Kings of Denver - COMPLETE BOX SET 1-4

by Sheridan Anne

  I hop off the ice, dripping in 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 slack 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 realizing 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’s 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 one of 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 realize 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.

  As 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 the 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 in the shoulder, making it past his block by 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 upper cut 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.

  Moments later he taps out. “Alright,” he says. “I give in.”

  I get up off him and watch as he gets himself to his feet. He eyes me once again. “I wasn’t expecting that,” he says.

  “No shit,” I grunt.

  “What’s your name?” he asks as he grabs a towel and wipes down his face.

  “Xander Phillips,” I tell him.

  “I’m Cole. This is my gym, I own it with three of my friends, Caden, Luke and Jace,” he explains as he climbs out of the ring. I follow behind as he continues. “What’s your story, Xander?”

  I pull my shirt back over my head and follow him into what must be his office. I take in the room and notice his back wall is lined with photographs of himself in competition and some others which must be his students, all winners, of course. “I started training in MMA when I was a kid. My trainer passed a few years ago.”

  “So, what’s with the Ice Hockey then?”

  “Consider it a requirement of being my father’s son,” I explain.

  “Right, so I’m assuming he doesn’t know about this, then?” he asks as he gestures to the gym around him.

  “Nope and neither do any of my team. If I get caught fighting, I’m off the team and lose any chance of signing with the NHL.”

  “Well, that expl
ains why I’ve never seen you on the competition rounds. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t get the impression you’re really interested in the NHL,” he questions.

  “No, sir. I want to fight,” I tell him before explaining my father and his conditions a little further.

  He considers me for a moment. “You’re serious about fighting?”

  “I am,” I tell him, letting him see just how serious I am.

  “Look, I think you’re good. One of the best I’ve seen come through that door in a while and with the right training, I think you could go all the way,” Cole says. “So, competing publicly isn’t an option. What If there was another way?” he asks with an excited gleam in his eye.

  “What do you mean another way?”

  “Ever heard of the Underground? New season starts in a few weeks.”

  Holy shit. Of course, I’d heard of the Underground. You can earn a shit load of money, but it’s dangerous and not to mention illegal. Hardly any rules. It’s basically an illegal fighting competition where anything can and does go wrong. It’s complete with drugs, alcohol, betting, dirty money, mob bosses and of course there’s always the risk of death for the fighters. All it takes is one wrong punch to the head and it’s lights out.

  If I fought in the Underground and actually succeeded, I’d be raking it in, it would be dirty money but it’s all the same to me. That money would be just what I need to get out from under my father’s umbrella. I could quit the team, get my own place without relying on my father, start competing professionally and eventually buy my own gym. Though, there’s always the risk of getting caught early on and getting kicked off the team only to be left with nothing.

  It would be a massive risk, extremely dangerous and incredibly stupid, but in the end, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

  A grin creeps over my face as I look Cole in the eye. “I’m in.”

  Chapter 2

  Charli

  The rain pours down as I rush out the front door in the middle of the night with my suitcase dragging behind me. I try my best to close the door quietly in fear of waking her, but I should know better, with all the alcohol in her system, not even a hurricane could disrupt her sleep. I have no idea where I’m going to go, all I know is that I need to leave, to go somewhere she will never find me again.

  I run down the walkway as the rain pours down, drenching my clothes instantly. I bypass the mailbox and turn onto the concrete path. I hurry past her old beat up car and consider climbing in and hotwiring it, just like my daddy had taught me before he passed but I know that will only give her yet another reason to come after me, and let’s face it, my driving skills are well… non existent.

  My dark hair sticks to the side of my face as I turn my eyes down, trying my best to concentrate on the pathway before me while shielding my eyes from the heavy rain. I dodge massive puddles as the streetlights flicker and make it nearly impossible to see where I’m going.

  I continue my way down the path, heading towards the city, impatiently waiting for a car to come by that I can flag down. I honestly doubt anyone will be driving past this late at night, especially in this ridiculous storm. They would have to be as stupid as me to be out tonight.

  I pick up my pace as the cold starts to seep through my clothes and chill me to the bone. My hands shiver and shake while my teeth begin to chatter. A lump forms in my throat as I realize what a shitty situation I’ve just gotten myself into, but I had no other choice. It was now or never.

  What the hell am I going to do? I have no family, no friends, nowhere to go. It’s most likely going to be my first night sleeping on the streets and I mentally scold myself for being so stupid. I should have waited for morning or at least until the storm had passed, but who knows what might have happened had she woken before I had a chance to leave.

  I reach the peak of a hill and look up. I must have been out here for hours, one, two, maybe three? Who knows? My feet are aching, my body is violently shaking from the cold and my nose is red raw from my constant sniffling.

  As my eyes rise on top of the hill, I finally see the glow coming from the city lights below and tears fill my eyes. I’m nearly there. I can do this. I will not give up. My daddy didn’t raise a quitter.

  I pick up my pace, despite my aching feet and push myself forward. I make my way down the hill and continue on for another thirty minutes or so, making sure to keep my eyes open for somewhere to crash for the night, but come up blank.

  The city streets finally appear before me and I’m hit with a wave of relief. She won’t find me here. It’s too busy. She always said she hated the city as she could never navigate her way around.

  I make my way through the streets, looking for any ‘help wanted’ signs in shop windows or any adverts for places to stay that I could check out come morning, but there’s nothing. Nada. Zilch.

  My feet begin dragging as my heavy eyes beg for sleep and I know I need to stop. I look up and down the streets desperately looking for somewhere to crash for the night, but it’s so late that everything is closed. I find some sheltered steps that lead up to a storefront and I sit down, relieved to finally be out of the rain, though the shelter doesn’t do anything for the chill in my bones.

  I pull my suitcase up beside me and go about searching for another jumper to pull on, only with all the rain and puddles I’ve put my suitcase through, the clothes inside are just as wet as I am.

  A sob rips itself from my throat. I’m in serious trouble here. I just need to make it through the night and I’ll be ok in the morning. I can sort it all out then.

  I drop my face into my hands and rest them on my knees as the tears stream from my eyes. I try my best to concentrate on my breathing to get myself under control. I listen to the sound of the rain coming down around me and it’s not long before calmness is there.

  “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out here all by yourself?” A voice says from above me.

  My head snaps up as my heart leaps out of my chest. A man stands on the step below me, but still manages to tower over me. With the sound of the heavy rain pelting down around me, I hadn’t noticed him sneaking up. Something dark lingers in his eye as he looks me up and down, licking his lip. The intention crystal clear in his dead eyes.

  No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

  The man begins to reach for me and I snap to my feet with a speed I didn’t realize I was capable of. He smirks at my movement and I realize he’s probably getting off on my fear. He lifts his foot to step up to the same step as me. “That’s more like it, baby,” he slurs, bending to place a bottle of rum on the step before working on his belt buckle.

  Oh, fuck no.

  My fist slams out and I punch the guy in the face, but my lack of energy and strength only gives him a slight wobble and makes him angry. I’m pretty sure I might have broken a bone in my hand, but I don’t have time to dwell on it. He reaches out for me and I take a quick step back out of his grasp, but he keeps coming forward.

  I have to get out of here, but he’s blocking my way. So, I do what any sane woman would do in my situation. I knee the fucker in the balls as hard as I can. He doubles over and groans out. “You’re going to pay for that, you little bitch,” he promises.

  My heart continues beating out of my chest, but I know this is going to be my only opportunity to get out of here before he recovers.

  I lean back on the railing and grab it with both hands before using it to propel both my legs up into the air and kick him hard in the chest with every ounce of strength I possess. The fucker gasps as he’s thrown backward and falls down the stairs. He lands on the walkway with a loud thud as the water on the pavement splashes up around him. I dash down the stairs not wasting a single second as I bolt down the pathway, leaving the very last pieces of my belongings behind.

  I don’t look back so I have absolutely no idea if he’s following me or not, I just keep running, dashing through walkways and alleys. My blood pumps through my veins so loudly that I can no l
onger hear the sound of the rain coming down around me.

  I spot what looks like a bar, but in the dark, I can’t really tell. There’s a light on inside and it’s clear the place is closed for the night, but I don’t care. I continue running right up until I’m standing at the locked front door.

  I raise my fists and desperately bash on the door with what little energy I have left. “Help,” I scream over and over again with tears streaming down my face. “Please, someone, help me.”

  I hear the sounds on the other side of the door telling me that someone is fiddling with the lock. The door is pulled open and I practically fall inside. “What the hell’s going on out here?” an old man grumbles.

  I ignore him as I rush inside and hastily close the door behind me. I lean up against the closed door and shut my eyes as I desperately try to catch my breath. I feel the tears still streaming down my face and I do my best to wipe them away, but after a moment, I realize they’re here to stay.

  “My God, child. What the hell is going on?” the man demands, repeating his question.

  I open my eyes and finally take a moment to take him in. He’s sort of a younger version of Santa Claus and instantly makes me feel at ease. “I’m so sorry,” I begin to stutter out through my ragged breaths. “I just... I didn’t have… There was a man… and he…. he…” A big sob rips through me once again and the man stares at me blankly for a short moment.

  “Come on,” he finally says, walking over to the bar and pulling out a chair for me to take a seat. I do as I’m told as he makes his way behind the bar and pulls out a box of tissues and places it beside me. I greedily pull out a few tissues and get to work sorting myself out.

  The man grabs a shot glass and places it down in front of him before grabbing a bottle of vodka and filling it up. He pushes it in front of me before pulling it back. “Wait, are you 21?” he quickly asks.