Claiming The Prize (11 page)

“
Gracie, are you
awake?”

“
I'm coming,
Dad.”

She admitted her father with a smile
and a yawn.

“
What time is
it?”

“
It's a quarter to seven,
daughter!
I figured you needed a rousing.”

Guy was chuckling.

Handing her the medium, cream-only
coffee, the tall, lean Antolini sat at the two person table in the
spacious hotel suite's sitting room.

Unfolding the daily newspaper, he
wryly added, “I get you a suite of rooms with a private bedroom and
you sleep on the sofa!”
Shaking his head and grinning, he lifted
the paper before his face.
“Ah, Gracie girl,” he said,
bemused.

Rich coffee steamed in the cup,
beckoning Grace to inhale its bold aroma.
Tucking her legs under,
she sank into the plum settee’s cushions, drinking the dark roast
and allowing her eyes to adjust to the room's brightness after
opening the heavily lined draperies.
Now fully awake, the weigh-ins
garnered her attention.

“
How's his
weight?”

Grace and Guy communicated easily.
They thought so much alike that one understood the other with few
words.
Perhaps it was the reason the daughter had remained single
for so long and the father continued so.
Discerning a person's true
intent by a look, change of intonation, or body language came
naturally to them both, making the task of communicating with
others who lacked these skills, or worse yet, ignored them,
unwelcome at best.
So Guy replied, understanding that his daughter
sought his assurance that Drago was ready for this
fight.

“
He's exactly where he
should be.”

And Grace understood that her father's
statement was, in fact, the answer to the question left unasked.
They shared the quiet awhile longer before readying themselves, and
when the time was near, departed to join Drago and the Friar for
the weigh-in.

Chapter 8

The waiting room assigned to Drago was
large enough to accommodate a modest sized mat and seating for
about six people.
Wearing his trademark, tricolor banded shorts of
white over royal blue over red with the Slovakian shield and double
cross on his left thigh and team Anto-Engage warm-ups, Drago
patiently waited for the announcement to walk out.

Guy hashed over details with the
Friar.

“
Do you have Drago's meal
plan with you?”
Guy asked.

“
You're not going to change
it, I hope.
I've already ordered everything.”

“
I'm not changing it.
Just
checking.
How about our mat times?
Are they definite?”

“
All but the last one of
the day.
I guess they've scheduled another team for the same time
as us, but I'll have an answer before then on whether our time or
theirs moves,” the Friar explained.

“
Well, let me know as soon
as you hear anything.
What time does Drago have to sit for the
interview this afternoon?”

“
Two-thirty.”

Guy laughed.

“
That doesn't give him much
time after our practice.
Hey, Drago!
You're going to have to shower
in record time.”

Drago sprawled on the massive bean-bag
chair in the corner, listening to the conversation.

“
If you give me ten
minutes, I can be ready for anything,” he assured.

Drago's calm demeanor did not betray
the small jolts his system felt when pre-fight tension triggered
the release of adrenaline into his veins.
Gaze resting on Grace, he
considered the interviews he would have to participate in later in
the day.
He had decided to evade any questions about his personal
life that may come up.
For as long as possible, he preferred to
keep their engagement private.
The last thing he wanted was for his
remaining days with Grace to be spent watching over his shoulder
for cameras ready to capture any stolen moments for broadcast.
But
how long that would last was yet to be known.

One thing he was certain of was
Grace's ability to deal with the media.
She was not fond of doing
so, but when faced with the barrage of reporters outside the arena
this morning, she had given a professional statement without
sounding rehearsed or nervous.
In spite of her shyness, Grace
Antolini delivered under pressure.
He smiled to himself at the
recollection before clearing his mind when the door opened and a
short, sandy-haired young man with a pronounced widow's peak
stepped partially inside.

“
Zadrovec, Harrison
weigh-ins are up next.
Line up at the end of the hallway and wait
for your entrance music.”

The young man's voice faded as he
disappeared out the door, his conversation with a co-worker
slipping away as the door slowly closed behind him.

Guy, the Friar, and Drago gathered in
a huddle as Grace looked on.
Words of affirmation were spoken
before Guy's pronouncement of readiness broke the group's circle.
This would be the fighters' first face to face meeting.
Interviews
played on television built the hype for the AMMAO event, and if you
trusted in them, which Drago did not, it appeared Matt Harrison was
confident of victory, just as his own interview
portrayed.

Derek Sloba, AMMAO president, welcomed
the competitor onto the dais amid the wildly cheering fans.
In
Drago's case, an impressive section of Slovakian patriots waved
flags and raised their cries, swelling pride in his chest as he
passed.
Shaking hands and exchanging greetings, Sloba asked, “How
does it feel to be here today?”

“
It is a great honor for me
to be here today.
I thank you all for this large welcome,” he
answered, sweeping his hand in the direction of his vocal
supporters who roared their own response.

Harrison fans waved signs and began
chanting, “Harrison, Harrison...”

Drago undressed, stripping down to his
shorts and stepped onto the scale, which registered two
hundred-four pounds.
Camera flashes winked furiously before the
beautiful, although barely covered, AMMAO girls escorted him to the
side as Matt Harrison entered to deafening fanfare.

Harrison was a cage veteran and a
crowd favorite, and Drago knew he must achieve an overwhelming
victory to establish himself as a front runner in the quest for a
title match.
He observed his opponent's entry, noting his
interaction with team members and the crowd.
Standing six-feet
one-inch tall, he matched Drago in height and reach, and the scale
showed him to be within a pound of the Slovak's weight.
Flanked on
either side by the beautiful ring girls, Harrison took his place
opposite Drago, fists raised, fight face in place for the photo op.
Drago, arms at his sides, was as still as stone.
He wore no
expression, his eyes boring through all before him.
The wait, as
blinding flashes exploded in the men's peripheral vision, passed,
and Derek Sloba positioned himself in the middle of the
pair.

“
Tomorrow night, you two
will battle for the right to continue on toward the
light-heavyweight world title.
Good luck, gentlemen.”

Drago reached out, and the men
vigorously shook hands before turning in opposite directions to
exit the raised platform.
Fans eagerly awaited this time in hopes
of gaining an autograph, handshake, or even an up close glimpse of
a favorite competitor.
The right hand side of the modest weigh in
venue had to settle for newcomer Drago Zadrovec, which hardly
affected their revelry.
It was a full fifteen minutes before team
Anto-Engage re-entered the warm-up room in high spirits.
A workout
was what Drago needed to channel his emotions, and he knew Guy
would give him plenty of focus over the next hours.

* * *

The Wells Fargo Center in
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, thrummed with excitement.
Drago
Zadrovec walked the path to the octagon staring straight ahead, his
black eyes fixed on the looming cage where destiny awaited.
AMMAO
fans cheered as gloves, head, and body were checked before the thin
coating of petroleum jelly, applied to minimize skin tears, was
rubbed over his face.
Drago heard the questions and instructions
relayed, heard his own responses, but the stream of adrenaline
pumping through his veins removed him from the situation.
Entering
the caged ring to the announcer's introduction, Drago heard only
Guy Antolini and the Friar reaffirming the strategic fight
plan.

His had been a simple entrance, being
new to the organization.
Now, the lights blacked out momentarily
before blazing anew as heavy metal music blared, signaling
Harrison's appearance.
Drago stood at the cage's side, watching as
Matt Harrison traveled down the aisle, passing the fans who yelled
out their encouragements before his opponent submitted to the same
pre-fight inspection he had just been through.
Time unfolded in
slow motion as Matt Harrison climbed the steps into the cage, and
Harrison ran the cage's edge and jumped on the metal sides, raising
his arms to incite the crowd's enthusiasm further.
The men were
called to the center, receiving last minute instructions from the
referee.
Harrison, bouncing on his toes, lurched forward, his face
contorted in pre-fight aggression, but Drago remained still, his
eyes locked with his opponent's.
Touching gloves, each man
retreated to his corner, awaiting the ref's call.

“
Gentlemen, let's fight,”
came the command.

Gloves up, Drago moved
forward.

In the second row, Grace sat between
Ike and St.
Clair.
Her stomach turned over and her muscles tensed
at the familiar sign as the referee's arm dropped, commencing the
first of three rounds.
The next thirty seconds were torturous as
Drago and Harrison circled, feeling one another out.
Grace's
experience in the gym would take over, she knew, once the first
punches were thrown, and instinct would push worry away.

Harrison hunted, his right arm poised
to follow heavily after the jab he worked to set up.
Drago evaded
and circled counter-clockwise, then reversed.
Unleashing a flurry,
Matt Harrison slammed his fist into Drago's face.
Grace flinched,
and then her own adrenaline rush kicked in, and she willed Drago to
counter.
He did.

As he took the punishment of
Harrison's onslaught, Drago's training and athleticism took over.
His mind knew only these aims - punish and defeat.
He heard Guy's
voice.

“
Let your hands go, Drago.
Unleash the legs.”

The sheer brutality of Drago's first
strike was audible in the collective gasp of the crowd.
Harrison
staggered slightly as he retreated.
Drago stalked him, offering no
quarter and kicked Harrison's lead leg.
It buckled.
Pressing ahead,
Drago ate another jab, but followed with his own punishing liver
kick followed by a jab and uppercut.
Harrison lunged in for a
takedown, grasping for a leg, but Drago sprawled on top of him,
throwing in an underhook and tossing his opponent across the mat.
Like a predator closing in on its prey, the Slovak pounced,
grabbing Harrison's head and slamming his knee into the exposed
brow.
A scramble ensued, and Harrison managed to regain his
balance.

Blood streamed down Harrison's face
from the wide gash Drago's knee had opened on his forehead, and the
veteran swung wildly, hoping to connect, to halt the damaging
punches, but Drago eluded his fists while continuing to rain down
devastating blows.
Harrison never saw the left leg kick that
dropped him to the canvas.
The power of Drago's kick was felt by
every spectator in the arena, and as Matt Harrison crumpled to the
mat, Drago dropped over him, slamming his fist into Harrison's head
ferociously until the referee covered the battered man's body with
his own.
Drago jumped to his feet, turned, and walked to his
corner.
He had achieved his goal.

Ike and St.
Clair were on their feet,
as was each body in the arena, cheering wildly.
Guy and the Friar
rushed into the metal cage, hugging and lifting Drago in the wake
of victory.
Drago turned his head and found Grace's eyes
immediately, his gaze searching hers for acceptance of the beast
revealed within him.
Knowing their future together hinged on her
reaction, his eyes bore into hers, waiting for the singular sign he
needed.
She met his gaze unflinching and nodded as she linked arms
with Ike and St.
Clair, the trio raising their own
cheer.

Drago Zadrovec lifted his arms in
victory.
In less than three minutes, he had secured his first win
in the AMMAO decisively.
Guy quickly forced the navy, Anto-Engage
t-shirt over Drago's head and gloved hands as the Friar toweled his
face and poured a quick drink down his throat.
The medical team
assessed Harrison, and when he recovered enough to answer
coherently, they were satisfied and escorted him out of the
octagon.
The ref shook hands with Guy, awaiting the official
decision.

Drago stood for photos, fists up,
staring hard into the lenses.
Not until after his victory by
knockout was proclaimed in the ring's center did his face break
into a smile.
Derek Sloba congratulated Drago and announced the
official grant of the coveted, five fight contract to the fans'
applause and satisfied look of team Anto-Engage.

The screens replayed the crushing
final blows and debilitating left leg kick as the AMMAO spokesman,
Vance Anderson, narrated each move.
At its conclusion he asked,
“Can you tell me what was going on in your mind at that moment?
Were you planning to throw that absolutely amazing kick before you
saw Matt was in trouble?”

Drago responded, “Of course, I will
always look for the kick.
Matt Harrison is a good opponent.
I never
would underestimate his skill.
I knew I must wait for the right
opening.”