, but she’s fucking glowing.

“Cano!” I hear a shout from the stands. I’ve been hearing them all night. “Cano!” I wave at everyone in the stands, then turn to my team with my arms wrapped around my woman.

“Congratulations,” Nessa says, embracing me in a hug, followed by Leo and Xander.

Annette steps in front of me. “Congratulations. Max. You fought like the champ you are,” she breathes, extending her hands out for a hug as if Rainey is invisible.

I would never do anything to make Rainey feel less than. I know she has beef with Annette, and that’s mainly because Annette thinks I’d give up Rainey for her. She’s out of her damn mind. I wave my hand in front of her to stop her.

“Thank you,” I simply say.

I tuck Rainey into the pit of my arm, her small body warm against my sweaty skin, and walk out of the ring.

“Cano!” I hear the same voice calling me. “Cano, you badass motherfucker!”