Breaking Her Rules

by Jennifer Snow

  She knew about the contract. But she didn’t know whether or not he’d signed it.

  Walker dropped his gaze. He had to focus now, put Gracie and all of his other worries away. For the next fifteen minutes, he’d have eyes only for Cruz.

  Chapter 15

  Round one started with Cruz circling the outside of the cage, as he did every fight. It gave his opponent the center, the dominant position—briefly. Just long enough for the other fighter to gain confidence, to develop a false hope for a favorable outcome.

  Gracie held her breath as she watched. Don’t get cocky, Walker. From the corner of her eye, she could see Tyson leaning against the cage, yelling out commands, but she couldn’t hear him above the noise all around her.

  Within seconds, Cruz closed in with several body shots and attempted to lock Walker up in a clinch. He shrugged it off, but still within reach, he caught a jab on the chin.

  Grace flinched, and beside her Judge Adams clenched his hands so tightly in his lap, his knuckles were white.

  Inside the cage, Cruz continued to jab and retreat—different from his usual attack of overhand right, then ground and pound. He was toying with Walker. Letting him know he wasn’t up to the challenge, that Walker didn’t deserve to be standing in the cage opposite him.

  Finally, he moved in, forcing Walker’s retreat, and Gracie held her breath. One overhand right and it would be over for Walker . . . over for them? She pushed the thought aside. She couldn’t even think about that now. Not when the man she’d always loved was about to go down.

  The twitch of Cruz’s hips, the drawback . . .

  Then Walker countered, and dropping his right shoulder, he went in for the takedown.

  What the hell was he doing?

  Moving in toward the attack threw Cruz off guard, and a second later, he was on his back on the mat, and Walker had mounted inside his guard.

  She blinked, not believing what she was seeing. At her side, Judge Adams was on his feet, and she shakily got to hers as Walker’s fists and elbows rained down on his opponent’s face.

  Cruz was cut, a deep gash over his left eye, but he was still defending the attack. The roar of the sold-out crowd was deafening until the first bell sounded.

  He did it. He’d made it past the first round. He’d won that first round.

  Realization dawned and relief buckled her knees. He didn’t sign the contract. He was trying to win his fight. Tears burned the back of her eyes as the bell rang and the next round started.

  This time, Cruz was leaving no opportunity for Walker to dominate the fight as he’d done in the first, and within seconds, the fight changed. Caught with a head-kick, Walker dropped. He was still for the longest of seconds before Cruz fell on him and started raining down the lethal elbows he was famous for.

  Grace winced, her stomach turning at the sight of Walker defending from his back, but still getting caught with shot after shot. She could see a large gash over one eye and blood drip from his forehead onto the mat.

  “Arms up!” she heard Tyson yell.

  “Defend yourself,” the ref called, standing above the action.

  Walker somehow reversed position and her hope rose, only to have it shattered again immediately as Cruz once again took the mount.

  The elbows and jabs to his face and body continued, but miraculously, Walker continued to defend on his back until the bell.

  Gracie wasn’t breathing. Hands clenched in front of her, she was unaware of anything else around her as the final round started.

  Come on, Walker.

  “Come on, Walker.” She heard Judge Adams repeat her sentiments next to her and shot a quick glance at the man, whose expression was now one of worry, mixed with pride and respect.

  She swallowed a lump in her throat. Walker had already won so much that evening. If he could just pull this off . . .

  ***

  Walker’s left eye was swollen completely shut and his right eye was blurry. Sweat, or maybe blood, trickled down his forehead, but it wasn’t obscuring his ability to fight. He couldn’t believe he’d made it out of that round.

  Tyson stood in front of him. “We need more of whatever that was in the first round. He had you in the second, but you can still win this.”

  Walker nodded, reserving his breath. He was going to need every bit of air he was forcing into his lungs.

  The bell sounded and he was on his feet.

  His legs were heavy and he was gassed. The last three days of intense training and cutting weight had taken a toll on his stamina and endurance. Piercing pain in his left side left no room for doubt that several ribs were broken, but he’d worry about that in five minutes. Right now he had to finish this fight.

  Half-blind, he staggered toward the center, struggling to focus on Cruz. The man’s injuries from the first round seemed as bad as his own, and the heaving of his chest indicated he was as winded as Walker.

  They circled each other in the center, arms more relaxed, legs unsteady for almost a minute, until the booing crowd filled the stadium and the ref approached. “Fight! You’re here to fight! Give the fans what they paid to see!”

  The fans . . . Tearing his gaze away from Cruz for a split second, he saw his father standing next to Gracie. He squinted, wondering if it was real or if the blows to the head were affecting him worse than he’d thought.

  But his father nodded and held a fist in the air, and somehow above the noise he heard him yell, “You got this.”

  And that was all he needed.

  Charging in, he sprang from his left foot as his right arm drew back, and less than a second later, the superman punch that had come from pure adrenaline landed with shocking precision on Cruz’s jaw, and he crumbled to the mat at his feet. Walker hesitated, but as the fighter started to get up, he threw himself on top of him, delivering shots, left and right.

  Cruz turtled and turned to his side, raising his arms to protect his face, and Walker took the opportunity for the mount. Taking Cruz’s back, he rolled onto his own, securing over-under control with his arms around his opponent’s neck.

  Cruz grabbed the choking arm and pulled, but Walker’s grip tightened. This was his only shot; he had to take it.

  Every other thought vanished as he listened to Tyson’s voice screaming at him, instructing him how to secure the rear naked choke. Driving Cruz’s head downward, he squeezed his arms tight.

  A second later, he felt the tap against his leg and heard the ref call the fight. Releasing his hold on Cruz, he collapsed back onto the mat, fighting to catch his breath. He did it. He’d won.

  The ref helped him to his feet and raised his arm in victory. A splintering pain seared through his ribs, and he heard the crowd cheer. Then his knees gave way.

  ***

  Gracie elbowed and shoved through the crowd as she made her way toward the cage. The referee was making the final announcement, but she couldn’t even see Walker, surrounded by the medic, Tyson, and several fighters from his camp. She climbed the stairs and flashed the MFL pass hanging around her neck to the security personnel. She pushed open the cage door and rushed to Walker’s corner.

  His eyes were open, but he still looked dazed. The medic was placing him on a stretcher and talking to Tyson. “Definitely a few broken ribs . . . a concussion. He’ll be okay.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” Tyson said, then turning to Walker he said, “Welcome to our camp, man.”

  “I thought I was already in your camp?” Walker asked, wincing in pain.

  “Fuck, no. Before you were a cocky pain-in-the-ass favor; now you’re a slightly less cocky pain-in-the-ass fighter,” he said. Noticing Grace there, he moved aside. “He’s all yours . . . until his next fight.” He winked.

  “Yeah, we need to talk about those rules of yours, Tyson,” she said, hugging him quickly before turning to Walker, tears blurring her vision.

  “You won.”

  “Really? Cause winning hurts like a mother f—”

  She cut short his expletive by claimin
g his mouth in a kiss.

  He gripped the sides of her cheeks, the cool leather of the gloves a stark contrast to the heat coursing through her as he held her firmly in place, deepening the kiss.

  She reluctantly moved away and touching his swollen, battered cheek, she whispered, “You didn’t accept Erik’s offer.”

  “I never even considered it, baby girl. I could never do that. I love you.”

  Tears ran down her cheeks and she laughed, wiping them away. “I love you too, Walker. I always have, you idiot.” She punched him playfully and he cringed. “Oh! Sorry.” She kissed the spot she’d punched gently.

  “You’re going to have to take it easy on me for a bit.”

  “You’ve got a week,” she said, holding his hand as they lifted the stretcher.

  “Well, at least I can afford to move into my own place now.”

  “That’s good, because I’ll need a place to crash when I get kicked out of my apartment in two days,” she said. “Can I sleep on your couch for a while?”

  “You can sleep in my bed . . . for as long as you want,” he said as they lifted the stretcher and carried it out of the octagon.

  Grace held his hand, following alongside them. “What if that’s forever?”

  “Forever works.” He touched her cheek. Then a mischievous glint in his eyes appeared. “But I think we should set some rules if you’re going to be staying with me.”

  She laughed. “Okay, I deserve that. What are your rules?” she asked, forcing a businesslike expression.

  “Never lock the bathroom door.”

  “Okay.”

  “You can leave your clothes on the floor. In fact, I prefer them on the floor.”

  She smiled. “Anything else?”

  “One more. Lots of sex. On the couch and everywhere else.”

  “I think I can live with those,” she said, lowering her mouth to his once more.

  “Good, because I know I couldn’t live without you, Gracie.” He was serious now, and all of her doubt and worry disappeared. Walker Adams may not have had to work for much in his life, but that evening, he’d certainly fought hard for the things that mattered.

  And how could she ever ask for more? “You’re everything I need, Walker,” she whispered as her lips met his.

  Read on for a sneak peek at the next book in Jennifer Snow’s Beyond the Cage series

  FIGHTING THE FALL

  Available in October 2015 from InterMix

  “Tell me this script is a joke,” Parker Hamilton said the moment her agent answered his cell phone.

  “You asked me if I had anything, this is it,” Ian Bentley said. The sound of traffic and wind in the background meant he was driving his BMW convertible.

  A car her career had helped him afford, she thought as she paced the concrete pool deck in her Las Vegas backyard. “The female lead is ditzy and flaky and speaks in texting lingo . . . I mean come on—who says LOL out loud? Where did this script even come from?”

  The first script she’d received from him in months and it was worse than the ones he’d sent her years ago when she’d attempted to restart her acting career as an adult. Back then, she’d been desperate and eager to show Hollywood VIPs that she wasn’t just a child actor but an industry professional who could continue a career on screen. Integrity hadn’t really been high on her list of attributes and she’d accepted any role that came her way. Now, with an Academy Award nomination and several Screen Actors Guild Awards to her credit, she wanted serious roles, complex characters to portray . . . She wanted to show diversity and depth in her acting. That wouldn’t be happening with the script she’d just struggled to finish reading.

  “Look, if anything else comes across my desk . . .”

  Parker’s eyes narrowed at the hint of guilt she heard in her agent’s voice. They’d worked together for a long time—she knew that sound. “Send it to me.”

  Ian sighed and hesitated before saying, “Parker, it’s really not your thing. You’ll just be wasting your time reading it.”

  Well it wasn’t like she had tons to do these days. “I’m trying to change what ‘my thing’ is, remember?” They’d had this discussion after she’d wrapped up filming her last movie and they’d both agreed maybe it was time to try different roles, expand her resume a little.

  “Okay, but I was thinking more like a family comedy or something. The script I have is a docu-drama.”

  “I can do docu-drama,” she said quickly.

  “That’s quite a big leap from chick flicks and romantic comedies.”

  Her agent was right. Those were usually the scripts she felt the most comfortable with, but lately even those opportunities were passing her by. Since her public breakup with top Hollywood film director Brantley Cruise the year before, her offers had been fewer and further between and her last two movies had tanked at the box office. She hadn’t worked in six months and holing up in her Las Vegas home was making her crazy. She needed to get back to L.A. and back to making movies. And she really wanted to take a risk and see if she was capable of a different kind of role. “Please just send it to me. Let me read it at least.”

  “The lead is an MMA fighter.” The sound of a loud horn blasting almost drowned out his words, but his ‘Hey fuck you, man’ was clear enough.

  She missed L.A. traffic. “Okay, so I’ll be playing opposite an MMA fighter . . .” Not really seeing a problem there.

  “No. The female lead is an MMA fighter . . . Parker, hold on, I’ve got another call . . .”

  As he clicked over to his call waiting, Parker dipped her foot into the warm pool water. At one time, her agent would never have left her on hold. At one time, she was pulling in seven figure paydays. Things changed so quickly in Hollywood. One day she was walking the red carpet on Brantley’s arm, the next she couldn’t even secure a job in a Cover Girl commercial. She needed things to change again . . . and fast. She wasn’t getting any younger and thirty in Hollywood was the equivalent to fifty in real people years.

  Turning, she studied her reflection in the tinted glass patio doors. An MMA fighter . . . hmm . . . She tightened her stomach muscles, rounded her shoulders and raised her fists. Plastering the meanest look she could muster, she stared at herself. She could play the role of a fighter.

  Dropping her hands, she sat on the edge of her pool. The Vegas sun reflecting on the surface, even at eight a.m., made her reach for her sunhat. The last thing she needed was more wrinkles when the last two casting directors she’d met with had claimed she was a little too ‘seasoned’ to portray a young twenty-something.

  She watched the time on her cell phone tick by another thirty seconds, wondering if he’d forgotten about her. It wouldn’t surprise her. It seemed everyone else in Hollywood had. Five years ago, after her first Academy Award nomination, the studios were sending scripts to Ian specifically for her. That’s when she’d met Brantley—he’d cast her as the lead in his holiday romantic comedy and a month later, they were Hollywood’s hottest couple according to E! News. Then Brantley’s influence over the casting of his movies had practically guaranteed her roles in blockbuster hits.

  Things had ended almost a year ago and since he was no longer interested in her, neither was anyone else. She felt as though the break-up had blacklisted her somehow—as if Brantley had been awarded all of the directors and producers in Hollywood in their separation.

  She continued to wait for Ian because she really had nothing else to do and all the time in the world to stress about her career. She longed for reassurance from him that things would turn around, but she wasn’t so sure her agent believed that.

  When he clicked back over a minute later, he said, “Parker, I’ll have to call you back. I’m heading into my mother’s seniors’ complex. She lost her third set of false teeth this month . . .”

  God, she hoped she didn’t live to be that old. Aging terrified her. “Okay, but before you go, just think about it. What’s the harm in sending me the script? I’ll read it and maybe you’r
e right. Maybe I’ll hate it.” But she needed something and this last script he’d sent was sure to put a bullet in her career.

  “You’re going to have to learn MMA,” he said with a deep sigh. “Even for the audition, you should at least know something about the sport—how to jab or something.”

  “Fine. If I read the script and like it, I’ll learn MMA.” She shrugged. How hard could throwing a few punches be? Besides, she just had to make it look good. No doubt a body double would actually be used for the choreographed fight sequences.

  “Parker, you’re going to take one look at this script and say forget it.”

  “Maybe not.” She no longer had the luxury of being picky. She did however refuse to play the career-ending role her agent had just sent her. She was fortunate enough not to need the money, having put away the money from her days as a successful child star. This was about getting her career back on track. “This would be a challenge. I like challenges.”

  “Fine. I’ll get Felicia to email it over to you this afternoon,” he said, still not sounding convinced.

  She smiled. “Thank you,” she said, disconnecting the call.

  So, she had to learn MMA. How hard could it be?

  ***

  Tomorrow.

  The only thought on his mind as Tyson Reed climbed the staircase at the back of the building to his loft apartment was tomorrow and preparing for the next day of training.

  It was after eleven when he unlocked his apartment door above Punisher Athletics, his MMA gym. He went inside and immediately to his washing machine, emptying the sweaty training clothes from the day from his bag and turning on the machine. Next he went to his bedroom, where he refilled the bag with two pairs of training shorts, two t-shirts, extra hand wraps and tape, then set the bag near the door. It didn’t matter that he lived a staircase climb away from the gym. He always packed the bag. He was always prepared for tomorrow’s training.