by Nicole Bella
Copyright 2017 by (Nicole Bella) - All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Dreamerz Publishing own the copyright and hold the necessary publishing rights
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Last Call
MMA Bad Boy Fighter Romance
By: Nicole Bella
Table of Contents
Contents
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CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
EPILOUGE
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The Last Call
CHAPTER ONE
Fighting And Firing
Over time you learn to block out the noise; the shouting, the yelling, the screaming, the spittle that fly’s from the mouths of the ‘fans’ as they scream for blood. Your blood or your opponents? It doesn’t matter to them. They crave it like hawks circling a battlefield; waiting for the first drop to spill so they can feast. There is a way to rise above this lust for carnage and it’s called being prepared. Over time, as you work a little harder, train a little more, this all becomes white noise. It’s nothing more than a distraction, aimed to pull you away from what really matters; the fight.
A ‘distraction’ is what my father used to call it, back when he was teaching me to fight. He taught me that it doesn’t matter. The received glory doesn’t matter, the opponent doesn’t matter, and even the fans don’t matter. What really matters is the fight….and what’s more than that, he taught me the importance of winning.
Fighting is like life, he would tell me. It’s going to hit you, hard. And then when you’re down, it will keep hitting you. It doesn’t want you to fight back’ in fact it prefers it if you don’t. That’s where being a fighter comes in.
I’ve learned that you need to fight back. That’s the only way. If you want to win, which I always do, you better be prepared. Winning is everything and now, after years of training, it’s what I do best.
When life hits you, you hit back. When life challenges you, you better be damn ready to challenge it back. And when life throws the unexpected at you, as it is so want to do, well you better be ready for it. Sometimes all the training in the world can’t prepare you for the unexpected. When this moment comes along, all you can do is try your best to get back up and pray to god that it doesn’t knock you back down again.
But if it does, you better get back up. You can’t win when you’re lying on the flat of your back.
*
‘Ladies and gentlemen! In all my years I’ve never seen a display such as this one. Such ferocity. Such ferociousness. An unheralded desire to win like I’ve never witnessed. Jackson ‘The Last Call’ McCall has just won by knockout! It was all too much for challenger, Quinton Monroe to handle! Jackson McCall, take a bow!’
Jackson McCall ignored the screams erupting from the mouths of the thousands of people that surrounded him as he stood over his knocked out opponent. Standing six foot tall with broad, muscular shoulders and thick tree-trunk-like arms, Jackson looked like a giant compared to the near corpse by his feet. When he first entered the ring, most of these ‘fans’ that now chanted his name were against him. When he walked into the Octagon they booed and when his name was called they hissed. When the bell rang to signal the start of the fight they spewed insult after insult, hoping to throw him off his game. But they didn’t, not even close. And now that he had won, and so effortlessly at that, they were his. Another stadium full of fans, freshly converted to the legion that already blindly followed Jackson ‘The Last Call’ McCall.
‘Take a bow Jackson!’ The announcer screamed as he grabbed Jackson by the hand, holding it up in a celebration of triumph. ‘Take a bow! God’s know that you earned it here today at the Octagon!’ The announcer let the final word ring out over the screaming, as if the arena were the true champion here today.
Jackson didn’t bow; in fact he barely even acknowledged those around him screaming in admiration. His opponent well and truly out cold, Jackson pulled his hand from the grip of the announcer and headed for the exit. No speech or words of victory for those that came here to watch. All Jackson had to offer was the unconscious body on the floor. And you know what? That’s all that was needed because they, the fans, absolutely loved it.
And for Jackson? For him the process was a simple one. Two men enter with only the winner leaving. People would throw accolades and admiration at him, sure. They would announce this as the fight of the century, as they always did. But none of that was important. None of that he had and real control over. It was just the fight that mattered. And when Jackson fought, he fought to win. All that other stuff? Well that was just noise.
--
Backstage was quieter than the arena, but was by no means silent. As Jackson stalked through the hallways to his dressing room, crew and management were no less enthusiastic about greeting him; wanting to touch the winner of the great match as if this might somehow endow them with powers of their own.
‘Great fight Jackson!’ A heavyset man carrying a pile of towels crooned as he rushed past.
‘Seriously. That was epic.’ A paramedic praised, even stopping on his way to the ring just to shake the hand that had knocked out the man he was about to aid.
‘You the man ‘The Last Call.’ The man!’ Random groupies screamed as Jackson passed them. A few he acknowledged, a few he ignored.
Jackson didn’t get into mixed-martial arts for the fame or fortune. In fact when he had started out, the very idea of making money or any kind of name for himself was almost laughable. That was how far the sport had come. He did it for the passion; because it was something he loved and something that he was truly good at. In fact he kind of resented the way that the sport had gone now, so much so that a part of him wished that he could escape back to the good old days. Back to when he was fighting in an empty car park for a handful of dollars, with his wife by his side….
Giving his head a shake as he ran his hands over his shaved scalp, Jackson forced those memories out of his head. That’s all they were now, memories.
His changing room was located at the very end of the hall. Even before he saw them he could hear them; a gaggle of women, all crowding around his dressing room door, hoping to see their new ‘hero’…and hopefully do more than that. And indeed as the door to his dressing room came into sight, the mix of blonde and brunette heads became immediately visible. All women, all there with one thing on their mind.
‘There you are!’ Jackson’s manager, Charles yelled out when he spotted Jackson heading toward them ‘I can only keep them at bay for so long.’ He smiled proudly, pushing his large spectacles back up on his nose.
At five foot four, with a wiry frame and fake tanned skin, Charles stood in stark contrast to the hulking form of Jackson. They ha
d been friends since high school and it had even been Charles who organized Jackson’s first fight in the playground back in eighth grade. Since then the two hadn’t looked back.
‘Is he in there?’ Jackson asked Charles, ignoring the screaming women.
‘Who?’
‘Anthony.’
‘Oh…I don’t…I know that Miranda is in there so I guess that Anthony is too --,’
‘Good.’ Jackson cut him off as he pushed past the girls. ‘Keep them outside until I tell you otherwise. I don’t want him seeing all this.’
‘Sure thing.’ Charles grinned, as if the idea of entertaining these girls was going to be nothing but pure bliss…which, quite frankly it would be.
Jackson shook his head at Charles’ overly enthusiastic reaction as he reached for his dressing room door, opening it and stepping inside.
‘Ladies, ladies. He’ll be with you in just one minute. First he has some private…’ Charles’ voice became muted as Jackson stepped into his room, closing the door firmly behind him.
There was one reason and one reason only that Jackson had been so keen to get back to his changing room the moment that the fight had ended. It wasn’t because he detested the limelight, even though he kind of did. And it wasn’t because there was a posse of beautiful young women waiting to shower him with affection, which there clearly was. It was because his son was there. Watching from the relative comfort of the changing room, Jackson liked his son to be at all his fights. He was so busy with training and sponsorship deals, amongst other things, that this was one of the few times that he really got to see his son. It was one of the few things that they bonded over and that in itself almost managed to eclipse the feeling of victory that Jackson so constantly craved.
As it were, Jackson’s heart sank when he entered the room, only to see it totally devoid of his son, Anthony. There was but one person sitting in the room, waiting for him and it was, in all honesty, the last person he wanted to see, Miranda, Anthony’s nanny.
‘Oh my god!’ Miranda crooned as she leaped off the couch, rushing to Jackson’s side. ‘What a fight! Like oh my god!’ She threw herself over him, smothering him in affectionate kisses which Jackson tried to ignore.
‘Where’s Anthony?’ He asked bluntly.
‘Oh…’ Miranda stopped the kisses, clearly a little put out that he wasn’t returning the affection. ‘He’s at home. I thought it best if --,’
‘What did I tell you?’ Anthony asked, trying his best to remain calm. This was something made all the more difficult by the adrenaline still surging through his body.
‘About what?’ Miranda asked, lips pouting. She hadn’t let go of his arm yet and had decided to double down by pressing her breasts up against him too.
Miranda had been Anthony’s nanny for six weeks now. She was tall, blonde and absolutely, without question, gorgeous. It’s also important to note that she was hired by Charles, not Jackson. Charles liked to think of himself as Jackson’s pimp as well as his manager. Therefore, when hiring a nanny, he thought it most important to keep Jackson’s physical preferences in mind. At first Jackson had gone along with this scheme, taking a total of three days to bed Miranda. Since then she had been somewhat of a plaything for Jackson, sneaking into his bed when Anthony was asleep; or pulling him into the kitchen for a quick lovemaking session when Anthony was at school. And all of this was well and good, so long as she remained on top of her primary duty, that was looking after Anthony. But now, she had truly stepped over the mark.
‘What did I tell you about me wanting Anthony here?’ Jackson clarified, trying to keep his voice even.
‘Oh that?’ Miranda said, pretending like she hadn’t known the whole time. ‘I just thought that maybe a fighting ring wasn’t the best place for an eleven-year-old.’ She slid her hand around the back of his neck, pulling his face in for better access for kissing. ‘He would definitely be better suited staying home and --,’
‘I don’t care what you think!’ Jackson suddenly exploded, pulling himself from Miranda’s grip entirely. ‘What I care about is my son being here to see me! That’s what I care about!’
‘Baby,’ Miranda began, trying to attach herself back to Jackson. ‘Why are you being this way? I thought without him here we could… you know…?’ Subtlety wasn’t Miranda’s strong suit.
But Jackson wasn’t having any of it. He was so angry with Miranda that gone was the tall bodacious blonde. She was replaced by a specimen that made him gag just to think about. One thing that Jackson hated more than anything was people telling him how to raise his son. Especially some two-bit nanny hired for her looks rather than her skill.
‘Go.’ Jackson said, taking another step back as he pointed toward the door. ‘I want you gone.’
‘You can’t be serious?’
‘What about me makes you think that I’m not serious?’ He asked matter-of-factly. And indeed that was all he need do. His defiant stance and the way he trembled as he pointed toward the door was more than enough to tell Miranda that he wasn’t kidding.
‘Fine!’ Miranda scooped her jacket from off the couch and, head down, steamrolled toward the door, throwing it open and storming out. Had Jackson overreacted? Maybe just a little. But his son was all that he had left and he wasn’t going to compromise that for anything.
A second later the door popped back open, Charles’ head poking into the room. ‘Hey, I just saw Miranda leave. Does that mean the girls are good to come in? Some of them are champing at the bit to get a piece of you.’
Ignoring him, Jackson headed for the sink, splashing some water on his face. ‘I’m going to need you to hire me a new nanny. Immediately.’
‘What? What about Miranda? What just --,’
‘Immediately.’ Jackson confirmed. ‘And please, this time pick one based on her resume, not what cup size she is.’
Charles studied his boss in complete shock, as if he were sure that he’d misspoken. But, when the orders weren’t changed or followed up on, he realized that Jackson was being serious. He knew Jackson well enough to know not to argue. So, a curt nod was given, indicating that he understood before ducking from the room.
CHAPTER TWO
The Non-Interview
The matte black, 2016 Audi R8 puttered through the sparsely populated traffic like it didn’t have anywhere to be. Cruising at least ten miles below the allotted speed, letting in merging traffic, even pulling up for pedestrians crossing in the middle of the street; this magnificent machine was not being put to use the way its manufacturer had intended.
This was all well and good for the driver, who indeed had the day off and no real plans, but for its only passenger, this cautious style of driving was the complete opposite of what was needed.
The passenger was Vanessa Evans; late to a job interview she thought that she would be able to save time by getting her boyfriend to drive while she got ready in the car. But as he came to a sudden halt when the traffic light ticked over to yellow, she realized how mistaken she had been.
‘Go through it! Go through --,’
‘Babe. This is an R8, August 2016 model. I can’t be running lights so you can be a few minutes early to an interview. What if I were to scratch it? Would the agency reimburse me?’ The driver asked, every word dripping with sarcasm. ‘Yeah, I didn’t think so.’
The driver was Adrian Cummins, Vanessa’s arrogant, obnoxious and all round douche of a boyfriend. The way he drove his brand new Audi through the empty streets or the fact that he wearing a suit even though it was the weekend should really tell you all you need to know about him.
‘You’re not going to scratch it.’ Vanessa assured him, trying to remain calm as the car came to a stop at the still yellow traffic light. ‘Yellow mean’s slow down not --,’
‘I know what yellow means. And I’m sorry but I’m not going to take driving advice from someone’s whose car is in the shop, not on the road.’
‘It’s there because of missed payments. Not because I can’t drive!�
� Vanessa blurted, starting to get angry now with her boyfriend’s purposefully ignorant disposition.
‘Be that as it may, this is my car and I’ll drive how I deem appropriate. Don’t worry, I’ll get you there in time babe. I want to meet The Last Call just as much as you.’ Adrian assured her, taking the oncoming corner with a painful amount of carefulness.
Vanessa, staring at Adrian in disbelief, decided it was best not to argue and just let him drive the car as she got ready. So, as they puttered along, she went back to the task at hand; applying clear lip balm while simultaneously putting on just the right amount of eyeliner so as to not look too much like a street walker. She was applying for a nannying position after all.
She received the call last night from the agency that she got most of her work through. It was an urgent assignment, one that would require her to start ASAP, assuming that she passed the interview process. And what’s more, the position was for the son of non-other than the great Jackson ‘The Last Call’ McCall.’