Griffin: Bad Boy MMA Romance

by Ashley Hall

  But Riley wasn’t that kind of man. He ran a gym downtown, he told me, and if I were willing, he’d pay me to clean up after hours. What the hell he’d seen in a skinny, angry kid from the east side, I’ll never know.

  But he saved my life.

  When I started working at the gym, I quickly became obsessed with watching the fighters. Riley was a retired former champ himself, and he specialized in turning timid young boys into self-assured young men. I was a harder case than most. I was stubborn and barely showed up to work on time. When I did make it, I was usually covered in bruises.

  But Riley never gave up on me. Instead of kicking me out, he taught me to defend myself – and I matured from a skinny, punk teenager to a man with a mission.

  There came a time when, instead of knowing when to stop, my dad beat my mom almost to death. Before that could happen, a certain angry eighteen-year-old intervened.

  And turned the tables.

  It was a personal triumph for me, even if Ma called the police and I ended up in jail overnight. Around that time, I discovered that she wasn’t ever going to let go of Dad – or what he did to her.

  And I left without looking back. Luckily enough, Riley was willing to take me in. I had a little income working at the gym, and in the meantime, he helped me hone my skills. By the time I was twenty, I was doing my own training – and at his suggestion, I started entering amateur underground fights on the east side – in the very same neighborhood that had molded me.

  The rest was history.

  Now, it was good to be able to give back to Riley. My notoriety was his, and professionals from all over the world came to train at the gym.

  It was my little slice of Zen- and there I was king.

  “Can’t ever catch a break, can you?” Riley slapped me on the back with a wide grin. “Making headlines again, are we?”

  “Seems to be a bad habit of mine.” I grunted, cracking my knuckles as I looked over the fighters getting in their early morning practice. Everyone from beginners to advanced competitors was welcome here, as long as they pulled their own weight.

  Which was lucky for me. I needed a hard spar to get my mind off the ravenous reporters outside.

  “New flavor of the week get hit on by another guy, Griff? I thought you were above all that.” The mere thought was enough to make me chuckle. I had never, in my life, fought on behalf of a woman. Why would I? They liked to rouse men to conflict just to see them fight and wallow in their own importance.

  No. No girl was worth fighting for. I needed to save most of my aggression for the ring anyway. “You know me better than that, old man,” I growled with a smirk, before stepping towards a punching bag in the far corner. It was always left vacant for me because most of the guys knew I came in with a lot of steam to blow off.

  And this morning was worse than usual.

  “So we’re still preparing for the fight in New York, you know. A week away, and you gotta be hard, kid. This is one more step towards the heavyweight championship.”

  I was only three fights away. I didn’t need Riley to tell me to work my ass off. I already knew what was at stake. And I’d be damned if I was ever going back to where I came from.

  Positioning my fists before me, I took a wide stance before the bag, the muscles in my arms and shoulders flexing in anticipation. Though I’d just been throwing punches the previous night, this was different.

  This time, I was in my element.

  “Get it in now.” Riley himself had faded into the background, and me and the bag were all there was. Even so, I tried to concentrate on what he was saying. “Lyle’s got you doing some cover article for a magazine around eleven. So be ready.”

  I could have groaned. Another interview? I suppose it was just another byproduct of being on the upward swing. But after almost ten years, it was getting to the point where I did as much publicity shit as I did actual fighting.

  It was a severe test of my patience.

  Which was why I was lucky to have Riley and the gym – so I didn’t knock some poor unsuspecting reporter out like a light.

  The first contact of my fist against the bag was absolute nirvana. Immediately the tension from that morning and the previous night begin to fade away as I found a familiar rhythm. A small voice at the back of my head tells me that I should probably take it easy. This might very well be the sixth bag I’ve destroyed this month – but when I was in the zone, there was little I could do to stop myself.

  It just felt so damn good to hit something.

  Sadie

  Of course, traffic was hellacious when I least expected it. Instead, of fifteen minutes to get to the gym, it took thirty.

  Though I supposed, I ought to have been grateful for the extra time that gave me to gird my loins. What was it about Griffin Webb? Usually attractive, masculine, bruiser types like him weren’t what I went for. I was fully aware of how dangerous such men could be. I could look; I knew, but then I needed to move on.

  So why did this MMA fighter rile me so much? I hadn’t even met the guy yet, and already, I was hot and bothered.

  Which was the last thing I needed.

  “Get yourself together, Sadie.” I goaded myself. “This is a cover story. Stow your libido and act like a professional.”

  Great, now not only was I stuck in traffic, I was talking to myself. Excellent preparation skills.

  Just when I thought I might die in my car just shy of my exit, traffic cleared, and I made a beeline for 34th street. The gym was a small, nondescript building sandwiched between a deli and a laundromat. Not exactly the kind of place I would imagine a world-renowned MMA fighter to shack up. But, I knew I had come to the right place the instant I spotted, at least, ten reporters milling around the main entrance.

  My eyes widened slightly. I knew this guy was famous – we wouldn’t be doing a story on him if he weren’t, but when it came to the world of MMA I was woefully under-informed. In my mind, it was just a bunch of angry men beating each other to a pulp for sport – much like wrestling.

  I was apparently very wrong. Wrestling stars didn’t draw this much of a crowd. If these guys were here for Griffin, he was more prolific than I could imagine.

  The notion made my heart skip a beat as I remembered what was at stake here. If I did this right, as Alex insisted I might, then this could be the ultimate boost for my career. I might even, someday, make it to Nick’s level. Always doing cover stories – the magazine’s go-to woman. I could only imagine how proud of me my parents would be if such a thing happened.

  How proud I’d be of myself.

  But if I wanted to get the ball rolling, I was going to have to get past that crowd and into the building – which might be easier said than done.

  I rolled around the block twice, looking for a parking spot, until I managed to just slip into a place where a delivery truck was pulling out. Then, I all but ran back to the gym. Sure, I was a nice girl, but when it came to getting something I wanted, I was more than prepared to play dirty. My jaw set, I shoved my way past several irate reporters blocking the storefront, my mind on my goal. While they were affronted as all get-out, they let me pass.

  Within minutes, I was finally standing at the front entrance of the gym – and right in front of one of the hugest men I’d ever seen in my life.

  He had to be close to seven feet tall – and a mass of solid muscle. Burly arms, thick legs, and a mean look that suited him just swell. He, unlike the reporters, wasn’t going to yield to a simple push. No, I was going to have to state my business.

  I cleared my throat, before attempting to speak over everyone else present. “Excuse me?” The massive man before me glared down in a way that probably made small children wet themselves. Lucky for me, I was long out of diapers.

  I glared right back. “I’m sorry, I have an appointment? I’m from The Grind. We were told we’d have an opportunity to interview Griffin Webb today.”

  If anything, the Terminator’s scowl only deepened. “Only members allowed,�
�� he grunted sharply, and my heart sank.

  What the hell was I supposed to tell Alex if I couldn’t even get past the front door of the gym? If I went back to the office empty-handed, I’d be a laughing stock.

  Which wasn’t going to happen. “Can you please check with the owner?” I tried pleading in a saccharine sweet voice. “I’m expected, you’ll see.”

  He stared, and I had to straighten my spine to keep from cringing at the intensity of his expression. He looked like he could break me in half with a flick of his wrist. I could only hope his inclinations were more gentlemanly than that. “No visitors.” This time, when he growled, I felt it in my gut.

  If I were the cursing type, that would have been my cue. However, I was more the proactive type than one to spew profanity when things didn’t go my way. It was what had gotten me to where I was.

  And I wasn’t going to stop now.

  The cogs in my head turned as I frantically tried to think of a way past this brute. It made sense that they would station someone here to keep every reporter in town from swarming over Griffin – but it also meant that even people on his schedule had to fight their way in. If it came down to physical conflict, there was no way I was going to win.

  Pulling my phone out, I retreated slightly, on the cusp of calling the gym’s owner to see what I could do to straighten the mess.

  As it turned out, that wouldn’t be necessary. At that exact moment, the door opened behind the pseudo-bouncer, and a tall, dark-haired man appeared. He might have been in his late forties or early fifties, with gray just coming in at the edge of his temple. His features were rough, nose crooked, lips thin turned down into a frown of disapproval.

  It was his eyes, however, that pierced right through you. They were a steely gray-blue color, and at the sight of them, most of the reporters fell silent.

  The man elbowed his massive guard dog and, without a word, he moved out of the way. Then, he scanned the crowd as if he were looking for something. The moment his eyes fell on me, they widened. He gave me a very pointed, very male once over that might have had me bristling if I didn’t think I could use it to my advantage.

  “You Sadie Warner?” His voice was a northeastern accented tenor – and at the mention of my name, I could have shouted in relief.

  “Yes.” I managed, casting a short glare at the man who had refused to admit me. “I’m Sadie. I have an appointment.”

  “Damn right, you do.” His eyes lingered on my chest for about half a beat too long, and I sighed. The problems of being a woman in reporting – people tended to see your choosier bits before they saw you. “Right this way, Ms. Warner.” He stuck out a weathered hand for me to shake and I gratefully obliged. “Name’s Riley O’Connell. I own the place – and I’m Griffin’s trainer.”

  I’d hit the jackpot.

  Resisting the urge to smile smugly back at the reporters who were muttering about me under their breath, I instead beamed up at the Terminator before ducking under his arm as I moved off after Riley. The moment we were in the building, the din from the city outside faded away, and we were plunged into the dim light of a narrow stairwell.

  My immediate thought was that this place didn’t look like where someone at the top of his game would train. The hallway was lit by only a single shaft of sunlight that revealed the whirling dust, and the staircase before us appeared to have seen better days. The walls were plastered with what were clearly years of posters and fight bulletins. So many that there wasn’t a blank space to be seen – only a ton of shredded, aged paper that appeared to be peeling in most places.

  Curious, I followed Riley up the stairs, wincing when they creaked loudly with every step we took. When we finally made it to the second floor, I was more than a little surprised by the sight that met my eyes.

  The place was…kind of a dump.

  The main level wasn’t much different from the stairwell. Cleaner, maybe, but the floors told their age in the scratches carved into deep from the tread of patrons and equipment. The mats were weathered and faded from a deep blue to more of a pale gray. Along one side of the large room, a series of punching bags hung from the ceiling, and perhaps half of them were occupied by shirtless men attempting to pound the stuffing from the heavy objects. There were what seemed to be teenagers all the way up to those that looked to be the same age as Riley – and each one of them had a look of intense concentration on his face.

  Towards the back of the gym, there was a row of dirty windows through which sunlight shone through. There, more members jumped rope and warmed up in pairs, their grunts barely audible over the impacts on punching bags.

  There were two practice rings dominating the other side of the space. They looked almost like the same ones boxers competed in, only the people going at one another’s throats within the ropes certainly weren’t boxing.

  They were beating the stuffing out of one another – in whatever way they could.

  In a slight state of awe, I watched as one man took another down by wrapping his legs around his neck and slamming him into the floor so hard the entire gym thrummed with the impact. Amazingly, after tapping his partner’s leg rapidly to get him to release him, the recipient of the punishment laughed good-naturedly before rising to his feet. His lip had been split open, but he hardly seemed to care. He took on a fighting stance, his fists raised in front of him, and prepared to go again.

  I was shaking my head in disbelief. How the hell could he take a hit like that and just get up smiling?

  A sharp yell of pain yanked my attention to the other ring – and my heart stopped.

  It took less than half a second for me to recognize the man I’d come to interview. He was one of the two that faced off against one another in the second ring – and though I knew nothing about fighting, I knew enough to know that he was kicking his opponent’s ass.

  Griffin’s long, lean form dripped with sweat from his exertions, his body held in a position that was defensive and offensive all at once. His dark hair was pulled into its customary knot, his face a mask of concentration.

  And what a face. His pictures hadn’t quite done it justice. His visage was all angles, his nose sharp and mouth achingly full. I watched those lips press into a tight line as the muscles in his chest and shoulders coiled –

  A fraction of a second before he lashed out.

  The other guy barely saw it coming. He ducked, and Griffin’s punch glanced off of his shoulder with enough power to send him stumbling. As he backed up, raising his hands in front of him to block, Griffin moved with a series of kicks – one to his midsection, and then another to his chest and face. His opponent took a foot across the jaw and went sailing into the ropes were he sagged for at least fifteen seconds, and my heart leaped into my throat.

  I could see instantly, why Griffin was a fighter to be feared. He was fluid, precise, and brutal.

  I had never liked to watch any form of publicized fighting. To me, wrestling, boxing, and the like were all idiotic ways for men to indulge their baser instincts. I would be willing to bet that not one of them could quote a play or write a memoir. They couldn’t hold a conversation or hear something they didn’t want without flipping whatever was close to them.

  They had always earned my distaste.

  But as I watched Griffin, I felt just about everything except disgust. White-hot desire flared through me with enough intensity to leave me breathless, and my knees went weak. Struggling for breath, I watched him advance on his opponent, his bare chest glistening in the low light. I didn’t think I’d ever been more jealous of anything as I watched tiny droplets of sweat traverse the length of his torso to soak into the waistband of the black shorts he wore.

  The man he was fighting just managed to get off the ropes before Griffin lunged at him, launching into a series of strikes that made my head spin.

  And my thighs clench.

  This shouldn’t have been arousing me. I wasn’t the kind of women who was turned on by the basic carnality of physical conflict. But,
each time I watched Griffin’s muscles contract as he moved in swift, concise motions, I felt hunger churning deep in my gut.

  There was no doubt about it. This man would not be soft and gentle in bed. He was the type to grab a woman, rip her underwear off, and take her against a wall – damn the consequences. The very prospect made me light headed as I imagined him coming up behind me and pressing me into the nearest available surface. Whispering into my ear the delicious things he planned to do to me as he inched my skirt up over my hips…

  His hot, turgid seduction would be nothing like the tentative, half-hearted attempts I’d faced before. Once Griffin Webb was done with me, all I would want was to have him again.

  And right there, in the middle of Riley’s gym, I felt the thin fabric of my panties clinging to the wetness between my legs. I was more aroused than I’d ever been in my life.