New York Times bestselling author Katy Evans expands upon the intense love story begun in Real–this time from Remington “Riptide” Tate’s point of view.
Underground fighter Remington Tate is a mystery, even to himself. His mind is dark and light, complex and enlightening. At times his actions and moods are carefully measured, and at others, they spin out of control.
Through it all, there’s been one constant: wanting, needing, loving, and protecting Brooke Dumas. This is his story; from the first moment he laid eyes on her and knew, without a doubt, she would be the realest thing he’s ever had to fight for.
“…the ring awaits. Twenty – three feet by twenty – three feet, four ropes parallel on each side, four fucking posts, and that’s about it.”
TKO! Third time is a charm! Remy! Remy! Remy!
“That ring is a home to me. When I’m not on it, I miss it. When I train, I think about it. Every step I take in its direction pumps me up and gets me going…It’s my ring. My crowd. My fight. My fucking night.”
Katy Evans has done a wonderful job of bringing this story full circle, or maybe full ring, by gifting the readers what we wanted most…more Remy. This beautifully complicated man could fill hundreds of pages. A stone cold stance, loaded iPod, one two punch, and an undeniable ache for his Little Firecracker, Brooke, confirm that the story is never complete till we read it through a male point of view.
“Mine. If I’d even known she existed before, I would have hunted her. I would have caught and conquered her.”
Learning what was inside the gentle giant gave this series a new twist. Like many other book boyfriend alpha males, Remy’s inner monologue provided a heart breaking rewind on the first two books. Although I knew the story I still enjoyed what Remy had to offer. It was a great recap with a little more. This series makes me want to pull out my Rocky box set! That moment when Rocky calls out for Adrian so reminds me of Remy and Brooke! True love will never suffer a TKO.
We go toe-to-toe. I feint and Hammer swings, opening his side. So I jab his ribs, feel the satisfying punch race up my arm, and we bounce apart. Hammer is stupid in the head. He falls for all my feints and never covers right. I ram him hard enough to make him bounce on the ropes and drop to his knees. He shakes his head and hops to his feet after a moment. I love this. My heart pumps slowly. My every muscle knows where to move, what to do, where to send my power—right from my center, up my chest, shoulder, down the length of my arms, to the tips of my fucking knuckles that hit with the force of a charging bull.
I take him down, and then I do the same with the next foe. And the next.
A powerful energy takes over me as I fight, and I fight knowing that Brooke Dumas watches me. If there’s anything in my head other than winning, it’s that I want her to think inside that lovely round head of hers that she has never, ever, seen a man like me.
By the time the tenth guy falls, sweat coats my chest, and as the ringmaster raises my arm, I’m anxious to see the look in her eyes. I want to see that she liked it, that she—like everyone else in this room—thinks I’m the shit. Our eyes lock, my gut goes hard and twisted and wild with desire, and I smile at her as I try to catch my breath.
When the ringmaster releases my arm, I cross the ring, jump over the cord, and land in the aisle, watching her part her lips in shock as I come over.
People go crazy when I go outside the ring, and they’re losing their shit right now.
The whole room screams with their applause and cheers. And I know they all can see where my gaze rests and where I’m headed.
“Kiss his heart out, woman!”
“You don’t deserve him, you bitch!”
“You go, girl!”
I smile down at this woman who has stolen my thoughts, and as I wonder if she wants me to, she looks pleadingly up at me, almost begging me not to kiss her here. My blood simmers as I remember her lips on mine, but it won’t be happening again.
Not until you’re ready, Brooke Dumas.
I bend to her and scent her hair, whispering at her temple, “Sit tight. I’ll send someone over for you.”
I back off before I lose it, and climbing up into the ring, I steal one last look at her. My chest does all kinds of strange things when our eyes lock.
“Riptide, people!” the announcer screams.
The yells feed me. I suck them in with a smile, full of pride and satisfaction. I can see in every one of these people’s eyes that I’m the man. But I want to see it in her eyes. That. I’m. The Man.
The man who wants to be hers.