by Nikki Ash
A police officer approaches me. “What’s your name?”
“Mason Street. My mom was just taken.” I point toward the police car driving away.
“How old are you?”
“Thirteen.”
The police officer nods his head. “Okay, let’s sit out here on the porch. The officers are still investigating inside. We’re going to get this figured out.”
“Is my mom—” I start to ask but stop, scared of what the answer will be. I’m old enough to know that my mom being arrested isn’t a good sign. “Is my mom in trouble?”
The officer gives me a sympathetic smile to hide his quick flinch. “Unfortunately she is, but we’ll find someone to take care of you.”
His words stop me in my tracks. If my mom can’t even take care of me, does he really think he’ll find someone else that would be able to take care of me—that would want to take care of me? And even if they’re willing, I wouldn’t want to be a burden to someone else. I know we have no family. My parents were only children. My dad’s parents aren’t alive anymore and my mom’s parents want nothing to do with us.
“I don’t want to be taken care of,” I tell the officer as I back away. He looks confused but I don’t care. If being taken care of means forcing another person to have to do horrible things like my mom has had to do, I don’t want to be responsible for that. I don’t want to be responsible for another person struggling and crying every day.
I turn to run but the officer grabs hold of my body, holding me in place. “You can’t run. I promise you, you’re safe.” He brings me to the swinging bench and sits me down. “Someone is on their way. We’ll get this figured out. I won’t leave until I know you have somewhere to go.”
A little while later, a woman shows up. Her name is Michelle Calhoun, and she tells me she’s here to help me. “Have you lived in this home long?”
“Yes, my whole life,” I tell her. “But there are notes on the door saying we have to move out because my mom doesn’t have enough money to pay for the house.”
Mrs. Calhoun gives me a small smile and nods in understanding. She takes me away from my home and brings me to her office. She searches for relatives, and just like I already knew, they’re all dead, and my mom’s parents don’t want me. For the last few years—since my dad died when he was hit by a car while walking home—it’s been only my mom and me. She calls a bunch more people before she says she found a place for me. When we get to the house, I’m introduced to Paul and Iris Deluca. I ask to see my mom but I’m told I can’t. I’m told they’ll take care of me until my mom can.
I live with Paul and Iris for a little over a year. Paul works for the bank and Iris is a teacher. She doesn’t have sex with anyone for money, and neither of them cry or complain I cost too much. Everything is going okay until Paul gets sick and has to quit his job. Iris tells the state they can’t take care of me anymore and I’m picked up.
For the next few years I’m moved from home to home. I learn quickly most people are in it for the money I come with. They get paid to take care of me. It’s too bad my mom couldn’t get paid to take care of me. Maybe then she wouldn’t have needed to prostitute herself out for money. She wouldn’t have cried every night because she couldn’t pay the bills. She wouldn’t be in jail, and we’d still be living in our home.
The last home I move into is filled with three other boys. Walter and Janice Saulsberry are nice people. They tell me the boys have been living here awhile, and because one of the teenagers turned eighteen and moved out, there’s an opening for me. Apparently, the state stops paying once you turn eighteen, which means you gotta figure shit out for yourself.
I only have six months until I graduate, less than that until I turn eighteen. Then I’ll have to find a way to take care of myself. I’ve moved so many times, I’m barely going to graduate high school and I definitely don’t have any money for college. I have no clue what I’m going to do with my life. My mom was sentenced to jail for five years. Some shit about prostitution and drug possession. I don’t know all the details, but from what I overheard, my mom’s pimp was using our basement to cook and sell his drugs on top of prostituting my mom out.
“We’re heading to the gym,” Travis, one the guys I live with, says one day after school. “Wanna go?”
Not having anything better to do, I say, “Sure.”
Turns out it’s a mixed-martial-arts training facility where the owner lets teens workout and train for free to blow off some steam a few hours after school every day. The first few days I don’t work out or train, choosing to watch everyone instead. I watch them spar with each other, practicing moves they’re taught while working out. I pay attention to the moves they make. I’ve spent most of my life watching and listening. I’m good at blending in...trying not to be a burden. I pick up on the moves that work and the ones that don’t.
Then one day Travis is fighting—and losing—against a guy named Cedrick. Without thinking, I yell, “Watch out for the arm bar.” Just as I finish my sentence, the other guy pulls him into an arm bar and Travis is forced to tap out. They both stop and turn toward me.
“How did you know that?” Cedrick asks.
“Know what?”
“How did you know the move I was going to pull?” He walks over to me.
“I watched you,” I admit nonchalantly.
“Wanna spar?” I shrug my shoulders unsure, but still step into the octagon with him. The owner who plays as a referee starts the fight and we begin circling each other. My brain plays his moves over and over in my head like a compilation video as I consider all of the ways he might come at me. When he steps forward, coming in for a jab, my brain flashes back to him using this move before, and I know what’s coming next. I sidestep his move, and grabbing him by his legs, I pull him into a double leg takedown, his back hitting the mat. From there, I put him into a heel hook forcing him to tap out.
“Holy shit!” he yells, getting up. My blood is pumping hard, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I’m shocked at how good it felt to take him down.
“Did you see that?” he asks Carl, the owner.
“Yeah, I saw that. You’re a natural kid. You find the right trainer and you could be the next big thing.”
“Like as a UFC fighter?” I ask, suddenly excited. I don’t know what happened during those few seconds in the octagon, but I’m suddenly craving it, needing it, wanting to do it again. It was like the moment my body connected with Cedrick’s, all this built-up tension left my body.
“Hell yes as a UFC fighter. It’s not often we come across someone like you.”
“Do they make money?”
He chuckles at my question. “Eventually. If you hit it big.”
“Can you train me?” If I could spend my days doing what I just did and make money doing it, when my mom gets out of jail, she won’t have to struggle anymore. She won’t have to resort to having some piece-of shit pimp prostitute her out. Instead of her not being able to take care of me, I could take care of her.
“I could…but to be honest, this is a small gym. It’s not my specialty.” My hopes fall as quickly as they surfaced, but then he says, “One town over in Las Vegas, there’s a UFC training facility called Cooper’s Fight Gym. He knows what he’s doing and could help you. But it’s an exclusive gym, so it’s expensive.”
“I don’t have any money,” I admit.
“You could always get a job, and once you save up, join that gym. Until then you can train here every day after school. It’s always free here from three to five o’clock.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
I go home that night, and when it’s my turn to use the computer, I search the UFC. I find all types of information about the business. How often they fight, the contracts, the benefits. I find articles on how much they can make per fight. I look up Cooper’s Fight Gym and find out he’s a retired fighter. There’s a trainer there, Kaden. Another guy, Caleb, is retired as well. His son, Marco, is in the UFC. I write down the ph
one number. Tomorrow I’ll call and find out how much it’ll cost to be trained there.
I wake up in the morning and overhear Janice on the phone. She’s talking softly but loud enough I can hear her from around the corner. “He only has six months until he graduates. I’m okay with him staying here…I understand…I will speak to him when he wakes up…Okay, thank you for calling. Goodbye.” She hangs up and I walk out.
“Is everything okay?” I ask knowing the conversation had to have been about me since I’m the only one in the house graduating in six months.
“Your mom is out of jail.” She gives me a soft, sympathetic smile, one I’ve learned means something bad is about to come out of her mouth. “She was given the option for you to move in with her but—”
“She doesn’t want me?” I cut her off, asking.
“No, no, sweetie. It’s not that. She just doesn’t feel she can take care of you.” Take care of me…in other words, once again I’m a fucking burden. I’m an extra mouth to feed, an extra body to clothe. I nod in understanding then excuse myself to get ready for school.
Six months later, I graduate, and two days after that I’m standing on the doorstep of Cooper’s Fight Gym vowing that one day I’ll be able to take care of my mom. That one day she’ll no longer view me as a damned burden. One day I will find her and take care of her and I will make her smile again.
To add to your TBR: Takedown: A Fighting Love novel.
Coming July 28th 2018
To see exclusive teasers and excerpts, please join Nikki Ash’s Fight club!
Other books By Nikki Ash
All books can be read as standalones
The Fighting Series
Fighting for a Second Chance
Fighting with Faith
Fighting for Your Touch
Fighting for Your Love
Fighting ‘round the Christmas Tree: A Fighting Series Novella
Fighting Love novels
Tapping Out
Clinched
Takedown (Coming July 28th 2018)
Mob Romance
Bordello
Landry series Kindle World novel
Nate (A Landry series Kindle World single dad romance) Coming June 5th
Football Romance
The Pickup (Coming Fall 2018)
Acknowledgements
This is the eighth book I’ve written and I swear this never gets any easier. Since my first book, I’ve met so many people I want to thank. Many of them had absolutely nothing to do with writing this book, but everything to do with being there for me in different ways while this book got written. As always, I want to thank my children. They encourage and inspire me every single day. My father, who supports my love and passion for writing. Lisa, who keeps me grounded. Juliana, you took my images and vision and made this cover everything and more!! My beta readers and proofreaders: Krysten, Shawn, Ashley, Andrea, and Brittany. I couldn’t do this without you guys. Thank you for your honestly and support, and for taking time out of your busy lives to help make this book amazing. To my readers, THANK YOU! You are the reason I keep writing. To my readers in my Fight Club, thank you for making these books more than words. Your love and passion for my characters means the world to me. To the bloggers, who have given me a chance, thank you! And to everyone who shares and supports me, it means the world to me. Kristi Webster, your friendship is invaluable. And lastly, to my mom, who will never get to read a single one of my books. Thank you for fostering my love of reading. It’s because of you I ever even picked up a book.
If you or anyone you know has experienced any type of relationship/domestic abuse, please know you aren’t alone. You can contact the domestic violence twenty-four hours a day.
1-800-799-SAFE
http://www.thehotline.org