Post by Deleted on May 4, 2015 10:18:10 GMT -6
He could feel it.....
Every single bone in his body was aching, he felt like his neck was about dislodge from his body, his eyes were half shut as the pain in his temple reminded him of every single suplex that was suffered at Ignite, every variation that Inkt pulled off took a lot out of the returning Tristan Ambrose.
Yet, even after all of that, Tristan did exactly what he said what he was going to do, he pinned Inkt in the middle of the ring, one, two, three and there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. Tristan beat Inkt, decorated NEW Veteran and former champion. No one was going to take that from him, but he did feel the effect of Inkt’s loss.
Damn scummy son of a bitch decided that a Dull Needle was a fitting win bonus, well fuck ‘em, it was the past, and the record books were gonna show that his bitch ass was pinned in the middle of the ring.
But everything wasn’t astray, with his victory, Tristan was presented the opportunity that he needed for his redemption. Straight out of the office of Jesse Styles, Tristan Ambrose was to face Roger Wright, another NEW veteran, and if he was to win? Smooth sailing into the main event of Justice, right into the Terrordome match for the NEW World Heavyweight Championship.... Just like two years ago...
Two years ago.. Funny, how time just flies by like that. How one man can walk into an event as the world champion and barely walk out in defeat. But who caused that defeat.... Roger Wright.
See it was Roger Wright who took the NEW title from Tristan Ambrose, tho Nocturnal didn’t help by tossing him from the Terrordome all together. But it was Roger that took everything from him. And now at Ignite, Tristan had the opportunity to gain it all back.
However, that wasn’t what was on Tristan’s mind, what was on his mind was the mind splitting headache that he feeling right now. Ever since Inkt dropped him on his head with that German, it has been nothing but headaches and painkillers for him.
“Hey are you even listening to me right now, You almost lost the match Tristan, your return match and you almost lost it to a man who in said match suplexed the holy high hell outta you. Hello? TRISTAN!”
“What... God do you have to fucking yell? I won the fucking match didn’t I, you got paid didn’t you?”
“That isn’t the point Tristan, We need you to appear to be strong, violent. Not barely winning then getting laid out afterwards. Now at Ignite, you know what is at stake, you don’t need to be told what has to happen.”
Tristan nodded, he knew, he knew all too well. Alexander dug into his drawer and pulled out a wooden box, flipping it open and pulling out a cigar, cutting the tip off and putting it in his mouth.
“Cuban?”
“Yup, I used to have to smuggle the shit in, but you know, as of January, I can get them from the source.”
“Jesus, so... you called this meeting, you must have had a reason, so shall we?”
“Right... So with this being a No Holds Barred match, I have been thinking... why? Roger as shown on last week’s Ignite, is in good graces with Jesse Styles, and I wouldn’t put it past them to give Roger the ability to choose who goes into the Terrordome in your place.”
“You think I care what Jesse Styles wants?”
“No because I know you don’t care what anyone wants unless that man’s name is Tristan Ambrose.. You wanna tell me that you don’t care about being in his good graces, then we have a long road ahead.”
“Why don’t you let me handle Roger Wright, and then we can talk about looking for allies. I don’t need allies, just as long as I can fight, I’ll fight on my own, without kissing ass.”
“I’m not saying kiss his ass Tristan, I’m saying show a little respect and you might be shocked to find out that with some people it goes a long way.”
Tristan nodded, while it wasn’t a bad idea to be on the good graces of Jesse, look what happen to Ricky, and hell just last week Matthew was fucked over in his match with Al. While Tristan wasn’t one to turn from a fight, he wasn’t stupid, but he wasn’t kissing ass, he’d fall dead before that happened.
However Alexander seemed to dead-set on having the boss in their corner. Not the company that Tristan would choose, but whatever. If it makes him sleep easy at night, It wasn’t like he was going to do anything stupid.
“Look, Tristan I know kissing ass isn’t your thing, and I know how much you value what people think o-”
“Didn’t you know, I don’t care what anyone thinks about me? I pinned Inkt, Did I hold the shorts for leverage? Yes... I do this because I care about three things. Kicking ass, cashing checks, and most importantly, fucking winning.”
But people didn’t care if he wanted to win, People believe that Roger was the better of the two, and maybe that was the case, maybe Tristan didn’t deserve it. Maybe Roger was suppose to go to Terrordome and maybe Tristan fucking shouldn’t have came back, or maybe Roger should go fuck off and leave like his bitch brother.
“So Roger lost his tag belts cause his brother bailed? Guess the Wright boys can’t hold onto gold like they used to.”
“Maybe we don’t have to bring that up when we talk to Jesse? The goal here, it to make friends.”
“I’m a sick twisted fuck, I don’t need friends.”
“Jesus fuck, Trist-”
“Look calm the fuck down, You’ll do the talking and I won’t stab him in his shiny fucking dome. I got a headache the size of his ego and I don’t wanna fucking have to listen to you tell me all fucking day, that I gotta buddy buddy up with the fucking boss to get anywhere in my career.”
“No Tristan that isn’t what i’m trying to say, we have a shot here to gain some ground here. Win and you hold in your hand a guaranteed shot at the world title. You need that, this company needs that, because someone needs to get that fucking title off of Nathan. He couldn’t fucking bring that championship glory and honor if he was champion for a year. Someone has gotta save that title, and It might as well be you.”
No shit, but still Roger isn’t no Triple X, or Johnny Stylez, but he isn’t no pushover, he is a NEW vet, and he has fire. He wants that fucking title, and it is safe to say, whoever gets to Father Nathan first is the next world champion, it was a mere foot race to the title, and Roger is gonna do whatever he can to get their first.
“Look, you are gonna be doing the talking, so don’t worry. I gotta go, so don’t blow a damn gasket, make the meeting and I will be in town tomorrow Now, pack up and sleep well, we'll talk tomorrow.”
With Alexander’s nod, Tristan left the office, and checked out at the front desk, before heading back to the elevator. Still slow as fuck, same shitty elevator music, Tristan made his way down to the ground floor, ready to get the hell out of this place. It wasn’t that Tristan hated the environment of Alexander’s office, it’s just that he wouldn’t stop with the “Kiss Jesse’s Ass” idea. Tristan doesn’t kiss ass, and he doesn’t underestimate things, He wasn’t going to outright fight the boss, but he wasn’t gonna turn into his bitch for the World Heavyweight Championship. He has Roger and Inkt for that.
Whipping out his phone, he dialed up the hotel number of the mother that crashed at his spot two weeks ago, he wasn’t worried or nothing. He simply just wanted to know that the girl wasn’t back on the streets, he had been there before and that was no place for a kid to grow up..
After a few rings, the mother, named Riley Evans, picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Saw your match.. You got the shit beat outta you.”
“Hey I won... that’s all that matters, look I’m not coming back to Seattle for at least a month, so I sent some cash and umm.... Look, you gotta get out of Seattle... It isn’t the place for a kid in her circumstances. I’m not gonna force it, but..”
“Look Tristan, what you’ve done for us, It can’t be repaid.. But we can’t leave. No matter how much I don’t like it, he is still her father, and he would have to consent, and we both know that he will never let her go.”
As much as Tristan didn’t like it, he knew that was true, he couldn’t do anything about that he was the father, sighing, he rubbed his head, where the headache was still presence.
“Look, like I said, thank you... you’ve done more for Morgan then anything her father has ever done for her, and I can’t thank you enough, I’ll keep her safe, believe it or not, the money helps out so much, His thugs leave me and her alone, as long as they get paid.”
“Well, I’ll do what I can. Look, I’m gonna be bus-”
“I know.... we’ll be here... You think maybe, after the show.... we can really talk?”
“Sure, I’ll uhh... I’ll call ya.”
“All right... Good luck this week.”
“Thanks, Goodbye Riley.”
Ending the call, he lowered it to his side, shaking his head. He unlocked his car and hopped in, turning on the ignition and letting the sound of the engine flood his ears. It was Friday, Ignite wasn’t for a few days, so Tristan did have some time to burn, and fuck it, he was in Chicago. Turning out into the road, he set the phone into the cup holder, and after getting to a red light, he dialed his good friend Jake Youngblood, former NEW Superstar, now working the independents after an almost career ending injury at the hands of Ryan Pugh in a ladder match. Again, a few rings later, his old friend picked up the phone.
“You crazy motherfucker, where do you get off coming back from the dead, signing with NEW and I gotta find out from fucking Jill Matthews on TV that you are coming back? I outta fucking kill you.”
“Fuck... Missed you too.”
“No... No you are not blaming me for wondering where my friend was for the better part of two years.”
“Did you believe that cunt Nancy Grace when she said I went to a quote “Steroid Induced Exile”?
“That bitch wouldn’t know a damn thing about producing quality programming if it bit her in the ass. Did you know she implied that you died after Terrordome?”
“Well if I die it might as well be in the ring right? Maybe one day someone goes into business for themselves and bashes my brains in with a pipe because he wants over.”
“Err.. What were we talking about?”
“Me being back I’m afraid, look I got a favor to ask you man, you at your place?”
“Yea, Ariel and Evan are out shopping, so where you at?”
“On my way to your place, and I swear to god if you don’t open that goddamned gate of yours, I’ma drive thr-”
“It’ll be open, I’ll meet you at the door.”
Flicking the end bar, Tristan continued driving to Jake’s house, He didn’t really wanna do this, he hated asking for help, It wasn’t pride, he just didn’t think he was really worthy of all the help he had already received in his life. Tristan life wasn’t pretty, the stories of abuse, forced drug use and homelessness were told to very few people, consider it a trust issue.
What Tristan really wanted, was to not let other children grow up like he did, being dad-less and having a whore drug addict for a mother, he didn’t get to have a normal video game, hang with friends happy childhood. He had to fight and claw for every little thing he had, just like this week he was going to have to scratch claw and use everything in his eye site as a weapon.
A fork? He would stab Roger’s forehead into submission, a chair, he would swing for the fences, pure Colombian cocaine? Throw that shit right in the eyes.. Nothing was off limits this Ignite, and Roger Wright is gonna get more than he expected..
Pulling up to the gate, and into the lot, Tristan stepped out of his car, he instantly noticed the wind. and while it was slightly better than yesterday, yet still a nuisance. Walking up to the door, he was greeted with a hug from his long time friend.
“Last time I saw you, you were falling from Terrordome.”
“I’ve had worse, at least I didn’t get my fucking bone broken by Vanessa’s coffee pot mace. Then tossed off a ladder threw another ladder.”
“Fuck you.”
“You started it.”
“Whatever, can i get you anything?”
“You wouldn’t have some Advil would you?”
After resting a bit, and getting that fucking headache in check, Jake and Tristan caught up, two years was a long time to be gone and a lot had happened. Jake had gotten his grow at some of the independents he was wrestling at, along with raising his now seventeen year old brother, he really was a respectable man, considering his similar up-bring.
That’s why Tristan came to Jake with this issue with Morgan and Riley. See four years ago, Tristan fought and won a custody case against his father for Evan, his little brother. As their father was abusive, Tristan was able to gain sole custody and Evan has been happy ever since.
The disadvantage with getting Riley sole custody, was that she wouldn’t have a house... till then She had to stay in Seattle till she could get a house elsewhere, cause right now, telling the judge that you live at a motel paid for by a wrestler who assaulted your husband isn’t a good case
Thing is Jake’s indy promotion is doing a two month tour of Seattle, as part of their year long around the U.S tour, with that, Tristan was hoping that maybe, Jake could look after them till Tristan could think of what to do to permanently help them...
Why do I care so fucking much.....
“So you needed a favor?”
“Yea... When you're in Seattle.... I need you to look after two people for me.”
“What?”
“Yea, look... as stupid as it sounds, I. Look, I just have a friend who really needs some help right now.”
“Help how? Like mental or..”
“No Jake.... Help that we needed...”
There was a thick silence, and any funny, happy feeling that shown in his face was now gone... He knew what Tristan meant.
“How young...”
“Ten or eleven I think.”
“Jesus, Where are they right now?
“They are safe, don’t worry, I got them at a hotel on the far side of town, but eventually, the father is gonna fucking do something, they always do.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Well you are heading out there in a week, I was thinking maybe you could look after them, just in case..”
“Just in case.... You sure he is gonna try something?”
“You know these people man.... Can you do it?”
After a moment of silence, he nodded, Tristan knew it was a lot to ask, but he also knew that Jake was able to handle anything that that big son of a bitch would possibly throw at him. But he did agree to do it, Tristan knew he would, He was like me, he wouldn’t allow a child to live like that.. He helped get a huge weight off his shoulders, with it gone, Roger was his main focus..
Thanking Jake, he left the house, stress free and focused.. As he rested in the car, he gripped the wheel.... Backing out of Jake’s place, he typed the address of the hotel in Auburn Hills, 294 Miles... four hours... The distance that stood between him and what he needed to gain a shot at the title he lost in the match he lost it in... funny, how all he had to do was beat who won that match.
Roger Wright... He is tough, and a legend. A gifted competitor with a million things going his way right now. He is in position to become the NEW champ one more time, but Tristan didn’t care what position he was in... This match was Tristan’s match, just like with Pugh, the bets on Roger winning, Tristan planned on making a lot of people, lose a lot of money. No Holds Barred, nothing to stand in his way from beating the fuck outta the man that took it all from him. Nothing to stop him from stabbing, bludgeoning, and maiming Roger to the point where the world will know, Tristan Ambrose is back, and he is more deadly than he has ever been.
But if Roger wants to think that he’s better, then by all means, Just mark these words, At Ignite, Tristan Ambrose is going to win.. He's gonna get redemption... He’s going to Justice, He’s going to Terrordome... And he is gonna regain, the NEW World Heavyweight Championship.
Hope you like seeing your own blood Roger...
Fear the Reaper.
Every single bone in his body was aching, he felt like his neck was about dislodge from his body, his eyes were half shut as the pain in his temple reminded him of every single suplex that was suffered at Ignite, every variation that Inkt pulled off took a lot out of the returning Tristan Ambrose.
Yet, even after all of that, Tristan did exactly what he said what he was going to do, he pinned Inkt in the middle of the ring, one, two, three and there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. Tristan beat Inkt, decorated NEW Veteran and former champion. No one was going to take that from him, but he did feel the effect of Inkt’s loss.
Damn scummy son of a bitch decided that a Dull Needle was a fitting win bonus, well fuck ‘em, it was the past, and the record books were gonna show that his bitch ass was pinned in the middle of the ring.
But everything wasn’t astray, with his victory, Tristan was presented the opportunity that he needed for his redemption. Straight out of the office of Jesse Styles, Tristan Ambrose was to face Roger Wright, another NEW veteran, and if he was to win? Smooth sailing into the main event of Justice, right into the Terrordome match for the NEW World Heavyweight Championship.... Just like two years ago...
Two years ago.. Funny, how time just flies by like that. How one man can walk into an event as the world champion and barely walk out in defeat. But who caused that defeat.... Roger Wright.
See it was Roger Wright who took the NEW title from Tristan Ambrose, tho Nocturnal didn’t help by tossing him from the Terrordome all together. But it was Roger that took everything from him. And now at Ignite, Tristan had the opportunity to gain it all back.
However, that wasn’t what was on Tristan’s mind, what was on his mind was the mind splitting headache that he feeling right now. Ever since Inkt dropped him on his head with that German, it has been nothing but headaches and painkillers for him.
“Hey are you even listening to me right now, You almost lost the match Tristan, your return match and you almost lost it to a man who in said match suplexed the holy high hell outta you. Hello? TRISTAN!”
“What... God do you have to fucking yell? I won the fucking match didn’t I, you got paid didn’t you?”
“That isn’t the point Tristan, We need you to appear to be strong, violent. Not barely winning then getting laid out afterwards. Now at Ignite, you know what is at stake, you don’t need to be told what has to happen.”
Tristan nodded, he knew, he knew all too well. Alexander dug into his drawer and pulled out a wooden box, flipping it open and pulling out a cigar, cutting the tip off and putting it in his mouth.
“Cuban?”
“Yup, I used to have to smuggle the shit in, but you know, as of January, I can get them from the source.”
“Jesus, so... you called this meeting, you must have had a reason, so shall we?”
“Right... So with this being a No Holds Barred match, I have been thinking... why? Roger as shown on last week’s Ignite, is in good graces with Jesse Styles, and I wouldn’t put it past them to give Roger the ability to choose who goes into the Terrordome in your place.”
“You think I care what Jesse Styles wants?”
“No because I know you don’t care what anyone wants unless that man’s name is Tristan Ambrose.. You wanna tell me that you don’t care about being in his good graces, then we have a long road ahead.”
“Why don’t you let me handle Roger Wright, and then we can talk about looking for allies. I don’t need allies, just as long as I can fight, I’ll fight on my own, without kissing ass.”
“I’m not saying kiss his ass Tristan, I’m saying show a little respect and you might be shocked to find out that with some people it goes a long way.”
Tristan nodded, while it wasn’t a bad idea to be on the good graces of Jesse, look what happen to Ricky, and hell just last week Matthew was fucked over in his match with Al. While Tristan wasn’t one to turn from a fight, he wasn’t stupid, but he wasn’t kissing ass, he’d fall dead before that happened.
However Alexander seemed to dead-set on having the boss in their corner. Not the company that Tristan would choose, but whatever. If it makes him sleep easy at night, It wasn’t like he was going to do anything stupid.
“Look, Tristan I know kissing ass isn’t your thing, and I know how much you value what people think o-”
“Didn’t you know, I don’t care what anyone thinks about me? I pinned Inkt, Did I hold the shorts for leverage? Yes... I do this because I care about three things. Kicking ass, cashing checks, and most importantly, fucking winning.”
But people didn’t care if he wanted to win, People believe that Roger was the better of the two, and maybe that was the case, maybe Tristan didn’t deserve it. Maybe Roger was suppose to go to Terrordome and maybe Tristan fucking shouldn’t have came back, or maybe Roger should go fuck off and leave like his bitch brother.
“So Roger lost his tag belts cause his brother bailed? Guess the Wright boys can’t hold onto gold like they used to.”
“Maybe we don’t have to bring that up when we talk to Jesse? The goal here, it to make friends.”
“I’m a sick twisted fuck, I don’t need friends.”
“Jesus fuck, Trist-”
“Look calm the fuck down, You’ll do the talking and I won’t stab him in his shiny fucking dome. I got a headache the size of his ego and I don’t wanna fucking have to listen to you tell me all fucking day, that I gotta buddy buddy up with the fucking boss to get anywhere in my career.”
“No Tristan that isn’t what i’m trying to say, we have a shot here to gain some ground here. Win and you hold in your hand a guaranteed shot at the world title. You need that, this company needs that, because someone needs to get that fucking title off of Nathan. He couldn’t fucking bring that championship glory and honor if he was champion for a year. Someone has gotta save that title, and It might as well be you.”
No shit, but still Roger isn’t no Triple X, or Johnny Stylez, but he isn’t no pushover, he is a NEW vet, and he has fire. He wants that fucking title, and it is safe to say, whoever gets to Father Nathan first is the next world champion, it was a mere foot race to the title, and Roger is gonna do whatever he can to get their first.
“Look, you are gonna be doing the talking, so don’t worry. I gotta go, so don’t blow a damn gasket, make the meeting and I will be in town tomorrow Now, pack up and sleep well, we'll talk tomorrow.”
With Alexander’s nod, Tristan left the office, and checked out at the front desk, before heading back to the elevator. Still slow as fuck, same shitty elevator music, Tristan made his way down to the ground floor, ready to get the hell out of this place. It wasn’t that Tristan hated the environment of Alexander’s office, it’s just that he wouldn’t stop with the “Kiss Jesse’s Ass” idea. Tristan doesn’t kiss ass, and he doesn’t underestimate things, He wasn’t going to outright fight the boss, but he wasn’t gonna turn into his bitch for the World Heavyweight Championship. He has Roger and Inkt for that.
Whipping out his phone, he dialed up the hotel number of the mother that crashed at his spot two weeks ago, he wasn’t worried or nothing. He simply just wanted to know that the girl wasn’t back on the streets, he had been there before and that was no place for a kid to grow up..
After a few rings, the mother, named Riley Evans, picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Saw your match.. You got the shit beat outta you.”
“Hey I won... that’s all that matters, look I’m not coming back to Seattle for at least a month, so I sent some cash and umm.... Look, you gotta get out of Seattle... It isn’t the place for a kid in her circumstances. I’m not gonna force it, but..”
“Look Tristan, what you’ve done for us, It can’t be repaid.. But we can’t leave. No matter how much I don’t like it, he is still her father, and he would have to consent, and we both know that he will never let her go.”
As much as Tristan didn’t like it, he knew that was true, he couldn’t do anything about that he was the father, sighing, he rubbed his head, where the headache was still presence.
“Look, like I said, thank you... you’ve done more for Morgan then anything her father has ever done for her, and I can’t thank you enough, I’ll keep her safe, believe it or not, the money helps out so much, His thugs leave me and her alone, as long as they get paid.”
“Well, I’ll do what I can. Look, I’m gonna be bus-”
“I know.... we’ll be here... You think maybe, after the show.... we can really talk?”
“Sure, I’ll uhh... I’ll call ya.”
“All right... Good luck this week.”
“Thanks, Goodbye Riley.”
Ending the call, he lowered it to his side, shaking his head. He unlocked his car and hopped in, turning on the ignition and letting the sound of the engine flood his ears. It was Friday, Ignite wasn’t for a few days, so Tristan did have some time to burn, and fuck it, he was in Chicago. Turning out into the road, he set the phone into the cup holder, and after getting to a red light, he dialed his good friend Jake Youngblood, former NEW Superstar, now working the independents after an almost career ending injury at the hands of Ryan Pugh in a ladder match. Again, a few rings later, his old friend picked up the phone.
“You crazy motherfucker, where do you get off coming back from the dead, signing with NEW and I gotta find out from fucking Jill Matthews on TV that you are coming back? I outta fucking kill you.”
“Fuck... Missed you too.”
“No... No you are not blaming me for wondering where my friend was for the better part of two years.”
“Did you believe that cunt Nancy Grace when she said I went to a quote “Steroid Induced Exile”?
“That bitch wouldn’t know a damn thing about producing quality programming if it bit her in the ass. Did you know she implied that you died after Terrordome?”
“Well if I die it might as well be in the ring right? Maybe one day someone goes into business for themselves and bashes my brains in with a pipe because he wants over.”
“Err.. What were we talking about?”
“Me being back I’m afraid, look I got a favor to ask you man, you at your place?”
“Yea, Ariel and Evan are out shopping, so where you at?”
“On my way to your place, and I swear to god if you don’t open that goddamned gate of yours, I’ma drive thr-”
“It’ll be open, I’ll meet you at the door.”
Flicking the end bar, Tristan continued driving to Jake’s house, He didn’t really wanna do this, he hated asking for help, It wasn’t pride, he just didn’t think he was really worthy of all the help he had already received in his life. Tristan life wasn’t pretty, the stories of abuse, forced drug use and homelessness were told to very few people, consider it a trust issue.
What Tristan really wanted, was to not let other children grow up like he did, being dad-less and having a whore drug addict for a mother, he didn’t get to have a normal video game, hang with friends happy childhood. He had to fight and claw for every little thing he had, just like this week he was going to have to scratch claw and use everything in his eye site as a weapon.
A fork? He would stab Roger’s forehead into submission, a chair, he would swing for the fences, pure Colombian cocaine? Throw that shit right in the eyes.. Nothing was off limits this Ignite, and Roger Wright is gonna get more than he expected..
Pulling up to the gate, and into the lot, Tristan stepped out of his car, he instantly noticed the wind. and while it was slightly better than yesterday, yet still a nuisance. Walking up to the door, he was greeted with a hug from his long time friend.
“Last time I saw you, you were falling from Terrordome.”
“I’ve had worse, at least I didn’t get my fucking bone broken by Vanessa’s coffee pot mace. Then tossed off a ladder threw another ladder.”
“Fuck you.”
“You started it.”
“Whatever, can i get you anything?”
“You wouldn’t have some Advil would you?”
After resting a bit, and getting that fucking headache in check, Jake and Tristan caught up, two years was a long time to be gone and a lot had happened. Jake had gotten his grow at some of the independents he was wrestling at, along with raising his now seventeen year old brother, he really was a respectable man, considering his similar up-bring.
That’s why Tristan came to Jake with this issue with Morgan and Riley. See four years ago, Tristan fought and won a custody case against his father for Evan, his little brother. As their father was abusive, Tristan was able to gain sole custody and Evan has been happy ever since.
The disadvantage with getting Riley sole custody, was that she wouldn’t have a house... till then She had to stay in Seattle till she could get a house elsewhere, cause right now, telling the judge that you live at a motel paid for by a wrestler who assaulted your husband isn’t a good case
Thing is Jake’s indy promotion is doing a two month tour of Seattle, as part of their year long around the U.S tour, with that, Tristan was hoping that maybe, Jake could look after them till Tristan could think of what to do to permanently help them...
Why do I care so fucking much.....
“So you needed a favor?”
“Yea... When you're in Seattle.... I need you to look after two people for me.”
“What?”
“Yea, look... as stupid as it sounds, I. Look, I just have a friend who really needs some help right now.”
“Help how? Like mental or..”
“No Jake.... Help that we needed...”
There was a thick silence, and any funny, happy feeling that shown in his face was now gone... He knew what Tristan meant.
“How young...”
“Ten or eleven I think.”
“Jesus, Where are they right now?
“They are safe, don’t worry, I got them at a hotel on the far side of town, but eventually, the father is gonna fucking do something, they always do.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Well you are heading out there in a week, I was thinking maybe you could look after them, just in case..”
“Just in case.... You sure he is gonna try something?”
“You know these people man.... Can you do it?”
After a moment of silence, he nodded, Tristan knew it was a lot to ask, but he also knew that Jake was able to handle anything that that big son of a bitch would possibly throw at him. But he did agree to do it, Tristan knew he would, He was like me, he wouldn’t allow a child to live like that.. He helped get a huge weight off his shoulders, with it gone, Roger was his main focus..
Thanking Jake, he left the house, stress free and focused.. As he rested in the car, he gripped the wheel.... Backing out of Jake’s place, he typed the address of the hotel in Auburn Hills, 294 Miles... four hours... The distance that stood between him and what he needed to gain a shot at the title he lost in the match he lost it in... funny, how all he had to do was beat who won that match.
Roger Wright... He is tough, and a legend. A gifted competitor with a million things going his way right now. He is in position to become the NEW champ one more time, but Tristan didn’t care what position he was in... This match was Tristan’s match, just like with Pugh, the bets on Roger winning, Tristan planned on making a lot of people, lose a lot of money. No Holds Barred, nothing to stand in his way from beating the fuck outta the man that took it all from him. Nothing to stop him from stabbing, bludgeoning, and maiming Roger to the point where the world will know, Tristan Ambrose is back, and he is more deadly than he has ever been.
But if Roger wants to think that he’s better, then by all means, Just mark these words, At Ignite, Tristan Ambrose is going to win.. He's gonna get redemption... He’s going to Justice, He’s going to Terrordome... And he is gonna regain, the NEW World Heavyweight Championship.
Hope you like seeing your own blood Roger...
Fear the Reaper.