Beautifully Dangerous Read online

  I remember watching a show on the Discovery Channel that followed lions, tigers, and cheetahs as they stalked their prey. Not even the tall dry grass moves as they pass through to maneuver into position. That’s what Archer is doing now. He's a predator silently positioning himself for the kill. I remember seeing a cheetah leap into action. It was both frightening and beautiful to watch. I found myself wondering how it would feel to be the recipient of those vicious claws.

  I wonder what it would be like, to be to sole focus of the entirety of The Archer's physical prowess, to have every fiber of his being intent on dominating my body, to have all of his aggression and passion unleashed on my willing frame. I've never been turned on by violence before, but watching The Archer fight is filling me with a state of lust I've never known.

  He is so graceful and effortlessly fast that I almost don’t even see his feet leave the ground. He brings up his right knee and slams it into The Annihilator’s unprotected face. I can actually see as the man's lights go out. His head snaps back so far it looks like his neck has just been broken. He’s a large man, but The Archer has struck him so hard with his knee that he lifts up off the ground before falling to the mat, unconscious.

  The crowd erupts like a volcano, spewing forth adulations at the top of their lungs. The name Archer is on the tongue of every man and woman in the arena. The lights come up, and I see that most of the crowd is adorned in TapOut gear, showing their support for the fighting lifestyle.

  But suddenly, in the harsh light, all I can see are future homicidal maniacs consumed with bloodlust. The spell for me is broken, I have seen enough. I have seen the legend that is The Archer and I have resisted his charm, at least for now. Now that the match is over, he looks like a brute, same as The Annihilator, albeit a pretty one.

  I grab Jax’s arm. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go!”

  “What are you talking about? That was just his first fight. Don’t tell me you’re not gonna stay for the others?”

  “I got everything I need. I need to go home and do some editing. Can you catch a cab?”

  “Yeah sure, take off. Call me in the morning.”

  I give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks Jax, it was fun.”

  “Liar.” He laughs as I walk away.

  I may be in denial, but I still do not see what all the fuss is about. Maybe I captured something on camera that will shed some light on this whole thing, but I doubt it. I thought I would get to meet some fighters, interview some disgruntled fans, get an idea of what this is all about. But honestly, I don’t think I got anything decent. Probably, that means that the website will want me to go again next weekend.

  Great. Just great.

  Chapter Two

  No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

  It’s Saturday, and once again I’m spending the evening looking for a parking spot. I was right about my assignment. SmokingCannon wants more. They want me to dig even deeper and really find out what goes on at these fights. I’m not exactly sure what they’re trying to expose, but I’d better find it, whatever it is.

  This time I’m going at it alone. Without Jax at my side, I should be able to get doors to open for me that only open for an attractive single woman. In fact, this scene is like a rock concert in terms of groupie status. The closer I get to the venue, the amount of single women, or groups of women sans men, is astounding. Before my experience last weekend, I would have thought this place to be a testosterone filled fight club, but instead it’s more like a Girl’s Gone Wild reunion at a Bon Jovi concert.

  This time, I end up parking about seven blocks away. Seven. That’s a long hike when you’re carrying a $3,000 camera, even if it only weighs several pounds. At just over nine inches long, it’s pretty conspicuous. As I walk, I see muggers in every shadow just waiting to take my livelihood. This is a top of the line camera for shooting on the run, or shooting really fast moving hunks as they pummel each other into the ground. At 60 frames a second, this is one camera that cannot be matched for the price. It’s not RED, but then again I can't afford the $50,000 price tag either, or whatever it is nowadays.

  About two blocks away, I notice some real trouble. People have discovered the secret entrance the fighters and crew use and are now waging war there. Fans and protestors from almost every ethnic group, socioeconomic status, and gender are represented, and they all seem equally pissed off. You can tell who’s on which side just by what they're wearing.

  As I draw close, I start recording. The fans of cage fighting all seem to be wearing the same brand of clothing: TapOut. It’s not just a clothing brand, it’s a lifestyle...or however the slogan goes. It seems that all the hot chicks are on the TapOut side as well. I don’t see too many homely chicks or dudes in fight gear. On the other side of the fight are the conservatives (no surprise there), and a group of what looks to be athletes. They seem to be protesting the fact that cage fighting is being called a sport.

  I have to agree with the real athletes. This cage crap is not a sport, and those guys are not really athletes, they're barbarians. I’d be willing to bet that after each fight Mr. Archer probably calls some hookers, gets a load of cocaine or whatever they’re into now and parties all night long. That's certainly not the way a real athlete treats his body.

  I make my way over to the good side, camera raised, toward the rational people who know cage fighting for what it is. Just as I'm about to start asking questions, a fiery young woman climbs up on top of a car between both camps and begins to berate the other side. She’s a very good orator, and soon she’s got both sides whipped into a frenzy. I’m so busy filming that I don’t notice a man reaching up from the side of the car. Before anyone can react, he yanks her feet and she goes down hard on the top of the car.

  “Holy shit!” I scream to no one in particular, “Do something!”

  I don’t know who I think I’m talking too, but someone should do something before she really gets hurt. One minute she’s non-violently protesting cage fighting, and the next she's fighting for her life against a mob of wannabe cage fighters. I can hardly stand it. I want to drop my camera and go save her, but what can I do? I’ll end up accidentally filming my own death.

  Her cries of shock and pain are lifted above the roar of the crowd. I can’t believe that in a place like this, that is full of fighters, or wannabe fighters, that no one’s willing to help her. What pathetic excuses for men these guys are. I know I shouldn’t get involved, but the girl’s gonna seriously get hurt. It’s not that the crowd isn’t aware of her plight. They’re shouting and pointing. Some are even taking pictures and video. This has to stop. I know I should do something, but what will I do with my camera? I can’t trust anyone here to hold it for me while I play hero. And I certainly don’t want to wade into the hoard while filming either. It would probably get yanked out of my hands and smashed.

  Just when I'm about to drop my camera and push my way through, a dark figure comes out of nowhere and starts wading through the crowd toward the girl. People are actually trying to block him and push him away, but he is persistent. As he reaches the girl, a bottle comes crashing down on his head.

  He goes down, and the crowd seems to swallow him up. I have the sickening realization that I have just filmed this man’s death, all because of this cage fighting community. What a waste of a life. I can't believe we are within a stone’s throw of some of the most powerful fighters anywhere, and it's some dude out of the audience that tries to come to the rescue. This is just disgusting, and it’s making my stomach do summersaults.

  I’m on the verge of vomiting and decide to turn and leave, I need to call the police. I have no stomach for watching a bunch of senseless violence tonight. I’ve already seen enough outside the arena. I suppose I should take this over to the police station so they can have the footage to catch the crazies who did this.

  Just as I'm about to switch off my camera, something amazing happens. I see that the hero is back on his feet, and that he has the girl. He’s got her in some kind
of fireman’s carry and they're making for the door to the venue. Good move. They’re bound to have paramedics in there. It’d take forever for an ambulance to get in here now. The guy is a real live hero. I gotta interview him.

  I switch off my camera so I can concentrate on my next move. Since the real story of the night is going on behind those closed doors, I have to get in. I imagine the tag line to my video. Two protestors find love amidst the violence of human cock fights. No, that’s kind of corny. I just need to get the story of those two. Will it be love at first sight? I’m gonna find out.

  I get into the arena with no problem. The fact that I’m a girl doesn’t hurt, but I think it's the tank top and push-up bra that seal the deal. I can handle a bit of ogling to get the story of the month.

  I approach the first official looking person I see, some kind of fight promoter. “Hey, did you see the guy who brought in that girl protester that was hurt?”

  “Do you know her? She a friend?”

  I think about lying, but I’m a really bad liar so I opt for the truth.

  “Just wanted get her reaction on tape, that’s all.

  “Oh sure. Well, she’s with the paramedics now. I’m sure she’ll be fine, but you’ll have to find something else to take pictures of.”

  I spend the next forty five minutes shooting anything and everything. I think about trying to interview some fans, but it’s just too noisy and chaotic—maybe another time. Before I know it, the fights are starting. I go ahead and shoot them just because there’s nothing else to do. After the third bout, I notice a guy has been hanging around me. I decide to turn the camera on him and see what he thinks of the spectacle.

  “Is this your first time?” I ask by way of introduction.

  “Nope, but it must be yours.” he says, in a slight German accent.

  “Second, but how can you tell?”

  “Because you’ve got skeptic written all over your face. Didn’t you ever stop to wonder why, in the ninety minutes that you have been here, I am the only person to approach you? Kinda strange, given that you’re totally hot.”

  I laugh. I like this guy already, and I love his accent. “So, what’s your take on this whole scene?”

  “This ‘whole scene’, as you put it, is groundbreaking entertainment at its best," he says authoritatively, "That’s what this whole scene is. Boxing has too many rules, WWE wrestling and all the other wrestling circuits are full of shit. You ever wonder why Hulk Hogan won so many fights despite the fact that he was nearly crippled long before he retired?”

  “Never gave it a thought,” I replied.

  “It was in his contract! Mister Terry, whatever his last name is, is contracted to win 87 fights! And each opponent that steps in the ring with him has it in his contract that he has to lose to the Hulk.”

  “And you don’t think that’s happening here, now, tonight?”

  "Heck no!”

  “And why not?”

  “Cause my brother is fighting tonight, and even though I got money on him, he’s gonna get his ass kicked.”

  “Really?" I ask, suddenly interested, "Who’s your brother and who is he fighting?”

  “The Archer.”

  “The Archer...Your brother is fighting The Archer? I don’t believe you.”

  “Well, then you’re not gonna believe this either. The Archer is my brother.”

  “No...I don’t see it. You look nothing like him.”

  “Yeah, too bad huh?”

  “So he got the looks and you got the brains, is that it?” I ask. This is far more interesting than filming the fights.

  “Nah...he actually got both.”

  “Both? You’re telling me he’s not an all brawn no brains type of guy?”

  “He was a second year medical student at Georgetown, top of his class before he dropped out.”

  It takes me a minute to realize my mouth is hanging open. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh yeah, he’s got it all.”

  “So what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be back stage enjoying the perks of being the champion’s brother?”

  “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? I’m kinda undercover. It’s my job to take the pulse of the crowd. Actually, the pulse of the whole industry. I’m pretty much a glorified analyst. I spot the trends and make sure Bobby is positioned to take advantage of the next big thing.”

  “Bobby?” I ask, laughing out loud, “Now I understand the name change bit.”

  “Shit. I shouldn’t have let that slip." He says, covering his mouth, "It’s like the best kept secret in the industry, What’s The Archer’s real name? You really have to edit that bit out or I’ll be in deep shit with my bro. You’ll lose that part, right?”

  “Well, that takes a lot of time and work...” I lied.

  “Please, Miss?”

  “Fine, but you owe me big,” I say with a wink.

  “Deal!”

  I really like the guy, and for some reason I actually believe him, even though he's a bit slow on the uptake. I try to ask some more questions when the whole place erupts with women screaming at 210 decibels.

  “AR-CHER…AR-CHER…AR-CHER…”

  For some reason I find myself actually...well, not excited to see him, but not upset about it either. If what his brother says about him is true, then this man deserves looking in to. How could one man go from top of his class at Georgetown to fighting in underground cages matches? There’s a story here and I plan on telling it. Well, taping it at least.

  I look up to the ring where The Archer is standing now. I watch him stretch and limber up, the massive muscles in his thighs flex as he brings his knees to his chest, the amount of power and agility contained in those trunk-like legs is astounding. He has it all, even though he is the epitome of a sex god who possesses everything I could ever want physically in a man...And then I see it.

  “Holy shit!” I gasp out loud, “That can't be!”

  His dark brown hair is matted down in the front with blood, and his beautiful white trunks are splattered with red. His forehead has been hastily doctored up. It looks very much like something—such as a beer bottle—must have sliced him open. He was the man who saved that girl, the same girl who was madly protesting against him. She is his bitter denouncer, yet he risked his life to save her.

  Suddenly I feel free to desire, and free to lust after this mysterious man—he can't be all that bad, after all. I realize my camera is hanging down at my side taping my feet and the dirty floor, while my mouth is open and drooling. I’m like some teenager with a crush.

  This is not me. I'm conservative and driven, I have goals, I don't have time for love, and I certainly don’t unbound lust for any man, not even The Archer.

  I raise my camera. It’s time to earn my bones. SmokingCannon is looking for controversy. They’re looking for a fixed fight. But instead, I’m going to give them The Archer, god of the arena!

  I focus my camera on The Archer’s opponent. The man’s name—well, the one he uses when he’s pounding people senseless—is Ramon "The Roman" Morales. You can’t make this stuff up.

  Ramon looks anxious, tense, and shows signs of fear. It’s not very noticeable, but zoomed in, this camera picks up everything. I can see his eyes widen in fear as The Archer advances on him. I imagine Archer can see that as well.

  The Archer moves about the ring like a lion stalking his prey, and the crowd is beginning to get restless. They want blood, and most of them want The Archer to deliver it. I risk a quick glance at his brother. He is scanning the crowd looking for something, what it is that he's looking for, I don’t know. He seems totally unconcerned with the action in the ring. I guess he’s seen enough of his brother to know that tonight’s opponent is no match.

  Gasps and shouts of anger snap my attention back to the fight. I didn't see what happened, but The Archer is backing off. Blood is running down from the wound he received while rescuing the protester. Archer keeps wiping it away, but it’s getting in his eyes. And it’s in the
instant that The Archer’s vision is obscured that Ramon makes his move.

  Suddenly he’s all over Archer, raining down blows relentlessly. The Archer tries to protect his head and face, but it's clear that he can't even see what's going on. Women all around me are screaming in anguish as they watch their hero struggle to stay in the fight.

  Ramon tries to get a hold of Archer to bring him down on the mat, but Archer is too quick and counters his headlock. The Roman makes one more attempt to grapple, launching himself recklessly at his wounded opponent. The Archer is ready this time. The blood flow has slowed to a trickle and he's finally able to see again. As The Roman moves in for the kill, The Archer easily sidesteps him and delivers a powerful forearm down on the unprotected bones of the back of his opponent’s neck.

  Morales drops like a sack of potatoes on the mat. The Archer moves away from his fallen opponent, not even bothering with a backwards glance. Time slows, and as he walks back to his corner of the ring he looks up into the crowd and notices the blinking red light of my camera. I look up from the viewfinder, and we lock eyes—only for a moment. He looks like a beautiful demon, a stunningly macabre sight with his face, neck, and chest covered in dried, blackened blood. His toned muscles look even more defined with the smears of the sanguine red. He looks like...a total badass.

  While the medics tend to the fallen warrior, The Archer is being worked on by his crew. They try to staunch the flow of blood seeping from his head. If they can’t keep it from getting in his eyes, he’s going to have some serious trouble with the next fight.

  As he sits there being bandaged I can’t help but imagine what he must be feeling. He’s breathing hard, and I can almost see the steam coming off his tanned skin. He is so smooth, not a sign of any hair on his muscular chest. I wonder if it’s naturally that way of if some lucky girl gets to do his landscaping.