by Lane Hart
In one swift move, Alex picks me up in his arms and then tosses me on the middle of the bed.
“Like that?” he asks as he begins to undress.
“Just like that,” I agree with a smile.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Alex
A few months later…
From inside the locker room of the California gym, I hear the small crowd shouting and clapping when T.I.’s “Whatever You Like” starts to play over the sound system.
Today’s the first time I’ve ever needed a fight song. So, after giving it some thought, I decided to go with the upbeat rap song. It’s my promise to my girl, one I haven’t seen in nine long weeks. No, it’s not just about giving her the material things. I promise to always be there for her, loving her, and giving her the family she’s always wanted.
“Ready?” Jack, one of the American Championship League’s coaches, asks me.
“Let’s go,” I answer, pulling up the hood of my sweatshirt that has printed Benjamins all over it. The show producers have played up my wealth from day one, calling me the “billionaire brawler”, and I’ve let them because I get it. From the beginning, none of the other fighters were impressed with me. They all assumed I paid my way here, and I wanted to play up to their wrong assumptions so they would underestimate me in the cage.
It worked.
Tonight, I’m fighting for the championship. Over a hundred fighters have been sent home, so it’s just me and Jason, the Jiu-Jitsu black belt from Florida. His ground game is a concern, so I plan to try to keep him on his feet and stay on my own.
Pushing through the locker room doors, I enter the gym that’s been cleared out for the final fight. The metal cage stands in the center surrounded by bleachers on the four main sides, two of which are packed full of people on their feet rooting for me. My dad and sister are here, of course, with Rowe and Ward, and then there are the guys from Havoc with their significant others, Jax and Page, Jude and Sadie, Linc and Claire, Mace and Hailey, Senn and Abby, Nate and Alyssa, Trick and Mina, and Luke and Megan. But most importantly of all is my girl cheering for me from the front row.
God, I’ve missed her so damn much.
Rushing over to her, I lift her off her feet and swing her around as I hold her to me.
“It’s been way too long,” I tell her over the noise of the crowd and T.I’s lyrics.
“Agreed! So win and come home already,” Whitney tells me.
“Planning on it,” I assure her as I place her back down on her feet and kiss her.
After one last kiss, I say a quick thanks to all the guys from Havoc for making the trip to be here and support me.
“Kick ass,” my sister encourages.
And then my dad says, “Good luck, son,” as we embrace. “Either way, I’m proud of you for making it this far.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say with gratitude, glad that he took time off of work to fly all the way out here to watch me fight.
Ready to enter the cage, I shed my robe and walk up to the official wearing only my regulation red gloves and black and white spandex shorts. Once he does the final pat down and greases up my face, he gives me my mouthpiece and allows me to enter the cage.
My opponent, Jason Cannon, is already in his corner warming up. The fucked-up part of the last few weeks is having to live in the dorms with all the other competitors. While you try to keep to yourself and not make friends or enemies for that matter, it’s impossible to do with a hundred and twenty-eight hot-headed fighters in such close quarters. I’ve never had any problems with Jason. He was one of the easier guys to get along with, probably because he didn’t run his mouth about how awesome he was. He let his skills speak for themselves, and now here we are, about to find out which of us is the best welterweight fighter. I’ve never fought him before since the previous matchups were randomized into a bracket, with single elimination. That means Jason and I have both won our last seven fights.
“Fighters ready?” the referee in the center of the cage asks each of us, and we both give a nod. The bell sounds, and the ref sweeps his hand down between us, signaling the start of the fight. Jason and I touch gloves and then jump back out of reach.
Neither of us goes on the offensive first thing, too concerned with walking into a fist. We circle each other, and I know he’s looking for an opportunity for a takedown. That’s why I don’t try any leg kicks. When I do decide to throw a punch, I get in and then get out of his reach fast, without giving him a chance to take out my legs. Jason blocks several but not all of my hits, before shooting in. He misses when I quickly dance out of reach.
The entire first round is spent playing a cat and mouse game, neither of us putting our necks out and getting too close. That’s when I realize this is gonna be a long fight, probably for all five, three-minute rounds. A test of our endurance.
In the next two rounds, Jason gives up on the ground game; and we both land some fist strikes.
During the fourth round, I begin to tire and nearly end up getting put in his choke hold on the canvas. Thankfully, I’m saved by the bell.
“This is it! Final round, and I don’t have any fucking idea who’s ahead on points,” Darren, one of the coaches, tells me as I rehydrate on a stool in my corner. “You need a knockout to secure the win. Don’t let him get you on the ground!”
“Easier….said…than…done,” I tell him through gasping breaths.
“Get it done or this one goes to the judges,” he warns right before time is up and I have to get back on my feet.
As a sign of respect for both of us making it to the final round, Jason and I touch gloves again as the roar of the crowd grows louder, egging us on to end this fight with a big win. Only one of us can claim that championship belt, and I want it to be me. This is what I’ve been training for, year after year of brutal conditioning and all the repetitions of techniques.
Instead of keeping my distance, I charge forward, raining down on his head and abdomen with both fists, taking the shots he gives back and pushing through the pain to my gut and my face. When his blows become weaker, I know he’s tiring out, so I keep landing jabs and uppercuts. Jason hits the fence, so I pull my right fist back and hit him with a haymaker that sends him down to the canvas.
As soon as the referee steps in between us and signals an end to the fight, my legs give out, and I fall to my knees, exhausted beyond belief.
It’s finally fucking over.
And I just gained a championship title.
This may not be the IFC or the most elite league in the world, but I kicked ass and proved I was the best out of a hundred and twenty-eight other fighters. That’s the biggest accomplishment of my life.
The trainers and coaches flood into the cage. While they examine Jason, who is still conscious just down and out, they help me to my feet.
I look out into the bleachers and find Whitney. Her face is a mixture of happiness and concern, telling me I must look like shit.
Despite how tired or bloody I am, tonight we’re all gonna celebrate.
Once Jason is able to get back to his feet, the referee stands between us, holding each of our wrists as the announcer’s booming voice says, “After four rounds and fifty-six seconds into the fifth, your welterweight champion, Alex Stiles!”
My arm is raised as the winner, and then after the big, gold belt is secured around my waist, I’m surrounded by my family and teammates, each offering me their compliments.
“Congratulations, baby!” Whitney says when she throws herself at me. “Are you okay? You don’t look okay! Do you need stitches or water?”
“Just water,” I tell her. “And you.”
“Water, food, and then me,” she replies, before grabbing a water bottle from the trainer’s hand and offering it to me. “If you’re not too sore.”
“Never too sore,” I argue.
After I’ve guzzled at least half the bottle, I toss it aside and grab Whitney’s face to kiss her, even though my bottom lip is swollen and likely blee
ding.
“I think this was my last fight,” I tell her when I finally pull back.
“What? Last? But you just got started,” she replies with her forehead crinkled in confusion.
“I’ll still train for fun, but this is all I wanted, a chance to win, a moment of pride. Now it’s time to move on to bigger and better things in life.”
“Oh really? Like what?” Whitney asks with a grin.
“I guess you’ll have to wait and see,” I tell her with my own smile.
Epilogue
Alex
May 16, 2017
“Of all the places in the world now that you’re an almost billionaire, this is where you want to go on your twenty-fifth birthday?” Whitney asks as I lead her through the trail in Sligo Creek Park by her hand.
“Yep,” I answer when we reach the small wooden bridge. “Because right here, a year ago today, I thought my father was taking everything from me. I was so angry at him, and then I realized that I had no one.”
“Aww, that’s so sad,” Whitney says with a pout as she rests her back against the rails of the bridge and reaches for my neck to pull me flush against her.
“It was the best thing that ever happened to me,” I tell her. “Because I found my independence, my confidence in myself, and then I found you.”
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the black velvet box that holds my mother’s diamond ring and pry it open before I go down on one knee.
“Whitney Merchant, I love you so damn much, and I can’t wait to share the rest of my life with you, giving you everything you’ve ever wanted because you are all I’ve ever needed. Will you be my wife?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Whitney exclaims as tears fall down her cheeks.
Smiling with relief, I get back to my feet and pull the vintage diamond cluster ring from the box and then take Whitney’s left hand to push it onto her ring finger.
“If you don’t like it, we can get a different one,” I tell her. “This one was my mom’s. My dad bought it for her before he made his first million, so it’s not much.”
“I love it,” she says. “It’s beautiful, and even more lovely because of the significance.”
“Good,” I reply with a smile, happy that she likes it.
“I love you,” Whitney says, grabbing my shoulders and standing on her tippy toes to kiss me. Neither of us comes up for air until we’re nearly past the point of public decency.
“Oh my God! I can’t wait to tell everyone!” Whitney exclaims, burying her face in my neck. “So, I guess your dad knows, but what about Mackenzie?”
“Nope, she doesn't know,” I reply. “And that reminds me, since we haven’t found a house yet, how would you feel about staying at my dad’s?”
“Hmm, well, let’s see, there’s a pool there, tennis courts, sauna, movie theater and staff to wait on us and cook,” she lists. “I think I could tolerate it for a little longer. But we would get our own place once we get married, right?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” I start. “I had this idea, and the estate has more room for it…”
“What idea?” Whitney asks.
“I got to thinking about how many kids are out there without parents or anyone who cares about them, especially the older ones who won’t have a good chance at being adopted, so I thought maybe we could apply to be a foster home. There’s plenty of room, my dad approves, and I have a ton of money now, so…”
That’s the last word I get out of my mouth before Whitney launches herself at me, kissing me while her legs wrap around my waist.
“Love you…so hot…sweet…incredible…big dick…” Various words fall from her lips when they’re not on mine.
“Oh fuck,” I groan when her small hand reaches between us and squeezes my swollen cock. I quickly glance around, and since I don’t see anyone, I don’t protest when my new fiancée unzips my pants and pulls my dick out. It takes a little longer to get Whitney’s dress up and her panties down her thighs, but it’s so worth it when I finally press her back against the rail and sink inside of her.
Both of us moan into each other’s mouth at the amazing sensation of being joined. It’s my favorite place to be, having this intimacy that’s so sweet and sexy and fucking perfect. No matter how many times I’m with this woman, I can’t get enough of her.
“We need to…Ah!…be quick. Oh God!” Whitney tells me between gasps of pleasure while our tongues plunge in and out of each other’s mouths desperately.
“Not a problem,” I reply as I squeeze her ass and try to bury myself in her as deep as I can go, over and over again until her pussy puts my cock in a chokehold and we shatter apart together.
“Best. Birthday. Ever,” I pant into her ear as we recover. “Thank you.”
“The best is yet to come,” she whispers back, making me smile because I know it’s the truth.
The End
Thank you so much for reading the Cocky Cage Fighters!
While I’m sad to see their series come to an end, I’m also excited about sharing with you the fighters from the wrong side of the tracks, starting with Cain. You’ll find out exactly why he’s such an asshole and see him completely redeem himself.
As a farewell, I have a special bonus epilogue featuring all of the Cocky Cage Fighters justfor my newsletter subscribers available here: https://instafreebie.com/free/pl2ZS
You’ll get to see more of Alex and Whitney in Mackenzie and Haven’s story, Protecting the Virgin!
Jax is getting his own Christmas story this year so you can catch up with him and Page!
Look for Cain’s book this October!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
New York Times bestselling author Lane Hart was born and raised in North Carolina. She continues to live in the south with her husband, two daughters, and several pets named after Star Wars characters.
When Lane's not writing or reading sexy novels, she can be found in the summer on the beaches of the east coast, and in the fall watching football, cheering on the Carolina Panthers.
Join Lane’s Facebook group to read books before they’re released, help choose covers, character names, and titles of books! https://www.facebook.com/groups/bookboyfriendswanted/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/WritingfromHart
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/lanehartbooks
Website: http://www.lanehartbooks.com
Email: [email protected]
Keep reading for a sneak peek at my new standalone forbidden romance, Indiscretion!
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 April Flowers Cover Designs
http://www.afcoverdesigns.wordpress.com
WARNING: THIS BOOK IS INTENDED FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY AND CONTAINS REFERENCES TO SEXUAL VIOLENCE!
Prologue
Samantha Elliott
THE PRESENT
My old Hyundai rolls up slowly to the guardhouse. Stopping in front of the chain-link gate, I press the button to roll the driver side window all the way down.
“Photo identification and name of inmate?” the big, burly prison guard asks in a cold, impersonal tone from the high perch of his tower.
The guard hands my ID back; and the first gate slides open, allowing me passage to the other side of the tall barbed-wire fence. I ease my car forward and then down the empty winding road. This isn’t my first time here; it’s actually my fourth, but I’ve never been allowed past the front lobby.
The clock on my dash says it’s nine twenty-six. Only four more minutes before he’s a free man. The months have dragged by, each one seeming more like a century. Instead of pulling into an empty space, I decide to park right along the front sidewalk so that he can’t possibly ignore me this time. The two armed guards standing out front look over at me but thankfully don’t come over and tell me to move.
Tugging on the front of my seatbelt, I reach over and lift the stack of envelopes from the passenger seat to thumb through them while I wait. The first one I wrote before he even made it out of the local jail; that’s why I assumed it was returned to me opened but with the word REFUSED stamped in red across the front, because he was transferred out. The second and third letters came back the same way, so I made the two-hour drive out here to see him face-to-face during weekend visiting hours, only to be turned away because I wasn’t on his “approved guest list.”