Page 45 of Between the Ropes

Tonight, Ryan will be in that ring.

I’ll see him under the lights, in his element, doing what he was born to do. And somehow, despite the chaos of the arena, the thousands of screaming fans, and the magnitude of the night—he’ll still be mine.

And I can’t wait to watch him.

34

I’m backstage, pacing, loosening up my shoulders, mentally running through tonight’s match. Lester might be Kyle’s muscle, but I’m ready to take him down, use this as a chance to send a message before my title shot against Kyle at the end of the week. I can feel the energy buzzing in the air, the anticipation building, but my mind is laser-focused. This is what I do best.

Travis and Jason are with me, shooting the shit like we always do before matches, but Jason’s been going on and on about Chrissy for the past ten minutes. I hear him, but I’m only half-listening as I stretch my arms across my chest, prepping for the ring.

“Man, I think I’m going to ask her out,” Jason says, grinning like an idiot. “What do you think, Ryan? You cool with that?”

I chuckle under my breath, shaking my head. “I don’t give a fuck what you do, Jason. There’s never been anything betweenme and Chrissy.” I pause, meeting his eyes with a smirk. “She’s been chasing me, sure, but I’ve never pursued her.”

Travis gives me a side-eye, exchanging a glance with Jason. “That’s not what Chrissy’s been saying, man.”

I shrug it off. “She can say whatever she wants. I don’t waste my time on that shit.”

I push the conversation out of my head as I focus on what’s coming next. It’s game time. I roll my neck, feeling the tension knot in my muscles, ready to unleash it all in the ring. It’s just me and Lester out there tonight, but this match is about more than just kicking his ass. It’s about showing Kyle exactly what’s coming for him.

The moment my entrance music hits, the arenaerupts. A pulse of energy surges through the crowd, the deep, rumbling“PIERCE! PIERCE! PIERCE!”chant shaking the very foundation of the building. It’sdeafening, a wall of sound that rolls over me, sending a rush of adrenaline straight through my veins.

This.Thisis why I do this.

I step through the curtain, stopping at the top of the ramp as the blinding lights hit me. My chest rises and falls with steady, controlled breaths as I take it all in—the thousands of fans on their feet, signs waving, cameras flashing, their cheers hitting me like a tidal wave. The massive LED screens behind me flash my name in bold letters, larger than life.

I don’t rush. Ilet them feel it. Let themseeme. Sweat glistens on my skin, my muscles flexing under the heat of the lights. Every eye in this arena is on me,waiting.

I start my descent down the ramp, each step deliberate, every movement precise. Fans scream, shoving outstretched hands in my direction, and I slap a few as I pass. But my focus? It’s locked on that ring.The squared circle. My home.

Lester is already inside, pacing like a caged animal, his beady eyes darting toward me. Heknowswhat’s coming. He should.

I climb the steel steps slowly, purposefully, pausing on the apron as I take one last look at the sea of people chanting my name. I throw my arms outwide, soaking it all in as the cheers swell to a deafening pitch. This is mymoment. Myhouse.

Then, in one smooth motion, I duck between the ropes, rolling my shoulders, standing tall, staring Lester down.

The crowd doesn’t die down.They know what’s coming next.

The bell barely finishes ringing before Iexplodeforward.

I slam into Lester, fists flying, the impact rocking him back into the corner. I don’t give him a second to breathe—I drive my shoulder into his gut, then another, then another, until he’s gasping, his body folding over from the force. The ref yells for me to back up, but I don’t hear him.I don’t care.

Lester stumbles forward, trying to regain his footing, but I catch him mid-step, wrapping my arms around his waist and launching him into the air. The slam shakes the ring, the impact reverberating through the canvas. The crowdroars.

I barely let him hit the mat before I’m on him again.

Blow after blow, I drive my fists into his ribs, his jaw, his skull. My knuckles sting, but I don’t stop. Ican’t stop. This isn’t just a match. This is astatement. I want Kyle to see this. I wanteveryoneto see what the hell is coming for them.

Lester tries to rally, swinging wildly, desperation written all over his sweat-slicked face. I duck, slipping behind him, my arm locking tight under his chin. He struggles, thrashing in my grip, but I tighten the hold, cutting off his air supply.

Panic flickers across his eyes. He’sdone. I can feel it.

But then—

A commotion at ringside.

The ref’s attention flickers away for asplit second. Just long enough for one of Lester’s lackeys to slide something under the ropes.

---