The bearded redhead didn’t look remotely intimidated by the towering MMA fighter looming over him. In fact, he was smiling.
“Don’t worry, son. They’re clean fractures. He’ll be back to jerkin’ off in six weeks or so.” Red’s menacing smile widened. “As long as he pays me the money he owes me, that is.”
Travis’ eyes narrowed, and he took another step towards Red.
“As a matter of fact, that’s what I’m here about…”
This time, Red did react. He nodded at the bouncer, he stepped up into the dais and moved towards Travis.
At the same time, Red slunk back on the couch, and pulled up the hem of his Brooks & Dunn t-shirt.
Sticking out of the belt of his jeans was the butt of an old gun – a 1911 Cold .45, by the looks of it. The same model my dad brought back with him from the Navy.
“Now, you better hold up there, pardner,” Red warned, and Travis did exactly that. “You make any rash moves, an’ you’re liable to get hurt.”
Travis didn’t say anything. He just stood there, peering murderously down at Red.
I could tell what he was thinking – doing the mental calculations to figure out if he could wrap his big hands about Red’s burly neck before the redhead could pull his gun out of his pants.
But Red saved him that decision.
“You best take a step back, son,” he warned Travis. “I’ve seen you fight up on the TV. I know you’re tough.” He nodded to the bouncer, looming menacingly behind Travis. “But my buddy Roy back there’s plenty tough too – and there are four more his size not more than a whistle away.”
Through all of that, Travis hadn’t even blinked – but I could see the fire in his eyes go out.
“You wanna talk about your dad and the money he owes me, well you and your pretty lady can take a seat and we’ll parlay like adults. But if you wanna try taking a swing at me, I’ll make sure they find you floatin’ face down in the ocean by sunrise.” And then he turned to me. “And I ain’t even gonna mention what we’ll do to that hot little piece of ass over there.”
I shuddered as I saw the redhead staring hungrily at me. I could only imagine what he was implying.
For another second, Travis stood there, looming over Red. But then his shoulder slumped, and he took a reluctant step back.
Travis was tough and fast – one of the best students of martial arts I’d ever met. But he also knew when he was beat.
Red watched his surrender with a smile.
“Why don’t you two take a seat,” he purred, winking at me. “And we’ll talk.”
Chapter Twenty One
Travis
I’d never felt so wretched in all my life.
Dammit, less than a year ago the New York Times had called me ‘one of the toughest fighters in the MMA League.’ And now I was backing down from a fight like a pussy.
But as I took a seat on the leather armchair opposite this ‘Red’ character, I knew I’d had no other choice.
Red I could have handled. Maybe taken down that big ass bouncer, ‘Roy’ as well. But Red had a gun – and more bouncers just a yell away.
Attacking him would have been suicide. Perhaps even literally.
So, dejected, I slumped down into the armchair and stared murderously across the VIP section towards the grinning redhead.
“That’s the spirt,” Red grinned, as he watched me and Roxy take a seat. “Y’all want anything? A beer? Whiskey?” He winked. “On the house, this time.”
I just narrowed my eyes.
“I’m here to talk about my dad,” I warned him. “That’s it.”
Red’s grin widened. God, how I wanted to redecorate it with my fist.
“Ol’ Walter Oates,” Red grinned. “I like old Walt. Good customer. Been comin’ here for years.”
He snorted, and reached across the coffee table for an open can of Miller Lite.
“It ain’t nothin’ personal with your dad. He just bet more than he could afford to lose – on you, no less.”
Ouch. That stung.
It hurt enough, just the mention of my two recent MMA losses. But to know that my dad’s faith in me had led to him losing those two bets …
I swallowed dryly.
“So,” Red leaned forward. “I ain’t a mindreader, but I reckon you and your pretty lady friend over there thought you’d mosey on down to Ol’ Smokey’s and talk me out of collectin’ what your father owes me.”
Red snorted.
“An’ believe me, hoss. I wish I could. I respect you, ‘Trigger’. Been a fan of your career ever since you joined the MMA League.”
I knew there was a ‘but’ coming.
“But,” Red continued, confirming my suspicion, “a deal’s a deal. If I go soft on your old man, all the other folks who owe me money will think they can talk their way out of payin’ up, too.”
He shrugged, as if he was embarrassed by the situation.
“My hands are tied, cowboy.”
I just sat there, seething.
Eventually, I managed to unclench my teeth enough to growl: “So, now what?”
Red snorted.
“Now what? Now I tell my boys to saddle up tomorrow, and break your old man’s legs, just like they were supposed to today.” Red slurped his beer. “Only this time, if you or your lady friend get in the way, we’ll take care of your sorry asses as well.”
“Yeah, about that,” Roxy growled, from the chair opposite. “What was with your fuckboys stopping me on the bridge the other day.” She jerked her pretty head in my direction. “I ain’t happy about what you’re doing to old Walt, but it sure ain’t any business of mine.”
Red snorted.
Leaning back in the creaking leather sofa, he purred: “The moment you an’ your boyfriend turned up today, you made it your business.” He drained his beer, and crushed the can in one big hand. “You get in the way of collecting what’s owed, and I’ll start taking the interest out on you.”
Sneering menacingly, Red turned back to me.
“Did you get that, cowboy? It ain’t just your dad’s ass on the line now. If you try and get in my way, my boys and I will take that pretty little bitch over there, and collect what he owes from on tight little ass.” He licked his lips lasciviously. “And believe me, even a cute little tush like that’s gonna get worked hard.”
My hands balled into fists again, and I started wondering what my chances were. Could I leap across the coffee table and throttle that bearded bastard before his bodyguards turned up?
Probably not.
“But I like you Trigger, as I said,” Red continued, peering at me as if he could read my murderous thoughts. “So I’ll cut you a deal. Easy repayment terms. A grand a week, ‘til your dad’s debt is paid.”
A grand? I didn’t even have more than twenty bucks in my wallet right now.
But then I suddenly had a thought.
“Here,” I reached down to my wrist, and started unclasping my watch. It was a Tag Heuer Formula 1 – a fancy wristwatch I’d bought back during the days when money had been free and easy. “This is worth a grand, easy.”
I tossed the watch over to Red, and he caught it effortlessly.
“I’ll get you the rest of the money,” I promised, watching Red hold the watch up to his eye, like a jeweler examining a diamond. “God knows how, but I’ll get it to you.”
Red snorted.
He lowered the watch, and grinned.
“Nice watch. But it ain’t worth a grand.”
“I paid $1,200 for it,” I snapped back. “Just a year ago.”
“So on eBay? Maybe it’s worth $500. Probably less.” Red snorted. “I mean, I’ll take it… but you’re gonna have to do better than that if you want to keep your pop’s legs unbroken for another week.”
A hot flash of anger enveloped me.
“Why, you…”
I started to get up from the armchair.
Red laughed, and held up his hands in mock surrender.
“Ste
ady on, fella. I’m more interested in gettin’ paid then hurtin’ your pappy. Let’s talk.”
I paused, half in and out of my seat, and Red continued:
“You’re a feisty one, ain’tcha?” As his grin widened, he leaned forward and purred: “How about this – I’ll fight you for it.”
I blinked.
“You’ll what?”
“I’ll fight you for it. The watch, I mean. You win, I’ll keep it, and wipe a grand off your dad’s debt. You lose?” He snorted. “Well, you’d better by some grapes for when you visit him in hospital tomorrow.”
I was trembling with anger now – my fingers digging into the leather armchair.
But then I looked at him – the bearded, broad-shouldered son-of-a-bitch sitting across from me.
He said he’d fight me for it? Fuck, I could take him. He looked like a roadie, not a roughneck. Sure, he was muscular enough – but the guy had a pot-belly and scrawny little forearms. He’d fold like a pack of cards.
“’Course, you wouldn’t be fightin’ me.”
I should have seen that one coming.
“Yo, Roy!” Red shouted over the big bouncer looming behind us – the red-faced, pig-snouted goon in the too-tight suit. “You wanna make five hundred extra bucks tonight?”
The bouncer called Roy stepped onto the dias, and it groaned under his bulk.
“Shit, y’know I do, boss.”
“Well,” Red asked. “You think you could take this rangy son-of-a-bitch?”
Roy looked at me like junkyard dog – metaphorically sniffing my ass to see who was the alpha of the pack. He looked me up and down, and I knew he was appraising my height, weight, and the reach of my long, powerful arms.
Clearly, he underestimated me.
“Sure,” the big bastard grunted. “I can take him.”
Red grinned.
He practically bounded off the sofa. Clapping his hands, the bearded cowboy crossed the dias to a microphone stands, and as he picked it up he drowned out the band still wailing in the corner.
“Attention, ladies and gentlemen!”
The band stopped playing. A hundred pairs of eyes turned to face the dias, where Red stood addressing the crowd.
He grinned, clearly loving being the center of attention.
“For your entertainment,” Red grinned, “we have another impromptu fight for you.”
Apparently this sort of thing was common enough at Ol’ Smokey’s, because the crowed roared in approval.
“Ten minutes, in the parking lot out front. Good ol’ boy Roy,” he gestured his lumbering bouncer, “will be facin’ off against none other than a bona fide MMA legend.”
Red turned, and gestured to me.
I climbed awkwardly out of my seat – suddenly aware of a see of eyes boring into me.
“Straight from New York, it’s MMA League heavyweight Travis ‘Trigger’ Oates,” Red grinned. “And you’re gonna see him fight right here, right now.”
The crowd screamed in approval, and the walls practically shook with their screams and hollers.
“So whaddya say, Trigger,” Red grinned, turning to me. “You ready to earn some motherfuckin’ money?”
Chapter Twenty Two
Roxy
“You don’t have to do this.”
I was struggling to keep up with Travis, as he was led through the crowd of bikers and truckers towards the back door of the old bar.
“Travis!” I shouted, reaching out to tug at one of his arms. “I’m seriously. Don’t do this.”
Travis paused, and spun around.
He towered over me, eyes burning intently, and for a moment my stomach flipped – either from fear, or arousal. Or both.
“Of course I have to do this, Roxy,” Travis growled, as the crowd gathered around us. “If I don’t, that rusty-haired son-of-a-bitch is gonna go back and break my father’s legs.”
I looked up at Travis and gulped dryly.
He was right, I guess. But this didn’t feel right. None of it did.
A notorious roadside bar? An illegal fight in the parking lot? This sounded more like an old Patrick Swayze movie than real life; and I knew the plot was just as dangerous.
“Travis…” I opened my mouth to continue pleading, but he ignored me. Reaching out to grab my hand, Travis dragged me through the crowd towards a back door of the bar; and then out into the cool, crisp night.
There was a balcony out back, and more stairs leading to a dirty parking lot looking out over the water.
Red led a procession down the stairs – his bouncer, Roy. Me and Travis. And then a line of bikers, truckers and other bar patrons – all still clutching their bottles of Budweiser and shots of whiskey.
Out in the parking lot, somebody flicked on some floodlights – and it lit up a makeshift circle drawn in the dirt.
Clearly this wasn’t a one-time thing. Fights out here happened a lot.
Roy lumbered off to one edge of the circle, and started stripping off his jacket and shirt. Two of Red’s other bouncers – one of them the same son-of-a-bitch Travis punched out that afternoon – shuffled over to grab his shit. They were his makeshift corner team, I guessed.
Red led Travis and I to the opposite end of the circle.
“Ain’t nothing fancy,” he admitted, spitting into the dirt as he addressed us, “but it’s how we do things out here.” And then he turned to face the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Red roared, his voice louder than a megaphone. “You know the drill. One round. Bare knuckle. First one to tap, nap or snap loses.”
…and the crowd roared their approval.
As Red was busy with the crowd, I turned and looked up at Travis desperately. ‘Tap, nap or snap’ was an ominous warning. It meant the winner had to make his opponent either surrender, get knocked out… or snap a bone and be unable to continue.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” I warned Travis, watching him peel off his t-shirt. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
Travis pulled his tight shirt off over his head and handed it to me. It was still warm as I accepted it.
“Hun, I don’t reckon I got much choice.”
I’m ashamed to say I blanked out for a second when he said that. I was momentarily stunned to see my former boyfriend – my first love – shirtless for the first time in years.
Dammit, my stomach flipped as I looked up and down over that long, lean torso. Travis’ broad chest and tight abs were both achingly familiar to me, and yet so different to how I remembered them.
Years of training had filled him out a little. Tattoos adorned what I’d remembered as smooth, tan skin. Scars marked his body like badges of honor.
But despite the new additions, this was still the same man I’d loved all those years ago – the one who’d taken my virginity in the back of his dad’s truck, and who’s body I’d once been as familiar with as my own.
“Roxy?”
Travis’ sharp voice snapped me from my thoughts.
“Roxy,” he repeated. “You blanked out on me for a second, there?”
I shook my head.
“Sorry.”
“Just pay attention.” He reached over, and I felt his heavy hand on my shoulder. “You’re all I’ve got, babe. Anything goes wrong, I need you to look after it.”
And then he reached down and pressed his lips against mine – and I nearly fainted.
It felt so natural, and organic – but at the same time, it was like mainlining drugs. My heart skipped a beat. My knees went weak. My panties flooded.
“Roxy?”
I shook my head, blinking as Travis pulled his lips from mine.
“We good?” he asked, eyes burning hotly.
I nodded: “We’re good.”
And, with that, he turned to face his opponent.
Chapter Twenty Three
Travis
It’d been weeks since my last fight – and I’d never expected my next one to be in circumstances like these.
No o
ctagon. No announcer. Shit, there wasn’t even canvas on the floor.
This was Roadhouse shit. Except this shit was real.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” Red saw me step into the dirt circle, and addressed the crowd. “On this side, we have the son of one of our own: Walter Oates’ kid. You’ve seen him on TV, and more than a few of you have lost your shirt ‘cos of him.” He held up his arms, and announced: “Travis ‘Trigger’ Oates.”
The crowd rumbled with approval. I’m not going to lie, it was kind of underwhelming.
But they perked up when Red turned to his bouncer, Roy, and announced him, too:
“And y’all know this fat son-of-a-bitch,” he grinned, and the crowd roared with laughter. “Roy Jenkins.”
If Roy objected to being called ‘fat’, he didn’t seem to show it. He’d stripped off his white shirt, and was standing opposite me with the floodlights gleaming off his pale, flabby body.
Sure, he was fat – he probably had a hundred pounds on me. But He had a frame like a John Deere tractor, and fists the size of jackhammers.
“$500 dollars to the winner,” Red announced, and then he challenged the crowd: “And I hope you’re layin’ some money down out there, too. Maybe ol’ Trigger will give you a chance to earn back some of the money he lost ya.”
There was a chuckle from the crowd, and I tightened my hands into fists. Making jokes about my last two losses stung.
Red gave the crowd some time to hustle. Two of his black-suited buddies were collecting fistfuls of twenties and tens as they ran bets, and a couple of waitresses from inside were running out bottles of beer to thirsty customers.
But all too soon, the transactions were wrapped up – and Red turned to address the crowd again.
“And let the games… begin!”
And then he scurried out of the dirt circle – and I stood facing Roy in the harsh glare of those burning floodlights.
Roy lumbered forward, swinging his big fists. With his pale body gleaming in the floodlights, he looked rather like a massive wild hog; and he was clearly as ornery as one.
“Yer goin’ down, cowboy,” Roy growled, as he closed the gap between us and swung his giant fists towards my face.
Trigger: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance Page 7