The Final Fight (Fighting Series Book 8)

by JB Salsbury

  Dammit!

  Don’t panic. This is for charity. The worst he can say is no.

  There’s a click and then silence, so I stiffen my spine and say, “Hello, is this Mr. Kyle?”

  “You got ’em. Who’s this?”

  “Mr. Kyle, my name—”

  “Call me Cam.”

  I have never been so intimidated by someone’s voice in my entire life. It’s deep and gruff, and I get the feeling this man takes zero shit from anyone.

  “Cam, thank you. I’m Adeline Pines from The Kairos Hotel and Casino.”

  Silence.

  Okay.

  “We’re throwing a charity event for the Injured Heroes Foundation in next month, and we would love if the UFL could be involved.”

  “Involved how?” He’s annoyed, or maybe he always sounds like this, but either way if I don’t get my pitch out soon, I get the feeling he’ll hang up on my ass.

  “There are over 3.6 million veterans with service-related disabilities. Over 32 thousand from this Iraq war alone.” A knot forms in my throat, and when I open my mouth to continue, I can’t find the words.

  “What’s this got to do with your hotel?”

  “Nothing.” I’m losing him; I can feel it. I lean against the table and put my head in my hand. “And everything. I, uh . . . I knew someone who went to Iraq, and well, I haven’t spoken to him in a long time, but he’s left part of himself with me, and I guess I want to do this for him, for all the men and women just like him who give up . . . things . . . people . . . to put their lives on the line for others. We just want to give back, and we want to partner with the greatest fighting organization in the world to do that. I mean it makes sense, right? Fighters supporting fighters . . .”

  I close my eyes to the sound of his breathing and wait for him to shoot me down.

  “Fighters supporting fighters.” There’s no emotion in his words. “I like that.”

  I perk up and stare at Barbara as a slow smile pulls my lips. “You do?”

  “We’re in. Send me details and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Are you . . .? Wait. You’re serious?”

  “Do I strike you as the type of man who would waste his time or yours telling jokes, Miss Pines?”

  I shrink in on myself. “No.” If this guy gives me the shakes over the phone, I can’t imagine what seeing him in person would be like.

  “Details.”

  “On their way.”

  “Speak soon.”

  The phone clicks and I stare at Barbara, who’s grinning wide.

  “He’s in!”

  “With that pitch, who wouldn’t be? I had no idea this charity was personal to you. You have a friend in the military?”

  The short-lived victory is squashed at the mention of my friend. He was so much more to me than that. “Yes. He was in Iraq, but I haven’t heard from him since he’s been back.” The small ball of fire that I’d managed to snuff to an ember flares behind my ribs. “I’m sure he got swept off his feet by the perfect military wife and he’s out there somewhere living the dream.”

  “Um . . . Adeline? You sound a little bitter.”

  I wave her off and gather my things to head back up to the penthouse because for some stupid reason a wave of tears is threatening to crest. But damn, rejection is a bitch. “Not at all. I want the best for him.”

  I just wish the best for him was me.

  ~*~

  Braeden

  The vomit hits from out of nowhere as it does every single time. I jump off the equipment and swerve around bodies as they do their best to get out of my way.

  “Here he goes again,” someone says in a bored tone.

  The burn of stomach acid climbs up my throat just as I grip the trashcan. My back arches as the first of a dozen dry heaves squeezes my body.

  “Only the second time this session. He’s getting better.”

  “Leave the guy alone, for fuck’s sake.”

  Puking your brains out is bad enough when you’re alone, but doing it in front of a handful of professional MMA fighters is a motherfucking tea party. I’m spitting and trying to catch my breath when a heavily tattooed arm the size of my thigh comes into view, offering me a water bottle.

  I accept it and then stand and suck in much-needed oxygen.

  Jonah smiles. “You’re doing great, Brae. It’s what? Your third day back?”

  “Day five.” I drain the water bottle and toss it in the trash.

  Rex wipes sweat from his forehead with a towel before tossing it aside. “Day five and you’re down to two upchucks. That’s improvement.” I catch a glimpse of a new tattoo on his hand. A thick black band is at the base of his ring finger and then scrolled down the length in fancy script it reads Georgia. He got married? A lot has happened since I’ve been gone.

  “It’s legs.” Jonah claps me on the shoulder. “I still get the pukes on leg day.”

  Blake eyes me from across the room as he squats with plates the size of large pizzas stacked on either side of the bar. “You sure it’s the workout that’s turning your stomach? Or could it be the fifth of vodka you killed last night.” He racks the bar and glares.

  Alright, so Blake’s mission to heal me and shit hasn’t exactly worked to plan. It’s not that I haven’t been trying; I have. Hell, I wake up every day and shower, I’ve been eating, and I’ve been working out. But it’s the nights that take me down. When I’m sitting alone and the images of war tangle with images of the man I used to be, I find the only thing that blurs the thoughts and dulls the ache is booze.

  “I’ll get there. Eventually.” I head over to the weight stack and pick up a forty-pound dumbbell to curl with my good arm.

  I stare at my reflection, keeping my focus below the neck. I’m finally putting on a little of the weight I’d lost, and in a T-shirt and workout shorts, I’m not totally repulsed by the man staring back at me. The scarring is noticeable, but with a couple dozen pounds of muscle, I’ll be as close to my old self as I can get. At least, on the outside.

  “You ever try working your bad arm?” Rex nods to the disgrace bent and tucked at my gut.

  “No.” It hurts, and I don’t want to bear witness to its weakness, so I just treat it like an amputated limb.

  Jonah and Blake eye each other behind me, but fuck them. They don’t know what it’s like to be me. So easy to pass judgment when you’re standing back there with the perfect fucking life and two working arms.

  The doors to the gym burst open, and the owner of the UFL strolls in. “Meeting in ten.”

  Mason walks in with all the urgency of a sloth. His body says fighter, but his laidback attitude and shaggy blond hair make him look like he belongs on the North Shore with a board under his arm. “Have you guys seen Ax? I was hoping she could work on my left shoulder.”

  “She’s off today. Wedding shit.” Cam points to his fighters. “Don’t be late.” Then he storms out.

  Mason throws me a chin lift. “Brae, good to see you back.”

  I mimic his greeting and grunt through another rep of curls.

  “What’s the last-minute meeting about?” Jonah says as he helps Rex load the bar for bench pressing.

  “Heard him talking to Eve about some charity gig over at the Kairos—”

  The weight in my hand drops to the floor with a thud. The shock on everyone’s face matches my own. What the hell is wrong with me?

  I pick it up, apologize, and re-rack it, pretending to mind my own business.

  “What’s that got to do with us?” My brother thankfully has something else to focus on, so I can hang my head and regain my equilibrium in peace.

  “They want the UFL involved in some way,” Mase says. “That’s all I know.”

  Fuck, my hands are sweating and my pulse races.

  Kairos.

  The girl.

  AJ.

  An image of her face flashes in my mind, the same image I got when I thought I was going to die, and I’m overwhelmed with feelings: the tingle
in my chest every time she’d laugh and how it would vibrate against me when I held her; the touch of her lips on mine, the warmth of her body as it wrapped around me and I’d sink deeply inside her; the bite of her nails against my skin as she clawed at me for more.

  My dick jerks behind my shorts.

  I stare down at myself in fucking awe and wonder. I’ve been such a fucked-up mess it’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything pleasurable below the waist.

  AJ.

  A frantic need pounds behind my ribs. My leg muscles cramp as I force them to still when they want to run to hunt her down.

  I stare at my reflection again.

  If she saw me now, would she still want me?

  Does it even matter? Just the idea of being in her presence sparks something inside that’s been dead since I got blown up.

  I’m breathing heavily, panting with the war being waged—half of me wanting to see her, the other half terrified of what she’ll say.

  How long has it been?

  I kick around some numbers in my head.

  Nine months?

  What if she’s not the same girl she was when I left?

  Fuck knows I’m far from the same guy. She’s going to hate what I’ve become. I hate what I’ve become.

  As much as I crave her, maybe staying far away from AJ is best for us both.

  Twenty

  Braeden

  Liquor is magical.

  It can disintegrate even the strongest will.

  I’m thinking the marketing for booze is all wrong. It should be sold as a quick-fix remedy.

  Need courage? Drink.

  Can’t sleep? Drink.

  Want to become the most pathetic pussy bitch alive? Drink.

  I’m in the middle of brainstorming alcohol’s new marketing slogan when my Uber driver pulls up to the front of AJ’s apartment building.

  I throw open the door and nearly fall out of the car.

  Want to test your balancing skills? Drink.

  I stand at the base of the tall complex. Tilting my head back, I try to find her tiny window, further testing my body’s ability to stay upright. Even in the dark, I find it immediately.

  Ninth floor. 903. My mind pulls up the info as if it’s as important as remembering my birthdate and social security number.

  With a quick slug from the flask in my pocket, I cap the liquid strength and stumble to the door. It swings open without issue, not unlocked like usual but broken.

  A weak groan rumbles in my throat, and as soon as AJ forgives me for being away for so long, I’m going to spank her sweet ass for living in this shit hole.

  Squinting to focus on the dancing elevator buttons, I manage to push the number nine.

  “Hold the elevator!” A woman’s voice yells from the lobby.

  My reaction time sucks thanks to the whiskey coursing through my veins.

  Need to slow down? Drink.

  Thankfully, she manages to slide in before the doors shut. She hits the number three and scoots to the far end of the elevator, her eyes avoidant and cautious.

  Yep, you’re sharing an elevator with the Swamp Thing. I’d be scared too.

  I chuckle, which makes no sense because nothing about this shit is funny.

  Need to laugh in a serious sitch? Drink.

  The elevator movement has me swaying, and I peek over and realize it’s not only my appearance that’s freaking her out. It’s being stuck in an elevator with an over six-foot-tall drunk son-of-a-bitch.

  She scurries out at her floor, and I have the urge to apologize, but as the words form, I’m not fast enough, and the doors close. The carriage continues upward, and my muscles jump in anticipation.

  I get to see AJ. Be with her for longer than a night.

  All the barriers that kept us apart are gone. I live here. My military career is Poof! She can come home with me, and we can drink all night and fuck until our legs give out.

  I head for her door, and the floor tilts beneath me.

  With my hand on one wall to steady myself, I finally make it to her door and knock hard. “I’m baa-aack.” I crack my fist into the door again. “Muffin, it’s me. Open up.” Still nothing. I slam my palm to the wood, desperate for the door to fly open and to feel my girl back in my arms. “AJ! Open the door! Hello!”

  The click of a lock and the creak of a hinge have me stumbling backwards, but it’s not her door that opens. I look up to see a man, her neighbor who has to be pushing seventy, poke his head out. “It’s vacant.”

  I step back and stare at the three numbers 9-0-3 then turn to the man. “Vacant? AJ Pines lives here.”

  “No. She moved out a while ago.”

  Moved out? “Well fuck.”

  He ducks back into his place.

  “Thank you.” I don’t know if he heard me, but I remember the thin walls, so my guess is he did. “Moved.”

  Good for her, but that means she could be anywhere.

  My phone, the only connection to her, is now charcoal on some dirt road in Iraq.

  I swerve back down the hall to the elevator. The trip is a lonely one, and when I step outside into the fresh air, I feel like I’ve been hit in the chest.

  Leaning against the wall, I drop to my ass on the concrete. I stare at the parking lot, remembering the day I sat in my car, so antsy to see her, only to have her break down in my arms. It felt so good to hold her. I hurt that she was hurting, but she made me feel like a king the way she curled into me and allowed me to fix her.

  And now she’s gone.

  There’s movement to my right. My head lolls to the side where a homeless guy with what I assume to be everything he owns in bags sits down next to me. His hand shakes as he pulls out a cigarette.

  “Hey. I remember you.”

  He turns dark eyes on me and studies the scars on my neck and cheek. “I don’t know you.”

  My head drops between my shoulders, feeling like it weighs a ton. “Yeah, I don’t know me either.” I straighten my left leg to dig the flask from my pocket and swig back as much as I can fit in my mouth.

  “Got enough to share?”

  I study the silver flask in my hand and read the engraved words for the millionth time.

  Improvise, adapt, and overcome.

  The slogan of the United States Marines.

  A lot of good that shit did me. It was a gift from Deek after my first deployment. I’ll never forget his face when he gave it to me, one of the only times I’ve ever seen the guy not act like a total clown. He didn’t say anything profound, no flowery words or deep meaningful speeches. Just a look. One that said we were in this shit together now.

  If I’d only known what was coming, how our careers would end in a fiery ball of death and destruction . . .

  Nope. Not going down that road.

  I hand the homeless guy my flask. “It’s all you.”

  He swigs it back like it’s water then settles against the brick wall with a sigh. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to sit in silence with anyone without feeling the millions of things they must be thinking. I tilt my head back as a little peace trickles in—

  A couple of one-dollar bills fall into my lap. I look up and catch the guy who tossed them there heading into the building.

  “This is new,” I mumble, not sure how I feel about being mistaken for homeless. I turn to my new friend, and when he looks at me to hand me back the flask, I see the lost hopelessness I feel reflected in his blank stare. “Shit.” I groan and hit the Uber app on my phone. “It’s been nice, but I’m outta here, my man.”

  Need a stupid plan that you’ll regret? Drink.

  ~*~

  AJ

  After a late dinner at Escalante, which included a chocolate soufflé I could’ve bathed in, my dress feels too tight. Andre insisted that we sneak away for a celebratory dinner and a sweet, high-caloric ending was part of the deal.

  The charity event is officially planned. All the i’s dotted and t’s crossed. In three weeks, we’ll be hold
ing the event in our premier ballroom with live music and more UFL fighters than would fit in a limo.

  Including Blake “The Snake” Daniels.

  As nervous as I was at the prospect of seeing Braeden’s older brother, I no longer think it’s going to be an issue. After all, he doesn’t know me. I’ll be busy mingling and making sure everything goes to plan, so there’s very little chance we’ll do more than a quick introduction.

  And I’ll be damned if I’m going to come off like some clingy girl who got her heart broken by asking Blake about his brother.

  I have way too much pride for that.

  Besides, Braeden doesn’t want me.

  Andre’s arm curls around my back, the stiff fabric of his suit coat brushing against the bare skin of my arm as he leads me to the elevators. “I wish I could come up with you.”

  I lean into him, enjoying the feel of his masculine strength as he supports me. “I’m going to soak in a long hot bath; you’d be bored out of your mind.”

  He stops walking and smirks down at me. “Adeline, watching you in the bath would be one of the greatest pleasures of my life.”

  I blush and can’t hold his gaze. He hooks my chin with two fingers, bringing my eyes back to his. “You’ve been living with me for months.”

  I want to kick him for reminding me. “I know.”

  I still haven’t been able to have sex with him, and although he has the patience of a saint, I feel his self-control slipping.

  “You’ve had other lovers.”

  I never should’ve told him. This would be easier if he assumed I was saving myself for marriage, but back before, when we were friends, I’d shared about my sexual past. Including Braeden.

  “You’re telling me things I already know.”

  He drops his fingers from my chin, his smoldering eyes boring into mine. “I have you in every way except the one that means the most.”

  He’s right. And I don’t know what my hang-up is, but every time we get close, I feel sick to my stomach. I cry myself to sleep, wondering how it’s possible to know Braeden for such a small amount of time and yet be so completely different because of him. I fell into bed with the man on our first night without a single regret, and here I’ve been living with Andre, whom I care deeply for, and can’t manage more than foreplay.