Caged Love: MMA Contemporary Suspense (Book Two)

by Thunderbolt, Liberty

  The night slipped away, and for at least a few minutes as he listened to the bartender and the man talk about cagefighting, so did his troubles. Harold paid for his last beer and headed for the door. He hoped he didn’t see any cops on his way home. A DUI would only add to his troubles.

  No cops, but only six hours of restless sleep. Last night’s foray at Marshall’s left Harold with a pounding hangover. He’d worked all morning with the incessant throbbing. It improved some after lunch, but lingered. More beer seemed the best cure. Usually he drank wine, but beer appeared to offer an effective cure for a lot of things. Besides it wouldn’t really look manly to sit on his boat and drink wine, so he tossed his first empty can aside and pulled another from the wet plastic bag. He didn’t have an ice chest so he just shoved the beer and ice into a plastic sack. It leaked, he didn’t care.

  He sipped on it and rocked as he watched people come and go. Couples, families, happy people enjoying the Nevada sun and a day of fun. He thought, I used to be one of those people, now look at me alone and a drunk.

  Then he realized he wasn’t alone. He didn’t see, but perceived the man standing on the pier, his left hand on the cruiser’s starboard quarter. Harold was in mid-drink, annoyed he turned to face the intruder but before he unleashed his chastising outburst he recognized the man in the light blue Polo shirt. When it registered in his brain that he was here, in Harold’s last haven, he almost spit out his beer, but swallowed hard and it sank to his stomach right along with his heart.

  “What do you want, Mr. Smith? Why are you at my boat? How’d you even know I was here?”

  “A lot of questions and in an improper tone for a man in your position, don’t you think?”

  Harold quickly attempted to humble himself despite being pissed off.“I’m...I’m sorry Mr. Smith. You surprised me. That’s all.”

  “And you surprise me Mr. Winstatt. I believe you still owe me a pretty good chunk of change, but you don’t seem to be too interested in paying it.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m busting my ass. I’m paying you every chance I get.”

  “Again with the tone Mr. Winstatt. Please stop, I don’t appreciate it and won’t accept any more hasty apologies. Do you consider drinking beer all night at that bar on Nellis and knocking off early to sit on your boat busting your ass? And most men in your position would not have a boat to sit on anymore”

  “How do you know all this about me? Are you following me?”

  “Not that you are exactly important, but it is my job to know where my money is.”

  Harold was unsettled, to think that somebody was keeping tabs on him. “Look Mr. Smith, I’m considering selling the boat, but with what I owe it will most likely only net maybe a few thousand dollars. If I’m lucky ten or fifteen.”

  “An additional ten thousand dollars might turn out to be pretty important for you don’t you think?”

  Before Harold could answer Mr. Smith shoved his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants and walked away. Harold watched him go, but couldn’t see that underneath the man’s wavy gray hair he was smiling.

  It was just dumb luck that he bumped into Harold out here. Obviously he checked up on him every now and then, as he does with all his loser clients, to ensure he didn’t try to skip out, but not all the time. He didn’t exactly have the same resources as the FBI. He was spending the afternoon on the lake with a friend who just happened to also have a boat docked at the Lake Mead Marina. Come to think of it, maybe he’d like to have a boat in this very marina too.

  Chapter 13

  The two men were exhausted, slick with sweat, beat up, but determined. For the last hour they had rolled on the mat practicing jiu jitsu. For sure it was just one hour in a long succession of painfully relentless hours. Each came and went trying its best to break the fighters. When one failed another took its place. Day in and day out the men battled the monotonous march of time.

  Over the last few minutes they were drilling a succession of movements that led to a submission called an Anaconda choke. Bretten finished the move by grasping his right arm with his left and squeezing and sinking toward the mat. The pressure was too much and Rodrigo tapped out.

  “How was it that time? Was the transition fast enough?”

  “Yeah definitely, I think you could lock in the choke a little tighter. It wasn’t loose, but there was a little room.”

  “Okay, let’s break for a couple of minutes and then get after it again.”

  “Sounds good, I need a drink.”

  The men recovered and talked about their upcoming fights.

  “It’s kind of cool we are going to be on the same card again,” Bretten said.

  “Yep, I guess that happens often when you have the same agent.”

  “Probably so, I still can’t get over how fast Bear got us set up with the fights.”

  “That even surprised me. I mean you can always find a match if you want, but I think the Champions card is a perfect fit for both of us, especially when considering our opponents.”

  “Speaking of them, I bet they are training hard right now so let’s get back to it.”

  “I’m ready bro.”

  Their new agent perhaps carried himself in a sloth-like manner, but Bear had moved fast. Only a day after Bretten and Rodrigo signed, he called, “Guys I wanted both of you on the phone. It looks like I’ve got you on an upcoming card at Champions of the Cage.”

  He intelligently discussed their probable opponents and explained why he thought they’d be good match ups.

  “Look, I know Champions isn’t the biggest promotion,” he’d said. “But let’s get a couple more wins under your belts and then start pushing for the UCC.”

  Neither man could argue, and ran it by Whit. “Hell yeah, you’re fighters so you might as well do what you get paid for. Besides I’ve seen both of those kids fight and you two match up with them well.”

  Finally the training session came to an end. It was the last of a day that involved squats, medicine ball throws, sled dragging, heavy bag work, takedowns and takedown defenses, and finally jiu jitsu.

  They dragged themselves out of the gym and across the alley. They drank protein shakes, ate healthy foods, filled out their notebooks and lounged or showered.

  Bretten and Brooke found themselves alone in the kitchen. With each passing day they’d become closer. He was obviously attracted to her and she felt the same about him. But there was something about her, something distant and under the surface that held her back. It was as if she had a hard time trusting.

  They talked about their training and their upcoming fights. Brooke’s was slated for a much bigger stage, UCC 130 Vegas Violence. And when she fought Latisha Jones it would be the first ever female fight on the main card of a United Cagefighting Championship event. Even though it was just announced and still in the distant future, it was already garnering a little bit of attention.

  Finally, Bretten said, “You know we haven’t done anything to break up the routine, I need to get out of here. You wanna go bowling or play putt-putt or something? Like we all did when we went to the movies a while back. I mean, but just the two of us.”

  “I could go for some putt-putt,” Brook said. “The place on Garland Road has batting cages too. You can show me your baseball swing. But let’s not call it a date...”

  “I understand, no date. Maybe sometime you’ll change your mind though.”

  “Maybe,” she replied.

  Chapter 14

  The sun met the horizon and the wind ebbed and flowed from the south. Brooke stood at the first hole and watched Bretten yielding a beat up putter as he pulled up his sleeves revealing muscular forearms. She wore tight jeans and a long sleeve UCC shirt. The two looked like any other couple on a first date, except Brooke was certain to make sure this was nothing more than a mini-vacation for two fighters, not a date.

  Earlier Brooke had wanted to start out at the batting cages. “Come on, I want to see if you can still hit.”

  “No,
not yet, there are shadows in the cage,” Bretten said. “Let’s play putt-putt first. Wait until the sun goes down, then the lighting will be better for hitting.”

  “Boy, you’re intense about this baseball thing aren’t you?”

  Bretten had jumped one hurdle when his Chrysler fired right up after sitting in the alley for so long, but now he’d have to contend with hitting a baseball, and it was a skill that only stayed sharp with practice.

  The two settled into an easy rhythm and really enjoyed each other’s company.

  Bretten worried he’d make a fool of himself and Brooke was simply worried. Since her childhood she hadn’t let herself have feelings for anyone. Now as she watched him swing the putter and smile with ease she felt herself falling for him more and more.

  On the seventh hole she struggled to line up a shot through the windmill tunnel. She leaned to her right and tried to read the break. Bretten stepped in beside her. He leaned to his left to offer his two cents. Both noticed that their cheeks were only inches apart.

  Bretten placed his hand on the small of her back. “I think you should aim to the right...” his words trailed off.

  “You think so,” she said and turned toward him.

  The anxiousness of a fight paled in comparison to this moment. The sun met the earth in the west. The wind ebbed, it seemed in an effort to offer its approval. He leaned in to kiss her. She started to turn, but then stopped, her big green eyes staring up at him.

  His lips found hers and they pressed them together like they had done in the boxing ring and then briefly on the couch. She parted her lips slightly, his tongue found her bottom lip and they kissed deeply. His right hand slid up to her neck and he caressed. She sighed softly and her hands traced up and down his muscular stomach.

  Bretten was desperate for her. He wanted her so badly. He needed her.

  He dropped his putter and his left hand ran along the small of her back. She sighed again before breaking away. The look in her eyes was full of lust and confusion.

  “You’re driving me crazy, Bretten Maris.”

  “I honestly couldn’t help myself. I just...” He struggled for words as a stray strand of hair caught on her eyelash. She tilted her head and the hair fell away. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  He then stepped back so she could take her putt.

  He lined up his next putt and she caught herself looking at the cleft in the center of his chest. She also thought of how his eyes seemed in a perpetual smile and looked at her with a certain depth. Then she reminded herself that there was no fucking way she was getting involved with him, even though she wanted him so badly.

  The game ended and they made their way to the batting cages. It was the first time he’d held a bat since the World Series, but he hit every ball. His confidence grew with each swing and the bat in his hand felt like an old friend.

  It was Brooke’s turn. He gave her pointers and she edged to the plate.

  “Okay, I think I have it now. Keep my eye on the ball, throw the bat and squish the bug, right?”

  Bretten grinned. “Something like that.Just look for the ba—”

  With a clang and a thump the ball shot out of the pitching machine. Brooke never took the bat off her shoulders. “Damn, that was fast. Did you speed it up?”

  “No...get ready, here comes another one.”

  This time she swung and turned a complete circle.

  “Remember; keep your eyes on the ball, easy swing, take the bat straight to the ball.”

  She foul tipped the next pitch and let out an inadvertent squeal.

  “Good, now swing a little earlier.”

  She made solid contact with the next offering. “How you like them apples, Maris?”

  Bretten laughed and shook his head. She hit the rest of the pitches, each one a little harder than the last.

  They ran out of tokens and left the cages for a nice trail. They walked along between the golf driving range and the clangs and thumps of the pitching machines, into the dimly lit night.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened in your past Brooke? The long story.”

  She considered her response, considered telling him it was none of his business. Instead, she said, “I lost my parents when I was young. Then I lived with Tristan’s dad, Scott. He saved me, but he also tried to lock me away from the rest of the world. That’s probably the reason why I fight.”

  “Lost your parents, how?”

  “It’s been a fun night, Bretten. I’d rather not talk about my past now, maybe another time.”

  He nodded, then reached over and slid his hand into hers. She held it without pulling away.

  Chapter 15

  The fighters gathered as Doc prepared to dispense another helping of wisdom. “Tension sits on the air in this gym. It seeps around the heavy bags, grazes over the wrestling mat, slinks through the boxing ring and pours between the mesh of the cage. It’s pervasive because it’s born from each and every one of you.”

  He paused and looked around the group. They were about to embark on another hard day of training. The tension of which he spoke was in constant rise because so many of them had fights in the near future. “Pure tenacity, day in and day out, I see it from each of you. And I believe you approach training in this fashion because you recognize you are in a perpetual state of incompleteness.”

  “Shoot Doc, I’m a hundred percent complete,” Bobby Newcomb said.

  “If you call that looping right hand of yours complete then there isn’t much to you big man,” Whit said.

  The group laughed and Doc went on, “With each day you strive to narrow the gap, to grow more complete. It has to be this way because your destination is so unforgiving. Your opponents, the cage, the fans, none of them care if you are unprepared. In fact if you are ill-equipped it angers them because you cheapen the arena, take away from the significance of the fight. No pity is going to be offered to anybody who takes this route.”

  “So you are telling us we’d better keep working our asses off,” Darnell Woods said.

  “Yes, I know it’s hard and Whit knows it’s hard, but it’s the life you chose so you might as well live it to the best of your ability.”

  The fighters nodded in agreement. Tristan Holmes rolled his eyes. He was sick of hearing this kind of shit.

  Before they broke to train, Whit added, “The good thing about the heightened tension, the daily struggles, is that they make us that much closer. We are all in this together. Each and every minute be unrelenting, you never know which technique you drill today will lead to victory in the cage tomorrow.”

  Doc, Whit, and a couple other trainers conferred over charts and set up equipment for the first session. The fighters got down to their own business and went through warm ups consisting of power skips, high knees, hops, rolls, jumps, and slides to prepare the muscles for action.

  One by one they slowly built up a sweat and the group began to feed off each other. First Newcomb, the self-prescribed leader, roared, “No pity for us, gotta work hard. We know what it means to fight.”

  Another voice piped up, “Gotta work today, win tomorrow.”

  Bretten stood next to Tristan as they prepared to do their set of walking lunges and heard him say to himself, “Bunch of self-important stupid pricks.”

  Bretten glanced his way but didn’t say anything as Tristan began his lunges.

  After twenty minutes warm blood coursed through their veins. The next ten minutes was spent in a variety of awkward stretching positions designed to make each fighter appropriately flexible.

  Finally, the men and women spread out to engage in their scheduled training. Bretten stayed on the wrestling mat with a handful of others. For the next thirty minutes their task was jiu jitsu. They’d grapple with each other while searching for an opening here, leverage there, so they could twist a joint or cut off their partner’s blood supply forcing him to tap.

  Bretten and Tristan partnered because they were the same weight. Bretten didn’t exa
ctly like Tristan, especially after the threat at the house, but he didn’t have serious animosity towards him. He was kind of an asshole to Rodrigo in Korea, but Bretten wrote that off as a case of arrogance. After all, by Rodrigo’s own admission Tristan whipped him pretty bad. But as they prepared to get after it Bretten sensed a loathing in Tristan’s eyes. He remembered his statement moments ago, but did not have time to consider it. Whit blew the whistle and the men grappled.

  The rest of the gym was alive with action, but neither was aware of it. Each man’s focus shifted to only what mattered in order to earn a submission from the other.

  Whit offered instructions. “Right leg over...push your hips up.”

  The men grappled more and Whit offered more advice. “Watch the arm...look for the sweep...hook the leg.”

  It continued for a few minutes then Whit blew the whistle. Positions were changed and the action re-started.

  Bretten was on the bottom and went for a triangle choke with his legs. Tristan postured up making the choke impossible, but Bretten snatched Tristan’s wrist, shifted his legs and sunk in a beautiful armbar. Tristan tapped and sat back frustrated.

  “Nice work Maris,” Whit said. “Great transition, always look for what’s next.”

  The two restarted and only thirty seconds later Tristan found himself in another predicament. The two scrambled and Bretten maneuvered into a perfect heel hook, locking up Tristan’s knee and ankle and twisting on the foot. Again he was forced to tap and Bretten let go of the submission quickly because it can be so dangerous to the knee.

  “That’s bullshit.” Tristan mumbled.

  Both men rolled to a seated position to restart and Whit said, “Another beautiful transition Maris, be careful with the heel hooks though. Come on Holmes either Bretten is moving fast or you are real sluggish.”

  Now he saw the loathing in Tristan’s eyes as they were lit with fire. Whit repeated himself. “You seem sluggish Tristan. Let’s go, you’ve gotta put in the time.”