But Armie blew them off every time.
Speak of the devil... When Denver saw Armie approaching him, he put his elbows back on the bar, glad to finally have a distraction. “How do you feel?”
“Whaddya mean?” Armie caught the bartender’s eye and ordered a whiskey.
The competition had been done tournament style so that competitors had to win to advance, and had to fight multiple times. That arrangement wasn’t common anymore, and wasn’t the way the SBC did things. But the smaller events did what they could to highlight the fighters and drum up excitement.
Armie had knocked out his first guy, then submitted the next two—each in the first round. In the second fight, he’d locked in an arm bar so tightly that the other fighter had immediately tapped rather than risk injury. For the third, he’d submitted with a rear naked choke. Each time, he made it look effortless. Hell, he’d walked away with nothing more than a small bruise on his cheekbone and some mat burn on one elbow. That was it. No other injuries. He’d barely broken a sweat. Armie destroyed other fighters with disgusting ease.
Soon as the event had ended, most of the competitors and a lot of fans had converged on the nearby club for a promoted after-party. Armie, a fan favorite for the local organization, was sure to be the belle of the ball.
“You took that last guy apart. He was damn near knocked out when you decided on the arm bar.”
Armie tossed back the whiskey and asked for another. “Yeah, he must’ve been new or something.”
More like Armie was that good, but Denver knew he wouldn’t admit it. For whatever reason, Armie shrugged off all opportunities to further his fight career. Because of that, Denver warned him, “Dean Connor was in the audience, scouting out the talent.”
Only for a second did Armie react, but he shook off the stillness in less than a heartbeat. “Havoc was here?”
“One and the same.” Dean “Havoc” Connor was a legend in the sport, and one of the most revered fighters ever. A while back, he’d switched gears from competing to training. Now, with another well-known veteran, Simon Evans, he ran one of the most successful and sought-after camps—the same camp where their buddy Cannon often trained.
And Cannon had an upcoming title fight for light heavyweight, so clearly they were doing something right.
Simon and Dean had the inside track with the SBC president and often recommended new recruits to bring under the SBC umbrella.
Brows drawn, Armie scoffed. “This gig wasn’t exactly the upper echelon of talent. Why would Havoc waste his time with low-level competitions?”
Succinct, Denver told him, “You.”
“Bullshit.”
“He took a ton of notes while watching you, and as soon as your fight ended he was on the phone making a call.”
Armie flexed a shoulder. “He was probably here to see Cannon.”
“He talked with Cannon. Merissa, too.”
Armie almost fell off his stool. “What?” And then, with a quelling glare, “Why the hell would he talk to Rissy?”
“She was cheering for you like crazy and I guess that got his attention.” Denver shrugged. Cannon’s sister often accompanied him to the fights. No big deal with that. “Given she was with Cannon...”
“Yeah, maybe.” Armie tossed back the second whiskey and ordered up a third.
Interesting. “Havoc’s still here, but Cannon already took off with Yvette and Merissa.” Since Denver hadn’t yet convinced himself to leave the club, he ordered a glass of lemon water. In two and a half months he’d have his second fight with the SBC, so he’d started watching his diet already. Not that he ever got too far off weight, and not that he couldn’t lose fifteen or even twenty pounds easily enough. But overall, he liked to stay healthy. He considered it part of his job requirements.
“I knew Cannon was booking. We’d already talked.”
“He didn’t mention Havoc?”
“No, and I’ll give him hell for that later.” Armie relaxed enough to manage a grin. “Used to be, Cannon would have closed out the place with me. Now, with Yvette, he’s always in a hurry to get her alone. The wedding can’t happen fast enough for those two.”
“A few weeks after his next fight,” Denver said. If it was up to Yvette, they would have already been married because she didn’t care about the fancy wedding.
But Cannon considered the guys family and knew they’d want to celebrate with him, so they’d set up the wedding in a way that wouldn’t conflict with anyone’s competition schedule, most especially Cannon’s. “Looking forward to being best man?”