© 2018 Sheridan Anne.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover Design by: Sheridan Anne.
Photograph: Andrew Poplavsky
Editing by: Sheridan Anne
Dedication
To this beautiful little baby inside me. If not for you keeping me up all night, this book wouldn’t have been written quite as fast. I guess it’s still a mystery as to how much writing I’ll be able to do once you’re out, but here’s to hoping!
Introduction
Charli
My life has been a mess since the day my father died.
I’ve been beaten and abused, day in and day out until I ran.
I ran as far as I could and never looked back.
I was a broken shell of myself.
Until the sexy, broody man at Micky’s bar came in and saved me.
Xander
She’s like nothing I’d ever seen before with those baby blues and dark hair.
She is captivating and sexy and hell.
I’m going to make her mine.
Only, a good girl like that shouldn’t be messing around with a guy like me.
I’m the black sheep, my life is dangerous, unpredictable and wild.
She should stay away.
Far, far, away.
WARNING: Xander is a steamy romance with a HEA and NO CLIFFHANGER. It contains sexual content and coarse language and is recommended for mature readers. Please be aware that some scenes may cause stress for some readers.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
About the Author
Sneak Peek – Tank – Kings of Denver (Book 4)
Prologue
Xander
Ten years ago
“What are we doing here?” I ask my father as he gets out of the car.
“Grab your training bag,” he orders, sticking his head back in the car before slamming the door.
I reach into the back seat and do as I’m told before rushing out of the car and scurrying to catch up with my father. It doesn’t pay to be tardy with my dad.
We walk silently, side by side as he leads me inside the gym. I have no idea why we’re here. Aren’t gyms for adults who want to lose weight or turn themselves into big muscle men? I mean, it’s possible my dad had the sudden urge for a workout but then, he wouldn’t have brought me along.
I take a good look around as we head deeper inside the gym. The place is packed and I can guarantee, there are no other kids in here. Just me.
I take in the sights, the women on the treadmill, jogging with their headphones in, the big bulky men lifting weights that seem impossible to lift, the self-defence class which is taking a break. The place is awesome but it’s no place for me.
An older man with muscles for days approaches my father and gives me a strange look. I do my best to pay attention, after all, I wouldn’t want to make my father look bad because that never ends well.
“You must be Byron?” the older man asks, sticking his hand out for my father to shake.
“Indeed. Thank you for meeting me on such short notice,” my father replies in his ‘business’ tone.
“No problem at all. My name’s Rex,” he says before looking down at me. “You must be Xander?”
My eyes narrow curiously on the guy. How does he know who I am? My father’s sharp eyes cut to me with a warning and I straighten myself out. “Yes, sir. I’m Xander,” I say.
“Good,” my father cuts in as he checks his watch. “Now we’re all acquainted, he’s all yours. I’ll be back at seven to pick him up.”
What? Seven is three hours away. I didn’t just get my first job, did I? Nah, couldn’t be that, my family is loaded and I’m only eleven. Surely there is some kind of rule against eleven-year old’s working, right?
I’m still lost in thought trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing here when Rex pulls me out of my head. “Right, you’re with me,” he says as he starts walking away.
Once again, I find myself scrambling to catch up.
I follow him to a back office where he asks me to stand tall against a wall and spread my arms out. He starts writing numbers down and it takes me a while to realise he is taking my measurements. “Um, sir?” I ask. “What am I doing here?”
He looks up with narrowed eyes. “You don’t know?” he questions.
“No, sir,’ I respond.
He lets out a breath while a look of absolute astonishment comes over him. “First of all, cut this ‘sir’ bullshit,” he warns me. “The name’s Rex. Use it. Secondly, you’re here to train, in fact, you’ll be here every afternoon following school.”
“What?” I grunt, not very impressed.
Rex shrugs his shoulders. “Apparently, you’re some big Ice Hockey protégée and your father wants to ensure you stay that way.”
I can’t help but let my disappointment show. I should have known this had something to do with hockey. “Fine,” I sigh, it’s not like I have any other choice. My father will do anything to make sure I make it to the NHL, I should have seen this coming.
“You don’t seem too impressed,” he questions.
“Would you be? My friends were going to the movies this afternoon but I’m here training for a future in hockey,” I scoff.
“What’s with the tone?” he questions as he leans back on his desk and crosses his big arms over his chest. “You’re not keen about a future in hockey?”
“I mean, I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “I like to play.”
“But you don’t love it?”
I shake my head ever so slightly, feeling a strange betrayal settle in the pit of my stomach. Admitting after all these years that hockey isn’t the love of my life like my father expects, feels odd, wrong almost. “No, I don’t.”
“What are you interested in?” he asks.
I shrug my shoulders again. “I don’t know,” I grunt.
He considers me for a moment before standing up from his desk. “Alright, here’s the plan,” he says. “Whether you like it or not, you’re here every afternoon till seven. So, you’re going to take every class we offer here until you figure out what you want to do and then I’ll train you after classes with agility and strength to keep your father off my back.”
“Really?” I ask, starting to lighten up.
“Sure thing, kid,” he says, walking out to the gym. I follow behind and listen intently to the one person who has ever actually listened to me. Rex looks down at his watch then back to me. “The Martial Arts class starts in fifteen minutes. It’s an adult class but it’s going to have to do so go and get warmed up.”
I do exactly what I’ve been told and make my way deeper into the gym. I try out the treadmill, though I’m really not sure what I’m doing. I usually warm
up running outdoors but I guess I’m trying new things today.
Fifteen minutes later, I walk into the Martial Arts room and an hour later, I walk out feeling like all the pieces of my puzzle have finally fallen into place. It’s suddenly extremely clear that I have been wasting my time with Hockey.
Martial Arts is it for me and I know it with one hundred percent certainty.
Chapter 1
Xander
New year, new me. Yeah, fucking right! It’s my Junior year of college and my dick of a father has just pulled every damn string to get me transferred to the Denver University, just so I can be a part of the same hockey team that he was part of. How fucking sweet of him.
I get it though, he was a Dragons player, the captain in his senior year and got himself a one-way ticket into the NHL. I can’t blame him for wanting the same for me, the only problem is that any other option simply just isn’t an option. It’s get into the NHL just like my father did so he can show off how talented his son is and what a great job of raising me he did or suffer the consequences, which consists of being cut off, lose my trust fund, lose my living arrangements and pretty much lose everything I hold close to me. I’d be homeless, a bum, a nothing.
And what does my mother do about it? Jack fucking shit.
Great parents I have.
So, what do I do? I skate. Day in and day out. Though not to toot my own horn or anything, I’m pretty damn good, actually, apart from Jaxon, I’d be the best. Just the way my father ensured I would be. Hell, I was only eleven when he set me up with a damn Personal Trainer. But seriously? Who the fuck puts their eleven-year-old kid in personal training?
I’ve only been here in Denver a few weeks and I can already see it in Coach Harris’ eyes. He wants to offer me the role of Captain for next year, though obviously, it’s way too early to be thinking about that shit. If only that’s what I actually wanted.
Coach Harris knows exactly who I am and who my father is and I know without a doubt, he expects me to be just like him. The shining star, the golden boy, the kid who is going to lead the dragons to victory next year but if I get a say in it, it isn’t going to happen. It’s not who I am, not who I want to be.
My blades cut through the ice as we finish off our morning training session and I must admit, I’m already exhausted. Jaxon, this year’s captain has us up early every freaking morning running and then working out in a field before we head to classes or to our on-ice training sessions, not to mention, all the added gym time we have to be doing. My last team was nothing like this. We showed up for training, worked our asses off and went home. It’s no surprise Dad wanted me here, especially after the Dragon’s epic win last year.
Though, in all honesty, Jaxon is a great captain and I have no doubt we will be Champions come the end of the season. Coach and Jaxon together are a deadly team, it’s admirable really. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy but every player on this team, come their senior year will have the eyes of every scout across the country on them.
Being a part of this team sure has its perks though. Everywhere I go, whether it be to Micky’s, a club, a house or frat party, there is a line-up of chicks just wanting to get with me just for the bragging rights of being screwed by a Dragon’s player. Drinks are thrown my way, dudes want to be me while chicks want to be with me. No matter how the season goes, it’s going to be an epic year.
I hop off the ice, dripping with sweat as I make my way down to the locker room. “Good job, boys,” Jaxon says, clapping me on the back as he passes and takes his seat. We all murmur a ‘thanks’ as we get started on stripping off our Hockey gear.
Moments later, after throwing my skates into my bag, I grab a towel from my locker and head into the showers. I pull off my sweaty shirt and drop my pants before reaching in and turning the taps. I step straight into the cool water and instant relief comes over my sore muscles. My eyes close for a brief moment before I pull my shit together and get my ass out of there.
I grab my bag and head out of the locker room without a glance back. “Hey, kid,” I hear being called from behind me.
I turn and find Coach Harris jogging to catch up. “What’s up, Coach?” I ask as he finally catches up.
“Just wanted to check how you’re settling in?” he asks.
“Oh, fine, I guess,” I respond, wanting to cut the conversation short and get going.
“Good,” he says with a slight nod. “How’s your independent training going? I’ve noticed you don’t have many hours logged in the campus gym.”
Shit. I should have known he would have been checking up on this shit. “Yeah, about that, I actually prefer not to train in campus gyms,” I explain.
“Right,” he says narrowing his eyes on me suspiciously, “But the training is still getting done?”
“Yes, coach,” I nod.
I see the moment he decides to give me the benefit of the doubt, after all he has no reason to doubt me. If only he knew. “Alright, but if you start to slacken off on the ice, you’ll be back in the campus gym where the other boys can keep an eye on you.”
“Thanks, boss,” I say, giving him a tight smile.
His lips press together as he continues studying me. “Get out of here,” he finally says, dismissing me.
With pleasure. I tighten my hold on my bag and get my ass out of there before anyone else decides they want a moment of my time. I throw my bag into the back of my truck and get in.
I take myself home, to the place my Dad currently rents off the University for me. I push through the door, thankful for my Dad’s strict rules about not having roommates to distract me from my goal.
I immediately collapse on my bed and fall into a deep sleep. I wake a few hours later and head downstairs to fix myself some lunch before realising I’m almost late for my Business lecture.
I grab my things and dash out the door, only to sit through a deathly boring lecture. I return home not long after and head straight for my garage. I push through the door and enter into what I now consider my personal gym. My eyes lock onto the punching bag in the corner and a desperate need comes through me, there is nothing quite like throwing a good punch but I know I shouldn’t. I need to concentrate on hockey training.
I’ve always hated training by myself. I guess since my Dad set me up with a trainer as a kid, I’ve always relied on having someone there to push me harder so before I even get started on my session, I’m already out the door.
I get straight in my truck and head downtown in search of this one particular gym I’d overheard some losers talking about. My eyes scan up and down the streets and finally come to a rest on a beat down looking place with nothing but a sign above the door and pair of boxing gloves, declaring the place as Rebels Advocate.
I eye the place down, knowing this couldn’t possibly be the place I was thinking of but what the hell, I’m already here, I may as well check it out. I park my truck in the few available spaces out the front and make my way to the door.
I push my way inside and can’t help standing in the reception area looking completely dumbfounded as I take it all in. The place is filled with punching bags that are being used and abused, the sound of metal clashing together echoes around the large room as weights are pushed along bars and old school boxing rings line the back of the room where fighters grunt and groan as they try to land blows on one another.
Light filters through the windows, shining on the dust particles that float around the room, reminding me of all those old fight movies. It’s clear that this is a gym dedicated to producing MMA Fighters and I realise in an instant that this place is going to be home. I don’t care that it isn’t traditional for a hockey player to train here, this is where I belong.
I make my way deeper into the gym, my eyes lock on a fighter in the ring who looks like he has given his absolute all for his trainer. The kid climbs out of the ring and grabs his drink bottle before heading towards the bathroom.
“Can I help you?” His trainer asks as he climbs out of t
he ring.
“Yeah, what have I got to do to train here?” I ask.
The trainer straightens up as he narrows his eyes on me. I watch as his eyes lower to my shirt that declares me a player for the Denver Dragons. “Look, kid, I think you’re better off in the campus gym. This isn’t the place for you,” he says before dismissing me and starting to walk away.
“I think you’re wrong,” I tell him.
He stops in his tracks and turns back to look at me. “Look around, kid. We’re an MMA gym, we train fighters, not college kids looking for a step up in their hockey team.” I ignore his comments and make my way up into the ring. “What do you think you’re doing?” he questions.
I pull my shirt up over my head and look the guy in the eye. “Proving myself.”
He considers me for a moment before shrugging his shoulder and making his way back in the ring. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” he declares as he stands before me and gets himself into position.
The familiar adrenalin starts pumping through my body and it feels glorious, like welcoming home an old friend. We begin circling each other and I decide in order to prove myself, I need to make this quick and exciting.
I notice the few guys who were on the punching bags earlier have stopped to see what’s going on and it pushes me into action. My fist strikes out and I nail the guy on the shoulder, making it past his block by just milliseconds. The guy is fast, but no one is faster than me.
He immediately launches into a counter-attack as he strikes back but only manages to get a hit to my forearm as I block his advance. On and on it goes with a deadly smirk on my face. This guy is well matched to my skill level, however, he holds more strength while I’ve got the agility and speed.
I watch as he smirks at me, clearly impressed with what he’s seeing but obviously not wanting to give in. I push myself forward, knowing I can finish this. I deliver a swift uppercut followed by a combination of punches and kicks before I completely take him down. His chest to the floor with my knee firmly in his back and his right arm twisted behind him.
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