Alex (A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel Book 9)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
ALEX
A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel
By Lane Hart
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue were created from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual people or events is coincidental.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted and trademarked status of various products within this work of fiction.
© 2017 Editor's Choice Publishing
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator” at the address below.
Editor’s Choice Publishing
P.O. Box 10024
Greensboro, NC 27404
Edited by Angela Snyder
Cover by Vocaldesign
WARNING: THIS BOOK IS INTENDED FOR MATURE AUDIENCES 18+ ONLY. THE STORY CONTAINS ADULT LANGUAGE AND EXPLICIT SEX SCENES.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
I owe a huge thank you to the readers who have stayed with this series to the very end. I know many of you love the fighters as much as I do. What started out as a three-book series for Jax, Jude, and Linc turned into six, and now nine stories. As I finish the last full-length novel, I’m certain that I won’t be able to let these fighters go permanently. Alex’s sister Mackenzie’s story is on the way, along with Logan, Page’s brother’s book. And I can’t wait to revisit with Jax and Page this Christmas. Also, be sure to look for Cain’s book soon, the start of my new underground fighter series.
I would also like to thank Angela Snyder for not only editing all of my very messy manuscripts but for always being willing to brainstorm with me when I hit roadblocks, listening to me vent often, and most of all, for being such a great friend.
To my wonderful beta readers, Aileen, Ana, Brandy, Courtney, Jennifer, Lawanda, Lisa, Melisa, Rachel, Robyn and Sandra, thank you! I appreciate how you ladies are always willing to help read for final edits on short notice, ensuring that my readers have the best version of the book possible.
And finally, without my husband making me watch men beat each other bloody, I never would’ve grown to love MMA or the sexy guys who fight, so thank you David. You’ve inspired so many of the sweet scenes in these books, along with most of the smoking hot ones.
Prologue
Alexander Stiles
May 15, 2016
“This car is so fucking hot!” Savannah says from the white leather passenger seat of my new Mediterranean blue Maserati GranTurismo. Getting this luxury sports car into the country cost almost as much as the vehicle itself, but you only turn twenty-four once, right?
The side streets of Silver Spring are mostly empty this time of night, so I crank up the radio, allowing Mötley Crüe’s “Kickstart My Heart” to thump through the sound system as I downshift through an intersection and head for the highway. That’s where I can really let my new baby loose. It’s also fun to watch Ward in the rearview try and keep up with me in his SUV.
“Tonight is gonna be so much fun!” Savannah yells over the blaring rock song. Reaching across the console, she runs her red fingernails over the trident logo proudly displayed on the center of the steering wheel before letting them drop to the inner thigh of my pants.
“Are you trying to make me wreck my new two-hundred-thousand-dollar car?” I ask the sexy blonde dancer as I gently remove her hand and place it back in her lap.
“You could just buy another one, right?” she asks.
I don’t get the chance to answer her question in the affirmative.
Instead of Ward' headlights, there’s now flashing blue ones drawing my attention to the review mirror, just before I hear the siren.
Fuck.
“Uh-oh,” Savannah mutters, glancing over her shoulder.
My dad will lose his shit if I get another speeding ticket.
After I pull over and put the car in park, I press the button to roll down the automatic window, keeping my hands on the steering wheel at ten and two. Ward, my bodyguard, pulls his SUV over in front of me. Like usual, he doesn’t get out to try and interfere with law enforcement. Asshole’s not good for shit.
“License and registration,” the uniformed officer says when he appears in the open window a moment later, shining his blinding flashlight on us.
“Both are in my wallet,” I tell him before I reach into my back pocket, so that he won’t think I’m trying to pull a gun on him or whatever. Pulling out the two items and handing them over, I ask the officer, “Do you think you could just give me a warning this time since it’s my birthday and all?”
The cop flashes his light over my license and says, “Nope. Not your birthday for a few more hours,” and then walks back toward his car to write up the ticket.
“Sorry, boo,” Savannah says, leaning over to kiss me as her hand goes down to my cock again. “But I’ll make you forget all about a little speeding ticket tonight,” she promises as her hand works me over through my slacks. “You paid for the whole place, so anything you w
ant is yours. Do you want Alexis and me at the same time?”
“God, yes,” I groan as the speeding ticket, points on my license and my father’s wrath are all momentarily forgotten.
…
“Alex? Alex! Alibastard!”
My sister screeching the annoying nickname wakes me, causing the hammer to pound the spike into my skull a little deeper.
“What, what, what?” I groan, pulling the covers tighter over my head to block out the overhead light she must have turned on and trying to fall back into my dream to recreate the night before.
“Dad’s been trying to call you,” Mackenzie says when she jerks the warm, fluffy covers off me, the equivalent of dumping a bucket of ice cubes onto my bare back. “He woke me up telling me to wake your ass up, so call him back for chrisssakes!”
The next thing I know, my phone is shoved against my ear, and I’m listening to it ring.
“Oh, and happy birthday, dickhead,” my sister says. She leaves the room just as my dad answers.
“Alex, about time,” is his warm greeting.
“Wassup?” I mumble through the worst case of cotton mouth ever.
“Happy birthday,” he says.
“Ah, thanks,” I reply. “But couldn’t you have waited until later in the day to tell me that?”
“Why should I let you sleep in when I’ve been up all night, ever since Rowe told me about you getting another damn speeding ticket in your new car I didn’t know I bought you!”
Fucking Ward didn’t waste any time ratting me out to his boss, the head of security.
“I buy a car every year for my birthday. What’s the problem?”
“You’ve got half an hour to pack a bag with whatever you want to take with you for the next year –”
“Huh?” I ask.
“Clothes, all the cash currently in your possession, and whatever else you can throw in a bag; but in half an hour, ready or not, Ward and Rowe are gonna drag your ass out of the house if they have to.”
“What are you talking about? Where am I going?” I ask, finally sitting up in bed to try and get more of my wits about me.
Last night I had a private party at The Gentlemen’s Club in D.C. with some guys from Havoc, Savannah, one of the dancers I’ve been seeing for the past few months, and several of her friends. The last thing I actually remember is walking into the place, followed by lots of shots and even more sexy skin. Honestly, I don’t know how I got home or how long I had been here before Mack woke me up. Now my dad’s telling me I need to pack because I’m going away for a fucking year?
“I’ll explain everything when you get here,” he says before he hangs up on me.
I’m still trying to comprehend his words and mount my counter-argument to my dad’s craziness when two big ass dudes with shaved heads step into my bedroom.
“Good morning and happy birthday, sir,” Rowe says.
“You’re not really gonna drag me out of the house, are you?” I ask the man who practically raised my sister and me. We didn’t have a nanny; we had Scott Rowe, former marine, and all-around badass dropping us off at school and teaching us how to throw punches in the afternoon after he checked our homework.
“You have twenty-seven minutes remaining, sir. Better move quickly,” is Rowe’s response without even looking down at his watch.
“Do I have time for a shower?” I ask, but the two men only stare at me, their hands behind their all black attire, standing at attention.
Cursing under my breath that reeks so bad I know my first stop will be to find my toothbrush, I get out of bed and take the quickest shower of my life. And then, I reluctantly pull out a big black duffle from my walk-in closet and start throwing clothes in it, boxer briefs, my travel toiletry bag, and last but not least, the stacks of hundreds leftover from last night’s birthday extravaganza.
“Time to go, sir,” Rowe informs me.
I stuff my wallet into the back pocket of my jeans and zip up the now full bag sitting on my bed.
“Let’s ride,” I tell them, walking past the two men and out the door.
“Sir,” Rowe says from behind me. “You’re to carry your own bag today.”
“Seriously?” I turn around and ask him since I haven’t carried more than my own dick in my hand for as many years as I can remember.
Rowe’s one shoulder shrug response is the only explanation I get. So, with a sigh, I go back into my room and throw the heavy duffle straps over my shoulder. “Oh, I forgot my phone,” I say aloud when I see the device still laying on my unmade bed.
“Leave it,” Rowe tells me.
“Yeah, right,” I scoff as I reach for my lifeline. I probably couldn’t go an hour without my phone.
A hand on my shoulder stops me before another big, meaty paw grabs up the phone first. And then snaps the damn thing in half!
“What the hell?” I ask Ward, a man who has been my very own shadow for the past three years. In fact, a memory of him with a stripper’s red thong around his thick neck surfaces from the night before. I’m pretty sure I even took a photo of him on my… “Why did you break my fucking phone?” I exclaim.
“You were out of time, and your father said you had to leave it,” Ward replies, not looking the least bit sorry.
“Well, you didn’t have to break it! That pic of you is already in the cloud, buddy. I can access it anytime I want,” I remind him.
“Kids, we need to go,” Rowe says on a heavy exhale. “We’re already two minutes late.”
“I’ll drive fast enough to make it up,” Ward says before he strolls out of the room as graceful as a tank can be.
The SUV is silent as we pull out of the estate and head into town. It doesn’t take long before we come to a stop in what I easily recognize as Sligo Creek Park.
“Your father’s waiting for you at the bridge. Take your bag with you,” Rowe says after Ward puts the SUV in park.
Too exhausted to argue, I open my door and haul the duffle out with me. I wish I would’ve thought to grab some migraine pills, because the combination of bright sun and lack of sleep is making me feel like my head is gonna explode.
“What’s going on?” I ask my dad when I see him leaning his forearms against the wooden rail, looking down into the flowing creek.
“You know, I blame myself for letting you become so spoiled. I didn’t have to give you everything you wanted growing up, but I did, thinking it would somehow make up for not having your mother,” he says sadly without facing me.
“I think Mack and I turned out pretty well,” I reply, letting my heavy duffle bag fall from my shoulder to the wooden planks.
“How fast were you going last night?” Dad turns to me and asks through narrowed green eyes.
“Um, just a little over seventy,” I answer vaguely, because I honestly have no idea. Ninety-five, a hundred?
“You’re fucking reckless, Alex! Driving like that…you could’ve killed yourself, or someone else, just like that idiot who killed your mother!”
My mom died just a few months after Mackenzie was born, and our father never remarried. Since I was only three years old at the time, I don’t remember much about her. Sometimes I think that’s a good thing because my dad always seems so miserable. My mom must have been an amazing woman, so I guess I’m lucky I wasn’t old enough to love her and miss her.
“I was just going a little fast, but I was being careful,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t have wrecked my new car.”
“Yes, the Maserati. Wouldn’t want to put a scratch on that beauty, would you?” he asks, although I’m pretty sure he’s being sarcastic. “I don’t even know how the hell you bought it.”
“My credit card is magic,” I tell him. “There’s no limit. No matter how much I spend, it always gets approved.”
“It’s a charge card, not a credit card, that’s why,” he grumbles, grabbing a fistful of his graying brown hair in what I assume is frustration. “I have to pay it off every month.”
“Oh, sweet,” I say.
“Neither you nor your sister have ever had to work a day in your life, and that’s why you don’t appreciates what you have, being wasteful of it and always wanting more, not giving a shit about anyone but yourself...”
“So Mack likes to shop online, and I like to collect fast cars. Everyone needs a hobby, right?” I joke. For my sixteenth birthday, my dad added a ten-car garage to our estate for me to fill with my heart’s desire. Porsche, Lamborghini, Ferrari, McLaren, Aston Martin, and now Maserati; I have them all. So why is he suddenly bitching about my cars now?
“Let me see your wallet,” he says when he finally turns to face me, his palm out in expectation.
“My wallet?” I ask, and he nods.
Pulling the soft leather out of my back jeans pocket, I place it in his outstretched hand. I watch in confusion as he opens it up, pulls out my driver’s license and then tosses everything else over the bridge into the rushing water, including my key to anything I want in the world --- his American Express card.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I ask him, running over to the railing to look down and see if I can grab it before the current carries it away. But it’s at least a fifteen-foot drop with no immediate access.
I am really getting tired of people destroying my shit today!
“After thinking about it all night, well, I’m sorry, son, but it’s time for you to experience life the way most people do, as your mother and I did, starting out with nothing and earning your way in the world.” Handing me back my driver’s license, my father continues to boggle my mind when he says, “You know your trust fund doesn’t become available until a year from today, on your twenty-fifth birthday. So, for the next three hundred and sixty-five days, you’re going to live on your own, out of this city and state, away from everyone who knows what the Stiles name means.”
“You’re kicking me out?” I ask in shock. “Because I got a speeding ticket?”
“That was your fourth ticket this year,” he remarks. “Although, I don’t want you to think of this as a punishment. I simply want you to understand that no amount of money will ever be able to buy you love or happiness. Those two things are free, but they must be earned, not bought. If I could, I would gladly give up every cent I’m worth to have just one more day with your mother.”