A Savage Redemption (A Series of Savage Gentleman Book 3)

by Christopher Harlan

  A Savage Redemption

  A Series of Savage Gentleman

  Book 3

  By Christopher Harlan

  Copyright © 2020 by Christopher Harlan

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Proofreading by: Stephanie Albon

  Cover Model: Golden Czermak of FuriousFotog

  Formatting & Cover Design by: Cassy Roop of PinkInkDesigns

  Contents

  Fight Club

  Prologue

  1. Damien

  2. Damien

  3. Damien

  4. Harper

  5. Damien

  6. Harper

  7. Damien

  8. Damien

  9. Harper

  10. Damien

  11. Harper

  12. Harper

  13. Damien

  14. Damien

  15. Harper

  16. Harper

  17. Damien

  18. Damien

  19. Harper

  20. Damien

  21. Damien

  22. Harper

  23. Damien

  24. Damien

  25. Harper

  26. Damien

  27. Harper

  28. Damien

  29. Harper

  30. Damien

  Epilogue

  A Savage Gentleman

  Damien

  The Savage Sinner

  Damien

  Connect with Christopher

  Secret Keeper

  The Three Kiss Clause

  The Wordsmith Chronicles

  The Me That I Became

  Away From Here

  The Impressions Duet

  The New York City’s Finest

  New York Fight Club

  —Matt—Owner, New York Fight Club, former fighter, head coach and agent for all fighters at the gym

  —Lucas “The Ghost” Esparza — UFC light heavyweight (205 lbs) fighter

  —Damien “The Sinner” Reyes— Local welterweight (170 lbs) fighter

  Brooklyn Fight Academy

  —Johnny Altino - welterweight champion of New York Cage Fighting Championships

  Prologue

  I’ve waited for this moment for a long time.

  One year, to be specific.

  Normally, the arena is my home. The sights and sounds of a cage fight calm the nerves that come naturally, and give me that boost of energy that I need to hurt the man across from me.

  My name rings out in the crowd. They chanted “Sinner” as I made the walk to the cage, but now, it’s all faded to dull background noise. I see the flashes of phones, but I can barely perceive them.

  My eyes are focused on one thing, and one thing only.

  Not one thing—one man.

  He’s standing across from me, and, in seconds, my hands are going to do things to him that he tried to do to me, only I’m going to do what he couldn’t.

  I’m going to make him wish he’d never laced up a pair of gloves, or stepped in the cage with me, or ever even heard my name. I’m going to make him regret the day he signed his name on the contract to fight me, and then no one but the referee will be able to keep him safe.

  As they announce our names, I’m painfully still, reserving every ounce of energy for the task at hand. My body is tense and relaxed at the same time. My name is called out and I raise a single arm in the air, never taking my eyes off of him.

  It’s time to be the savage I was born to be.

  1

  Damien

  Back to the grind.

  The grind in this case being the thing I love to do, but lately it’s come with more baggage than reward. What am I talking about?

  Let’s just say that it’s been a rough few weeks.

  I went from a scheduled number one contender fight to a hospital bed in no time at all—the victim of a viscous assault. I know who was responsible, but I can’t do anything about it.

  I’ve taken plenty of ass kickings in my life. Strange as it might sound, the beating in the bathroom of a bar isn’t the worst part of that experience—the worst part is that it set my career back. I couldn’t fight, and the guy I was supposed to fight went on to defend his title, and now I’m finishing letting my body heal while he gets closer and closer to the UFC contract that should be mine.

  So, like I said, it’s back to the grind, only today I’m not really doing much except visiting. New York Fight Club is more of a home to me than my actual home, and it’s always been that way since I first walked through the doors. It’s where I come when I’m up, when I’m down, and times like now, when I just need to be around something familiar.

  I see my best friend and fellow fighter, Lucas “The Ghost” Esparza hitting the heavy bag. He’s gotten so popular since his UFC debut that he’s starting to get fans coming to the gym just to gawk and watch him train.

  “Yo.”

  I interrupt his flow just as he’s throwing a roundhouse kick from hell, that’s so loud it gets the whole gym’s attention.

  “Hey, gimp, what’s up?”

  Lucas and I mess with each other like brothers. He started calling me ‘gimp’ just to make me laugh, but I know he feels bad that the whole thing with my attack went down at his fight.

  “Nothing much. Feeling less gimpy.”

  “You all cleared now? Can I get back to kicking you in the head and tapping you out now?”

  “Doctor says I’m all good. And in your dreams, by the way. You won’t be hitting shit with a kick like that.”

  “Man, you’re nuts. Didn’t you hear that sound?”

  “Who do you think you’re talking to? One of those chicks over there who think you’re hot and hang around just to get a shirtless selfie of you for Instagram? That kick was loud, sure. But it was also slow and telegraphed. You try that on your next opponent, he’ll catch the kick, take you down, and fuck you up.”

  “I’ve missed you the last few weeks, you know that.”

  We bro hug and I see one of his groupies take a picture with her phone. Matt must be thrilled with all these bottom feeders hanging around. “Not as much as I’ve missed you. You and this whole place. I miss the smell.”

  “See, that’s when you know you’ve been hit in the head one too many times in your life. The day I start missing the smell of a gym please just roll me off a cliff.”

  “Will do.”

  He laughs. “Shit, Damien, that was a figure of speech.”

  “I realize that, but if you need me to be that guy who puts you out of your misery at some point, I’m here for you. That’s what friends are for.”

  “With friends like you. . .”

  “Who needs enemies?” Matt comes up from behind to finish Lucas’ sentence. “You look good, Sinner. How are you feeling?”

  “Like I was never beaten unconscious in a bathroom, if that’s what you mean. A few bruises, but I’m fine. Doctor cleared me yesterday, said I can get licensed now. When do we fight?”

  “Woah, easy there, killer. You were in a hospital bed a few weeks ago.”

  “Yeah, Lucas, for observa
tions. And they observed that I’m fucking Golden and let my ass go. So, like I said, when do we fight?”

  Lucas and Matt both smile. They can see the determination in my eyes.

  “Well,” Matt starts. “Before ‘we’ do anything, ‘we’ need a fucking cup of coffee. You guys down?”

  “Only if. . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m buying. I swear, you two are like kids who’ve grown up but still expect your father to pay for everything. You’re a UFC fighter, Lucas, I think you can float a few cups of diner coffee.”

  “Wait, I think, in that metaphorical world, you slept with my mom.”

  “Actually,” Matt says with a grin. “In that metaphorical world—and maybe the real one—I slept with both of your moms. I guess that’s payment enough, right? I’m paying, meet me there in ten. And Lucas?”

  “Yeah, Master Splinter?”

  “Get those girls to sign up for lessons or get them the fuck out of my gym. I see one more selfie being taken and I’m going to lose my shit.”

  “Damn, you think it would be good for business, right?”

  “Sure,” Matt says sarcastically. “Only if my primary customers were college freshman with too many posts on their Instagram pages. See you in ten. Handle the girls.” He takes one last look at the line of girls drooling over Lucas before he walks away shaking his head.

  “You got it,” Lucas promises.

  I stand there and smile. “You’ve got full out groupies, dude.”

  “Yeah,” he says, looking over at the girls lining the walls of the gym. “I’m not sure who’s more thrilled—Matt or Mila.”

  “I’d worry more about your fiancé than our trainer. He’ll get over it, and despite what his old-school ass says, it is good for the gym. He just doesn’t get social media.”

  “He’s old, what do you want?”

  “Meet you at the diner. You’d better go handle the girls.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  2

  Damien

  “So, when do we fight?” I love being annoying when it comes to Matt. He wears his emotions on his sleeve, and it’s always funny to mess with people like that.

  “Back to my father-child metaphorical world for a second.”

  “You mean the one where you banged my mom?”

  “Both of your moms, remember? And yes, that one.”

  “Sounds familiar,” I say sarcastically. “What about it?”

  “Right now, you’re like the impatient little shit in the back of the mini van asking if we’re there yet, over and over.”

  “You know what I really sound like, Matt? I sound like a fighter who lost the opportunity of a lifetime and now wants to get back in the game and get what’s mine.”

  “Nothing’s yours, kid, you’ve got to earn it.”

  “I realized that, Matt, and don’t take this the wrong way, but I need you to wear your manager hat, not your coaching hat right now. I just need a fight.” I don’t mean to sound like a dick right now, but I’m really not in the mood for a lecture.

  “Way ahead of you,” he tells me. “As always.”

  “See,” Lucas says, smiling. “That’s why you’re Master Splinter.”

  “We really need to stop talking in metaphors,” I joke. “We’ve gone from being Matt’s illegitimate kids to Ninja Turtles in less than ten minutes.”

  “I’m okay with both of those,” Lucas says.

  I flag the waitress down and order three cups of coffee for the table. “So? What do you have for me? When do I get my shot?”

  “At Johnny?”

  “No, at Conor McGregor. Yes, Johnny.”

  “That’s off the table for right now.”

  Those are not the words that I want to hear at the moment. “What are you talking about? I was the number one contender.”

  “‘Was’ being the operative term in that sentence. See, that same night Johnny defended his title, there was another welterweight fight between the number two and number three guys in the division. And since there was no timeframe for you coming back. . .”

  “The winner of that fight gets the next crack at Johnny.” Fuck. I hate the way this sport works sometimes. Rankings are stupid and they don’t tell you nearly enough about a fighter. Most guys pad their resumes with the easiest fights their managers can get them so they can enter competitions with ridiculous records like 15-0. But it’s not just rankings—it’s shit like this. If I was the number one guy and I got hurt, when I come back I should still be the number one guy, but I guess the promoters at New York Cage Fighting Championships feel differently.

  “It is what it is, man. You just need one more body on your record and that shot is yours.”

  Easy for you to say, Lucas. You’re already in the biggest promotion on earth. You have fucking groupies hanging out at our gym. The only thing you don’t have over me is Harper—I legit have the best girl in the universe, and I think she just texted me.

  “Yeah,” I tell Lucas, barely listening and struggling to get my vibrating phone out of my pocket. “I know. You’re right. It is what it is.”

  I unlock my phone and see a super short text from Harper. All it says is, “Cook me dinner tonight.”, to which I write back “You got it. Come at 8.”

  I look up from my phone and get my head back into the conversation that I basically forced. “So, who do I have to put down to get my shot at the guy who assaulted me?”

  “You know, we don’t need to fuck around with rankings and cages and contracts to do that, my friend. We can just take the train to Brooklyn and handle this shit any day you want. Just say the word,” Lucas points out.

  “Stop it,” Matt says. “Both of you. You know I have no love for that fucking gym, but I’m not letting you two knuckleheads throw your careers—and possibly your freedom—away just for a few satisfying minutes.”

  “Don’t sell them short, Matt. I’m sure it would last at least a round or two. They are good fighters over there, they’re just fucks on top of it.”

  “Even so, you’re not fighting for free. In fact, it’s not even free. It’ll cost you more than it’s worth, so stop stirring the pot, Lucas.”

  “Geez, I was just kidding,” he pouts, properly chastised.

  “Still,” Matt says. “Jokes can turn serious. And you’re not going to like this part, but. . .”

  “I know, you can save it Matt. I know there’s no proof it was Johnny, but we all fucking know it was Johnny, so let’s not insult each other’s intelligence.”

  “Fine,” he concedes. “But I still don’t want you all going down there. Promise me, both of you.”

  “Promise,” Lucas says.

  “Yeah, I promise. Just revenge talk. This isn’t Kill Bill. Now tell me, who do I have to remove from consciousness to get a crack at Johnny?”

  We finish our coffee and talk about my getting back in the game. Matt gives me the name of some guy I’ve never heard of—Antonio Andrade. Just another random Brazilian to me, but apparently the guy’s a killer who fights out of a camp I’ve never heard of. Sometimes those are the most dangerous types of opponents—the ones who fly under the radar and don’t have a lot of footage on them. Not underestimating those guys is half of the battle. Do that, and you’ve either won or lost long before you step into a cage across from them.

  I want to take another week before I really get into fight camp, which is fine considering Matt said the projected date for my fight is three months from now. Matt leaves to get back to the gym as Lucas and I stand outside and talk some more. I can tell he’s got something on his mind because he wears his thoughts on his face.

  “What’s up man?”

  “Why does something have to be up?”

  “’Cause I know you. You look like you want to say something. So go ahead.”

  He hesitates, looking around uncomfortably before finally blurting out what I could tell he didn’t want to say. “Alright, I’ll level with you, man. I don’t care what Matt says, if you want me to head over to Brooklyn an
d handle that piece of shit, just say the word.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder, which is hard considering he’s taller than me. “I appreciate the thought, Lucas, I really do, but Matt was right. The last thing either of us needs is to get arrested and fuck everything up we’ve ever worked for, especially for that scum. His day is coming, don’t worry. I just have to take care of one more tin can before they’ll lock me in a cage with Johnny. I’ve got this.”

  “He’s no can, dude, he’s good. Fast, good striker.”

  “Not better than me. No way. I’ll be fine. Now, what’s really on your mind?”

  “I feel bad, alright. Like shit, actually. I should have been with you. You got fucked up at my fight. Not even, you got fucked up celebrating after my fight. We should have stayed together. That shit never would have happened if I was there.”

  I knew this was coming, and that he felt this way. Matt had told me as much, and I’m glad I have a chance to say what I need to say right to his face. “Look, Lucas, I need you to hear me right now. Look at me, alright? You have nothing to do with what happened. Could I have used another trained killer next to me in that bathroom? Sure. But you just got engaged, and there was no reason to believe some crazy shit like that was going to happen. No one could have called that, so, while I appreciate your guilt, just let that shit go. I’m fine. No injuries, no trauma. And to top that, I’m gonna rip that belt right off of Johnny’s waist when my time comes. Don’t worry, I’m okay.”