Take ONE Week Off And....
Las Vegas, NV
The corridor outside Roth Lecture Hall hummed with the quiet industry of students moving between classes: the soft scuff of shoes, low conversations, the clack of laptop cases. LJ Kasey moved through it like someone operating on autopilot, backpack slung over one shoulder, a textbook tucked under his arm, the other hand wrapped in an elastic brace that had become part of his life overnight.
He’d learned to hide the worst of it. Bruises could be covered with concealer; a swollen eye would settle into a neat crescent before anyone did more than glance. But the ache underneath, the one that sat behind the ribs and above the liver, where a particularly ugly exchange had hit him, that one had a way of settling into his bones and refusing to leave.
Professor Roth’s lecture was a balm of structure. Statutory interpretation and the careful parsing of intent demanded focus in a way training did, but without bruises or blood. LJ took notes, head down, pen moving with the sort of methodical concentration that had gotten him through wrestling injuries and law journals alike. He liked the order of it: read, analyze, extract the argument, deliver.
Halfway through a discussion about limits of federal power, his phone buzzed, a single, insistent vibration under his thigh. He tried to ignore it and subquently He failed.
A single text preview flashed on the screen and the room narrowed: Vincent posted a bounty. $10,000 to any of the bombshells who takes Ally out. Public challenge. He’s stoked the vultures. The sender was Miles.
He didn’t watch Climax Control the night before because he just needed a night to destress from that side of his life. For a second the calculus of the classroom, cases and citations, evaporated. LJ’s pen stopped mid-sentence. The professor’s voice became distant air.
Miles’ next text came in before LJ could breathe: “We will find a way to handle this. Don’t do anything stupid.”
LJ’s heartbeat ratcheted up. He felt suddenly very young and very exposed, like one of those raw, open nerves he’d learned to hide in the ring. A bounty on Ally’s head. Ten thousand. A number that sounded like something from a tabloid or a bad movie, not the living, breathing threat it was in the real world.
He slipped out of the lecture hall after asking permission, an errand to the restroom, a cough, a harmless exit. Outside, the desert light made everything sharp and a little unreal. He thumbed a reply: “I’m okay. I’ll be careful and I’ll see you after class.”
He knew that wasn’t the whole truth. He felt, dangerously, like someone standing on a shifting shore: if he moved wrong, everything would tilt. Classes mattered. Boyd mattered. Law school was a path he’d chosen to build a life beyond the ring, a life he was building with Ally and, in a different but no less real way, with Ashlynn. But so did the person waiting at home who’d pulled him out of what could have been a darker night.
Ally’s name flashed on the screen; he called, hands steadying as his thumb found the icon. She answered on the second ring, her voice warm and immediate. For a moment, the chaos narrowed to that single thread of sound, “Hey love.”
“Hey,” she said. “How’s your lecture going? You sound...off.”
He kept his voice low, because the hallway was suddenly loud. “Text from Miles. He said Vincent’s put up a bounty.”
Silence hit the line like a physical thing. He could hear, in the space after her breath hitched, the click of something, Ally shifting in the apartment, putting down whatever she’d been holding.
“You sure?” she asked, controlled, not the frightened reply he’d expected.
“Yeah. Apparently on the show he threw it out there...briefcase and everything. He texted me the screenshot from twitter too. I haven’t looked at it more than once, I guess that’s what I get for taking days away from social media.” He thought of the barrel of a scheme, of money dangling like a hook. He thought of scar tissue tightening, of the smell of antiseptic in the hospital room he’d been trying to forget.
“Okay,” she said, a minute, then steadier. “We’re not letting it happen. You keep your head on your shoulders, LJ. Classes first, then come home. We’ll figure this out. Together.”
Together. The word buoyed him, half anchor, half promise. He ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the stubble, the small tenderness where the bruises had been worst.
“You’re not gonna be too long tonight, right? I remember you said something about a study group.” she asked, and there it was: the practical question that contained every other one.
He swallowed. Law school, obligations, the slow reconstruction of himself after a savage match — none of it let him off the hook. But neither did love.
“I’ll cancel it and don’t worry about me angel, I’ll be careful,” he said. “I’ll finish my classes and then I’ll come straight home. We’ll talk about plans after that.”
She let out a breath as if she’d been holding it, and the tension in her voice thinned just enough. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” he said.
They hung up, and LJ slid his phone into his pocket. He walked back into Roth Hall for the rest of the lecture with the practiced stare of a man who could compartmentalize, but inside his chest the gears were already turning. Security measures. Counters. Who was likely to take a bounty? Opportunists. Blowhards. People who would see money and not realize they were stepping into the crosshairs of more than one family.
Outside, the Las Vegas sun cut hard angles across the campus. LJ’s next class would be evidence law, the study of proof, of what could be shown and what could be made to look like coincidence. It felt fitting. He exhaled slowly. He’d been learning to read evidence in more ways than one now.
After class, Miles met him at the curb, face set and hands in his pockets with his SUV idled at the curb. Kevin waved from the back seat, small and guarded and unexpectedly present. The city moved around them, bright and indifferent.
“You know that Vincent’s playing games because he’s threatened by you,” Miles said without preamble as LJ climbed in. “We’ll handle it.”
LJ nodded once, but his eyes were already past the parked cars and the palm trees lining the avenue. There was a long list ahead of them, legal options, security, the ugly possibility of having to make threats visible enough to dissuade fools. But he had class to attend, obligations to keep, and a life he’d promised not to let violence swallow.
After being treated to a brief lunch where Miles went on and on about potential plans with Kevin just watching the brothers, Miles took him back to campus. He felt the brace on his hand tug with every turn, a physical reminder of how recent the damage still was. The ache was a constant metronome: study, heal, protect. He’d been told to wait for so long; now the world had put a bounty on who he loved, and waiting was no longer a virtue. It was a liability. And LJ Kasey, who had learned the cost of patience with too many scars to count, was done letting life hand him choices. He’d earned his seat in the room. He’d earned his love. He’d earned the right to stand in front of anyone and declare what was his.
The law class began. LJ took his seat. He scribbled the heading at the top of the page: Evidence: Chain of Custody. He drew a line under it, and on the margin, in smaller letters he barely allowed himself to read, he wrote: Protect what matters. Not waiting. Acting.
The semester marched on. So would he.
------
I’m Done Effin’ Around.
The lights are dim, the city hum bleeding through the windows. The camera catches him sitting at his desk, law books stacked to one side, his brace still on his hand, and that focused look in his eyes that doesn’t belong to a student tonight, but a fighter.
“Funny thing about patience...People always tell you it’s a virtue. They tell you to wait your turn. They tell you good things come to those who hold their tongue, put their head down, and grind. And I did....For a year. I waited while people leapfrogged me. I watched opportunities go to the loudest voices in the room, not the ones who earned it, not the ones who bled for it. And now here we are again… Logan Hunter and Lyle Kasey Jr. Full fucking circle.
I’ll give you this, Logan, every time you and I have stood across from each other, we’ve made it hell. You pushed me further than anyone else on that roster ever did. But you also stole something from me, whether you meant to or not. When you won that Roulette Championship, I should have been next. I was next. Everyone knew it. But no, some self-interested prick had to slide his way to the front of the line while I was told...again...to ‘wait my turn.’ I’m done waiting.”
He leans forward, forearms braced on the desk, eyes sharp with that mix of exhaustion and resolve.
“This weekend, it’s you and me again, Hunter. Two names tied together by everything violent, everything chaotic, everything that leaves scars. People like to talk about you bringing chaos, but chaos is something I’ve learned to live with. They said it was ‘Chaos versus Charisma’ when I faced Vincent. They reduced me to a smile. They attempted to make me a punchline and a press clip. But charisma isn’t a prop. It’s a blade if you know how to use it and I know how to use it.
They keep underselling what I am, what I bring to the table. Yes, I’ve got the smile. I’ve got the education. I’m a law student who studies evidence, who understands the chain of custody and how a case collapses under the right pressure. Underneath that, there’s the same bloody chaos you and Vincent parade around. The difference? Mine has focus. Mine has a purpose. Mine has precision. You don’t see it coming until it’s too late.”
He flexes the wrapped hand and a faint wince crosses his face, then vanishes into a cold grin.
“Let’s be honest, Vincent’s gestures and theatrics are loud. He plants his flag and waits for cameras. He dangles money like a baited hook for opportunists. A $10,000 bounty on Ally’s head? Classy. Real fuckin’ classy, you fuckin’ toss pot. That little stunt doesn’t make him dangerous, it exposes him. It tells me he’s panicked. It tells me he’s afraid someone with teeth might remove what he’s been hoarding. He threw money at cowardice and called it entertainment. That move put a target on the people I love. That move turned his name into a stain. While you aren’t my focus this week, Vinny, I want you to pay close attention to this.”
He lets the words settle, voice like ice.
“So here’s the indictment, plain and simple: you stole my shot. You rode your luck and the favor of people who are good at making noise. You and your cronies carved a short-cut through the queue and left me chewing on the dust. This Sunday? I’m serving the motion for contempt. I’m taking my remedy. I’m not asking for the belt anymore, I’m taking the consequence for everyone who thought they could buy momentum or borrow a path to the top. I’m going to take you ALL on a ride through the High Stakes Tournament.”
LJ stands, the room narrowing as every sentence becomes sharper.
“You want chaos, Logan? I mean your entire life is pure chaos by your own doing but... Fine. Bring it. You want to see what patience becomes when it turns predatory? Watch. I’ve been cataloguing every bruise, every misstep, every borrowed favour. I’ve built a dossier on how this roster hands out privileges and who really earns them. You’re about to be cross-examined in the ring. I will corner you like an exhibit and dismantle you piece by piece. No theatrics, no cheap tricks, just clean, methodological destruction. I’ll make your wins look like clerical errors.”
He steps to the window, stares out at the lights, then turns back to the camera, quieter, final.
“And BY THE WAY Vincent, keep your bounty and your briefcase. Money doesn’t make you a predator. It makes you a mark for the right kind of predator. You wanna threaten the people who mean something to me and you’ll learn the difference between a stunt and a declaration. This isn’t a reality show. This is life and I will not let you gamble with the people who gave me mine.”
A pause. A breath. Then the trademark grin, hard as a promise.
“You wanted me to wait. You polished the stairs for the men who climbed over me. You underestimated what waiting breeds. It breeds strategy. It breeds resolve. It breeds rage you can’t bargain with.”
He pushes back from the desk, the lamp cutting his shadow long across the papers.
“Logan, after everything you and I have put each other through, the blood, the nights we could barely stand....this isn't a rematch theatre. This is reckoning. You better pray there’s a miracle left in your locker, because I’m not coming to survive you. I’m coming to end this...The right way. The only way I know how. Consider this my notice.
Lyle. Kasey. Jr., done waiting. Done effin’ around.”
The camera lingers as he turns off the desk lamp, leaving only the glow of the Vegas skyline in the background.
