Love TKO

by Selene Chardou

  Mr. Jackson dragged from his cigar and the expensive, aromatic smell permeated the whole room as he exhaled. “As long as you pass your health inspection, yes, the job is yours. Until your twenty-eighth birthday. I do plan for you to keep that promise, Chiara.”

  I smiled until my cheeks hurt as tears of happiness ran down my face. “Don’t worry, I will! I promise you.”

  Torin

  TORIN’S FIGHT AGAINST Constanzio Rapelli went off without a hitch.

  He was determined to win as he faced off against a fighter that only weighed a pound more than he did with his hands wrapped, barefoot and in a pair of Kelly-green shorts to represent Ireland. He knew what he had to do to beat the born-and-bred Bostonian who was one hundred percent Italian to his one hundred percent Irish.

  The two men shadowboxed for several pain staking moments before Torin swung a right hook, which landed on Rapelli’s jaw and followed this movement with a swift kick to the battered man’s ribs with his left leg. It wasn’t enough to do major damage or break bones but it would leave a hell of a bruise. He then used his fists to pummel Rapelli’s six-pack and that had been his only mistake for the night.

  It cost him with a knee to the left shoulder before Rapelli knocked him on the side of his ribs with a tough right hook.

  Torin’s breathing became labored but he knew if he could just stay in the moment, he would beat this bastard.

  The three rounds felt like torture in between rest periods when his trainer instructed him what he’d done wrong and what he should be doing to win the match.

  He merely nodded and replied, “I’m on it.”

  The last round lasted less than three minutes as Torin worked his magic, aimed his fists precisely and ultimately ended up knocking out Rapelli.

  The crowd went wild and shouted, “Duffy! Duffy! Duffy!” as he was pronounced the winner.

  He was sore all over but he’d get over it. Hell, he’d taken worse beatings from his father as a kid. It was no big deal. Bruises healed and there was nothing a bottle of Irish whiskey couldn’t numb to make the pain go away.

  Torin took an extra-long shower and emerged in a black track suit. His face had a few bruises on it but his ice-blue eyes were still as compelling as ever. A Roman nose, which had never been broken, complimented etched cheekbones, a high forehead, a manly jawline that was in perfect proportion to his face, and a perfect mouth that the women certainly found appealing and kissable.

  At exactly six feet, two inches and one hundred and ninety pounds, he was lean and in perfect shape. He would have liked to body-build until he reached two hundred but his coach was adamant he stay the weight he was in because it was one of the most perfect categories in MMA fighting. It was the weight of champions, UFC champions, and that was the ultimate goal. The end game.

  Torin was intent on becoming a UFC champion because with that title, it would erase all the bullshit and the horror of his childhood. In a family that had never produced anything but drunks and nobodies who liked to beat their wives and get pissed with their friends, he would be somebody.

  He could go back and rescue his younger siblings: Kieran, who was the spitting image of him and wanted to be a champion in MMA as much as his older brother. Devin, the innocent one who wanted nothing more than love and affection but received neither. Fiona, his cousin, who’d had it so hard and it would only be a matter of time before she fell apart; her mother was dead at the hands of her father, and she was being raised in the Duffy household like their sister. Seamus, Fiona’s brother, and the one cousin he would do anything for because he loved him with all his heart.

  So far, Shane, the eldest, was the only one who’d escaped the family completely. He’d immigrated to America, took the tests and joined the Navy. It was there the U.S. government had seen potential in him and took him into the coveted Navy SEALs program. Shane could handle anything they threw at him; he’d received it the worst as a child and knew how to survive.

  Torin’s older brother was now a Navy SEAL and where he was in the world, was anyone’s guess. The Afghanistan invasion and the Iraq War were both being fought at the moment and he could be anywhere—Central Asia or the Middle East. Torin never heard from him except a random email here or there but he always sent his love and made him promise they would rescue their siblings from that hellhole in Belfast whenever it became possible for them to do so.

  His coach startled him out of his contemplation.

  Old Joseph Wasserman might not have seemed the ideal coach for a tough as nails Irishman but he and the Jewish guy got along wonderfully. Wasserman had saved him from a life of street fighting and falling down the same path as his no-good old man. He loved him like a grandfather and the feeling was mutual.

  “Duffy,” Wasserman began in his thick Bostonian accent, “I want you to meet a friend of mine. This here is Neil Mahoney, one of the best goddamned trainers I’ve ever met…and had the opportunity to train. Neil, this is Torin Duffy.”

  He was taken aback for a moment. Why was Wasserman trying to get rid of him? They’d won the fight and although the purse hadn’t been massive, it was adequate enough.

  Torin studied Neil. He was middle-aged and a damned sight younger than Wasserman. He was also Irish as a paddy’s pig. Dirty blond hair, the clearest blue-gray eyes, a nose that’d obviously been broken once or twice and rugged looks. The man had to be at least six-four and stood at a solid two hundred pounds.

  He held out his hand towards Torin who shook it, albeit reluctantly. “Listen, I don’t want to appear ungrateful but…why are you here, Mr. Mahoney? I’ve been with Wasserman for almost two years and I’m quite happy with him.”

  Wasserman sighed. “I love you like a son, you know that, Torin? I can’t get you to Las Vegas though and Neil here—he has a gym set up in the heart of Vegas. He trains all types—welterweights, heavyweights, and even mixed martial artists. He can take you to the UFC and ultimately make you a champion.”

  The dim bulb finally grew bright in Torin’s head and he wondered if he was losing his touch.

  “Mr. Mahoney, it’s nice to meet you. I didn’t realize you’d come all the way from Las Vegas to see me—”

  “Are you playin’ around with me, kid? You’re a legend. Twenty-one years old and already, you’re goin’ places. I just wanna help you get there.”

  Torin smiled, an expression he often didn’t do. “Then I want you to help me get there, sir.”

  Part One

  Fighting To Win

  The Present

  Chapter One

  Torin

  “TIME!” NEIL CALLED out.

  Torin stopped sparring with his partner as Neil’s gorgeous daughter, Honor, walked over, and handed him a clean hand towel and a bottle of water.

  That’s all he could do was look at Honor with her olive-skin, intriguing hazel-green eyes and killer body. She was spoken for and had been since he’d arrived ten years before.

  Her husband might have fallen from grace and currently worked his way back up through the circuits but she was Kurt Decker’s through and through. He was also hers and no one with half a brain knew they would ever be torn apart.

  Torin crawled out of the ring and sat down on a stool in front of Neil’s beat up desk. “How’d I do?”

  “Well, I’m not worried about you makin’ it into the championship if that is what you’re askin’. That’s a given.”

  He breathed hard and looked down at the cement ground before he looked up again. “We’ve been there, done that, Neil. I don’t want to just make it; I want to win the championship.”

  “And you will but good things come to those who wait, Torin. Stop being so damn ambitious—look around, and smell the roses. Concentrate on what you have accomplished,” Neil replied in an easy-going manner.

  “Like what?”

  “Well, you managed to get Devin, Fiona, Seamus and Kieran out of that hellhole in Belfast. Your brother is a great fighter and he’s gonna be like you one day. He’s got the skills and
he’s determined but he has one thing you sorely lack, and that’s patience. The championship is yours to have but you have to prepare and you have to know that not everything is gonna be easy.”

  Torin sighed, and began to strip the fighting tape off his hands. “I lack patience, Neil, because I’ve been to the championships and I never made it past the semifinals. I know I’m good but I just wonder if it’s ever gonna happen. I’m almost thirty-one—I’m not gettin’ any younger and every time I’m injured, it takes my body longer to heal. I’m not that same young buck I was when you found me.”

  “Stop aiming so high, and look at each fight as a stepping stone to the championship. You haven’t gotten further than the semifinals because you’re always looking ahead and not paying attention to what—or should I say who—is right in front of ya. If you think about the championship and the different rounds you have to go through that way, you’ll go all the way, understand me?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just…” he trailed off and his voice became a whisper. “I’m so scared my time has come and gone. I’m too old and it’s not gonna happen. It shoulda happened when I was twenty-eight or twenty-nine, not in my fuckin’ thirties. I’m feelin’ the weight of age and it scares the shit outta me.”

  Neil’s steel blue eyes held a look of determination. “As long as I believe in you, son, you’re not gonna give up. There is no set age for this shit to happen. It goes down when it’s your time and now, it is indeed your shot. Your chance at glory. Even if you don’t win, you live a very comfortable life. You have a lovely home in Summerlin and you’ve got money in your bank account. You’ve made good money off of fighting and you will retire a man who will never have to work again.

  “Stop focusing on what you don’t got, son, and start focusin’ on what you do got. I can tell you it’s more than ninety percent of the men trainin’ in this room will ever get. You don’t need the championship title to define you as a champion, you’re already one. Just remember that.”

  His coach stood, patted him on the shoulder and left the room.

  Torin sat there, alone with his thoughts and knew he would never feel complete until a UFC Championship Trophy decorated his fireplace.

  TORIN TRAINED FOR another hour, sparring with his brother, Kieran, before they both quit, equally covered in sweat. His heart thundered in his chest as he slowly climbed out of the ring.

  Though they were both blond, Torin’s hair was flaxen to his younger brother’s golden hair and his eyes were a deep cerulean blue.

  “Hey, I got a surprise for you. Go take a shower, get dressed and meet me outside in thirty minutes.”

  Torin glared at his younger brother and shook his head in disgust. “Christ, Kieran. I’m through with you and you’re fucking surprises. I just wanna go home and chill out tonight with a fine bottle of Irish whiskey that is calling my name, and an action film—”

  “Bro, you can do that anytime. Trust me, you don’t want to miss this.” Kieran smiled devilishly and hopped out of the ring before he strolled toward the locker room.

  Torin loved his brother but sometimes he got on his left nut. He didn’t want to be bothered with a woman; if he wanted one, he could have one and lately, all his women had been one night stands.

  They were readily available in a city like Vegas, gorgeous and disposable. They usually happened to be cocktail waitresses, strippers or the like and were used to easy relationships. Like him, they were tough cookies who’d often suffered hard knocks in life and weren’t looking for anything more permanent making it a perfect arrangement for everyone involved.

  He turned on the shower and quickly rinsed the smell of sweat from his body before he soaped himself and rinsed off, repeated it again and then cut the water off. He quickly dried off, brushed his teeth and styled his hair before he spritzed himself with a scent by Christian Dior and put on a pair of black jeans that hugged his ass just right without being too tight or too loose and a black silk shirt that buttoned down the front.

  Torin preferred black outside the ring and even though the summers in Vegas were brutal, he found himself wearing the color more often than not. It complimented his naturally fair complexion and arctic blue eyes. Women were drawn to him and his deceptively good looks because despite his angelic appearance, there was something about him that radiated sex appeal, strength and danger. He was definitely a product that was not good for a certain type of woman’s health, and therefore, he went out of his way to avoid the innocent types who would obviously claim to want something casual while wanting something more. Then, when they were left with broken hearts, they’d blame him because he was unable to reciprocate the feelings they developed for him.

  Torin managed to forget about all of the excess bullshit maintaining a functioning relationship entailed as he left the gym and met his brother outside. The gym itself was just several miles from the Strip but being in Vegas proper, it was easy to forget he actually lived in the City of Sin until he ventured down to Las Vegas Boulevard. Once there, the extreme overload of bright lights from the casinos, loud thumping bass of dance clubs mixed with advertisement on oversized billboards, tourists, and traffic, the whole experience brought him back to his reality.

  His brother pulled up in his bright red Cadillac Escalade Hybrid. He opened the door and climbed inside the passenger seat, the sound of DJ Khaled’s “I’m On One” turned up at a reasonably high level.

  Kieran turned the sound down a bit after Torin closed the car door and he took off speeding.

  “Slow down,” Torin remarked as his brother began to speed along Sahara Boulevard. “The last thing you need is another ticket.”

  “Christ, brother, you sound like Tara. I’ve been driving a long time and I can take care of meself.”

  Neither sibling usually used any of their old Irish slang when they spoke but sometimes they fell back into it when they were together.

  All the Duffy siblings viewed America as the place where one could start over and therefore, they’d become as American as possible as quickly as they could. It had nothing to do with them being ashamed of their heritage but a certain family, which they’d come from and would—for all intents and purposes, including their own sanity—like to forget.

  Using American slang and words was just a natural psychological progression. Most people assumed Torin had grown up in Boston, his accent was so thick, until he explained how he’d spent his late teens and early twenties in the city. He’d purposely took classes to lose his Irish accent as expeditiously as he could and thought of the city as his second home as opposed to Belfast.

  “Yeah, I know you can take care of yourself but you also know you’re my little brother. I have absolutely no idea what you have in store for us tonight but let’s just say I’m a bit worried.”

  Kieran sighed out loud as he turned onto Las Vegas Boulevard and began to head in the direction of Vogue Hotel, Casino and Spa. “Listen, I wouldn’t dare do anything to put your career at risk—you know that. Jesse Clifton, the welterweight champion, invited me to a little get together he’s having at Vogue.

  “He rented out the penthouse, and bro, there will be prime pussy on tap. Everything has been arranged, paid for and you don’t even need to come out of pocket. Hell, what’s so cool about the situation is they’re mostly working girls and strippers earning a little extra on the side. You can have your fun, a limo will escort you home and everything will be just peachy. Don’t you trust me?”

  Torin nodded. “You know I do but the problem is when can you ever trust a bitch? I’m not sayin’ it’s one of those types of parties but I don’t want it to get out I sleep with strippers and cocktail waitresses because I’m simply unable to have a relationship. How embarrassing is that shit?”

  “True, but I don’t think that is your problem at all however it is a symptom of a bigger issue you’ve buried deep enough. Everyone is capable of a relationship, even you. Your problem is you haven’t found the right woman yet. When you do, it’ll hit ya like a t
hunderbolt, brother, and you won’t want to let her go…ever.”

  “And you’re such an expert how?”

  Kieran didn’t look at him as he drove directly to the valet area. He handed over his Escalade and was given a ticket by the attendant as they both climbed out and walked towards the front entrance of Vogue Hotel.

  “I know because I have found the right girl but she’s taken…and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.”

  Torin felt his brother’s pain but like a good Duffy sibling, he merely patted him on the back hard. “Well then, we’ll make it our mission to find you a really hot chick tonight so she can help you to fuck all your troubles away.”

  “Fuck yeah,” Kieran said under his breath before they entered the noisy casino and disappeared into the crowd as they walked straight to the penthouse elevator.

  Chapter Two

  Chiara

  I HAD TO admit I was nervous. I hated these parties when a bunch of us were bought for the night and pretty much had to do what was asked of us because we were someone else’s property.

  Who ever thought being an escort, no matter how glamorous, was easy had another think coming if they’d never worked in the industry.

  I’d been one for nine years, seventeen days, twenty-one hours and forty-five minutes. I had less than six months until my twenty-eighth birthday when I would finally retire in style with millions in several offshore bank accounts in the Cayman Islands and a decent amount of money in both my Wells Fargo and JP Morgan Chase personal accounts.

  Mr. Jackson not only looked after his women but he was fair and he always invested twenty percent of our income in stock and bonds.

  Six years previously, before the market took a nosedive to hell, he had me pull all my investments except the ones which would only take a small hit. It was perfect because I left the market one hundred million dollars richer and I would never have to worry about work again. I didn’t have to work now if I didn’t want to but the problem was I’d signed a contract and it just wasn’t worth it to break it, not with a man as powerful as Raymond Jackson.